housekeeping

Sir Andy-Long-Legs Explains His Role

Seeking sun and shadow in the lush lawn of the back yard as I survey my kingdom. Momma says this photo screams to the world how handsome and physically strong I look, like a born leader, with a Plan to be Followed.

Hands down, I am the strategist cat in this gang land. For instance, I quickly noted how our Forever Family turn the door handles to open them and so I routinely do the same, with various degrees of success (I see Clem, the Feral has figured it out as well – bummer, another Brainiac…not as clever as me…of course. When it doesn’t work, I move back and hurdle my body against the door and in no time, I am in or out – like Houdini, I am magic.

At one point, we had the cutest little Yorkie, Xanadu (aka Zanny). She was an escape artist, faster than a speeding bullet, ripping in and out of traffic, crossing busy streets and the word STOP meant GO FASTER in her ditzy little pea brain. We all know stories like that have no good endings….Then again, tiny as Zanny was, I worried she could also be dog napped because well, a pure bred puppy is like money in the bank for some evil Two Footed excuses for humanity.

And so because of all Zanny’s aberrant behavior, I learned how to stop her dead in her tracks (except that fateful day – I know, it is her story to tell). If Zanny escaped and was off like the wind on her lead, I, Andy-Long-Legs would

Daddy's Zanny with Tigger (who often deserved a sharp shaking). I know I know, she was to die for pretty - but like the Tin man- 'If she only had a brain'. — Daddy’s Zanny with Tigger (who often deserved a sharp shaking).I know I know, Zanny was to die for pretty – but like the Tin man ‘If she only had a brain’.

dart in front of her and sit my body on the lead, waiting for Momma to catch up with us. Some times, if the Yorkie got out without the lead on, I would stop her in her tracks by plunking my long, sinewy body on top of this itsy-bitsy fur ball. I also taught my siblings how to team tag Zanny and they too could help in the rescue. I was / am a legend in my own mind, until…that day.

Like Senorita Jakita, Momma tested me and, no kidding, I am what is called a Cat-a-stein because of the way I respond to human stimuli. It seems that Momma has to crafty herself to outsmart me. Momma says I just walk to the beat of my own drum. However if you are asking me, I am the Leader, the Brainiac Management Cat, goal oriented, with plans in place, carried out and on to the next fire to control, then extinguish. It is a ‘Plan-Do-Check’ method of operation. If Jakita has an over abundance of dog-a-tude, I have cat-a-tude in spades.

One day, years ago, when Daddy was still with us, God-Rest-His Soul, I came in for a bite to eat (I may catch birds, bees, mice or whatever – but I am a city slicker kitty – I only eat specially blended and balanced top of the line cat chow, with Vitamins and minerals added, two maybe three mouth full at a time, befitting a Cat of Extreme Culture).

Somehow I sensed Momma needed my help and I would do most anything for my Forever Family. She was lying down on the couch in the living room and I meandered in, issuing mournful sounds (‘I am so sorry you are feeling poorly‘, I meowed).

I jumped on the couch beside Momma, placed my two paws on either side of her face and carefully looked her over, never breaking eye contact. After conducting my appraisal, I decided some deep kneading and purring were the remedy. I went about pushing the blanket with my two front paws, offering white noise in the form of a low purr for a few minutes, then once again took Momma’s face between my paws and looked for signs of improvement. Apparently, it was working, so I continued my mission, kneading and purring, with us both drifting off to never, never land.

A couple of hours later Daddy came home, and stood over Momma and I. He asked did she want him to get rid of that cat. Well…excuse me! I jumped off the couch, gave Dad a huffy look and stalked out the door, tail held high. I had completed the healing, now, anyway, and if that was the gratitude I was shown, I was so out of there. If I was going anywhere, I would do it on my own steam, not with an eviction notice being carried out by Daddy, apparently the self-appointed Sheriff in Town.

There is one more thing I want to share with you so you know how special I am. Beau and I (Beau followed me everywhere) discovered that Wonder Boy (Momma & Daddy’s one and only child) sometimes partied at his friend (Lover Boy’s) home, about five or six houses down the street.

When a party broke forth..frequently, may we add... we would pad on down the street, slink behind bushes as we meandered over to peek in the basement window to rouse our Lord-and-Master, to remind him, ‘It is time to go home. The roosters are crowing’. At the window, we batted the glass pane with our paws, to get Wonder Boy’s attention. Of course, we ended up getting everyone’s attention. If Wonder Boy was still not ready to come home yet, he told us to ‘just go away’. Do you think we listened? We knew Momma would be on our side. We silently padded out back to the sidewalk, which is public property, you know and patiently waited for our Lord-and-Master. When Wonder Boy finally headed home, we raced on ahead of him, not trotting at his side, like a dog would, but streaking, kitty style, anxious to be in position on the front step, vying to be ‘first in’ when he opened the door. Once more, we sighed, we were enfolded in the bosom of our chosen home wherein we found a comfortable spot to rejuvenate our kitty souls.

Andy 'Fais Do-Do' (baby talk for 'make or go to sleep') under Momma's duvet with his head resting on the lace pillow case. — Andy ‘Fais Do-Do’ (baby talk for ‘make or go to sleep’) under Momma’s duvet with his head resting on the lace pillow case.

PS: Over the years Lover Boy was so entertained by Wonder Boy’s cats, that he finally convinced his parents that they too should get a kitten. They chose a handsome, long-haired, ginger kitten, who was as street savvy and (almost) as clever as me. I am sure you have already guessed – Lover Boy proudly tells the world he has the best looking, smartest cat in the world. What were the odds of that happening as long as I am still alive?

Senorita Jakita – Angel or Devil in Disguise?

Here I am, gorgeous as usual, at four years old, in the back yard on the lounging chair. An absolute passport picture (no facial expression), with ears alert for all noise, eyes wide to survey my territory and paws positioned for a fast attack, (if called for). It seems I hide that devil with the pitch fork very successfully so how could poor old, blind and profoundly deaf Momma recognize it in me? — Here I am, gorgeous but sanctimonious, as usual.

So by now you know the truth – I am not some Angel puppy, even if I look like one, in some pictures. No, I am the kind of doggie who can turn in to a little devil with a pitch fork and a long tail – (I noticed BB the Bad Beastie Cat was like that too). I was not at all like my black and white brother, Fidel, (the very colour Momma was looking for) and an absolute Angel Boy from the time he was born or at least from the time his wobbly little legs could support him,

February is a cruel month to be born in a puppy mill in the True North Strong and Free. You have to find a way to stay warm and a flat-out run keeps the blood flowing. My two other siblings joined in the hi-jinx I organized, chasing the barn kitties, getting a good swat from Mama Cat as we passed by her, then pouncing on unsuspecting chickens, who would flap their wings and squawk in indignation. Yet Fidel would hang back and scamper to the shelter of our Baby Mama, who always seemed cold, hungry, and lethargic. Now that I know more, I suspect Baby Mama suffered from postpartum depression. I was just what poor Mama did not need. I may have been considered myself smarter than Fidel but he beat me hands down on having common sense.

I remember the day the barn door opened, early one morning, and a couple of the dreaded Two Footed creatures, stomped in, communicating in a sing-song conversation. They marched over to our lair, where we were all still sleeping in a tight ball around Mama. My brother, two sisters and I were yanked from our Mama and put in a hard plastic carrying case. I can still hear Mama’s whimpers that turned to a louder and louder warble, as a cacophony of barn animals joined in. I looked at my Baby Mama, one last time, communicating, ‘Don’t worry, Mama. We will be good. You taught us right from wrong. I will try to behave more like Fidel. ‘

The Two Footed Creature who took us to her home seemed okay. She was not Baby Mama but she freed us from our cages and let us run around and around her apartment. Then we were set up in wire cages, the type you see out of, so you can survey your surroundings. She told us she was going to start teaching us English since this would be the language of our Forever Families. So much for a puppy to absorb and learn and pass on to her siblings.

Still, sometimes being the leader sucks. When I was a pup I had a big head for a little dog. It helped me assimilate facts faster than a speeding bullet. At one point it seemed my head was too big for my body. However,you will be happy to know, once I reached maturity my body grew in proportion to my head, thanks for asking.

By now, I am betting, you are asking, so how did you get to your Forever Family? Momma, you guessed it, being analytical and internet savvy, researched what breed would suit her family, based on what they wanted in a puppy. BINGO – Havanese, what the heck is a Havanese, they wondered?

Momma brought up images and tell me, what is not to love – we are exceptionally beautiful, small yet sturdy, coming in a plethora of colors, with fur that looks great in a Puppy Cut or long and flowing in our adult years, (if you hang out at dog shows).

The exceedingly handsome blue eyed, black and white Irish-Pied Fidel, his little fluffy white paws holding his first ever blue bone. Look at the black ring on his white tail. No wonder Momma was so smitten. We miss you every day, Fidel. Till we meet again. — The exceedingly handsome blue-eyed, black and white Irish-Pied Fidel. We miss you every day, Fidel. Till we meet again.

Problem was, Momma was smitten by my black and white brother Fidel. He absolutely had stolen a piece of her heart, with his good looks and better manners. Momma did not particularly want a female puppy like me, at least not one maybe smarter than she was. Having Wonder Boy for a son, she had her fill of being challenged by a brain that worked faster than hers, don’t you know.

Fidel, such a tragic story, I don’t want to talk about it because it still moves me to tears. Anyway it is not my story to tell. Let us just say, I left with Momma but I almost felt a resistance from her to love me completely – like she had been cajoled by family members to give me a home. Do not get me wrong. She hugged me, petted me, trained me, walked me, played with me, looked after me 24/7. Everybody’s got a story, man.

Yet it was in the way Momma bristled so quickly when that little devil, with the long tail, the pointed ears and the pitchfork, surfaced in me. I mean, who knew I was supposed to chew the toys and bones provided, not shoes, Kleenex, paper, or furniture or whatever crossed my path.

You can see I am pink, no fur but not exactly a squirrel, especially with those finger nail polished hooves and bright yellow ears (what's that all about?). — Miss Piggy – Foster Mama

I was well versed in barn manners, as were all the farm animals, where survival of the fittest depended on having food to eat, shelter from the variable weather conditions and protection from our fellow stable mates, be they mooing cows, whinnying horses or any other Two or Four Footed friend or foe. There was no one in the barn who said, ‘Go, Stop or No’ and a firm hand was needed to reign in the likes of me.

That leaves only me to blame, cause Momma tried……

Pretty Little Miss Mao Cat

Hey, it is me, Mao, checking in from Purgatory. I seem to be stuck in a holding pattern like a jet liner waiting for the Air Traffic Control to give clearance to land safely. It is not home, nor is it the Pet Heaven that Cat Mandu proceeded to. Maybe she had to go and prepare a place for me before I can touch down.

Pretty Little Black and White Mao (as in 'mow' - rhymes with 'now', not Chairman Mao) — Pretty Little Black and White Mao (as in ‘mow’ – rhymes with ‘now’, not Chairman Mao)

It seemed the strangest things always happen to me, like losing my tail, or earth-bound one day, in the land of never, never, the next. Now I am perplexed as you are about how, why, and when I got here. Last thing I remember is making my way down to the creek, and in a blink, I am here. Gives you cause to pause and consider your Bucket List. As Charlie Cat mentioned, I am her sister, a splotchy, rather than sculpted Black and White, like the Brainiac Andy Cat, and the Muscle Beau Cat.

Unlike Charlie, I was easily rescued as a kitten because I was hungry and tired, tired, tired of living near scrap metal bins, avoiding noisy forklifts with back up beepers and wheezing air brakes on diesel trucks that had come to pick up auto parts to deliver across North America. Any place had to beat that ear drum shattering, traffic laden land of Just In Time mayhem.

Once I was at my forever home, Momma bathed me, using Dawn Dish Detergent to remove the oil. I nuzzled her wrists and batted the water, to show my appreciation. I was named ‘Mao’ (Not after Chairman Mao Tse Tung, but because of my pathetic little whisper of ‘mow’, not ‘meow’ when I wanted attention.

Momma always told the story about my rescue. She would explain, you know how ‘curiosity killed the cat’ – that saying was made for me. Having already had black and white cats, she realized, although, not the most appealing to look at, we were definitely friendly and gregarious. All Momma had to do was put a cat carrier down in the parking lot at her work, with food in it. I walked in to get breakfast, Momma closed the door. Momma bragged you know, she caught me, but no, I got Momma. Cats choose their owners, owners do not choose cats.

I soon let the family know I was born to be an indoor outdoor cat. I easily made friends with the entire neighbourhood, be it people, cats, dogs or even squirrels or raccoons.

I was the first ‘Dog/Cat’ in the family, always accompanying the family around the block when the dog was walked, or down to the corner store with Dad (God-Rest-His-Soul) for lottery tickets, well before I lost my tail, that is. When not in the house or traveling the neighbor hood, I hopped on Momma’s car, parked in the garage, then climbed on to the boards perpendicular to the roof, making a secret resting spot on the beams. Sometimes Mr. Grey Squirrel and Mr. Black Eyed Raccoon would also be sharing the accommodation. (And you ever wonder how we get fleas?) We were our own little gang, hanging out, creating our own fun.

See my luxurious fur, thick black tipped tail and look of wisdom. DSCF1952.JPGBy jak Fr: http://www.morguefile.com/ archive#/?q=raccoon&sort =pop&photo_lib=morgue — See my luxurious fur, thick black tipped tail and look of wisdom.
DSCF1952.JPGBy jak
Fr: http://www.morguefile.com/
archive#/?q=raccoon&sort =pop&photo_lib=morgue

Momma found out when she heard a thump at the side door, early one morning. When she opened the door, (Let the Cat in, Let the Cat Out Routine), there stood Mr. Black Eyes Raccoon. We will never know who invited whom to the Tea Party, but we were Best Friends Forever. I got up, stretched and padded out the door and we went, on our own mission, down the sidewalk, single file, across the road to the creek. We would splash in the water, dreaming of catching gold-fish but only managing to scare the little ducklings who were fiercely protected by Momma Duck. We considered our selves great hunters but we never got near those ducklings because Mama Duck had an annoying quack and a wing that seemed to expand in size to create a wall we could not penetrate. Mr. Black Eyed Raccoon and I would then lie on the cement creek wall in the sunshine, dreaming of other fish to fry.

But life is about changes and one day my BFF disappeared. I heard Momma tell RIP Daddy there was a raccoon, dead on the road and do you suppose it was Mr. Black Eyed Raccoon? Apparently it was, because he never came around again. Like Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn, we were – we ‘clambed the hills together.’ Without him in my life, I had no more adventure, no more sun bathing at the creek. I felt lost. When the sun was high in the sky, I would sit on the neighbor’s fence. I swear, I would squint my eyes, and I could see Mr. Black Eyes Raccoon, scurrying under the big fir-tree – but in a flash he was gone and I was alone, again.

Who knew that the outdoor life I cherished so, would be my downfall? A few years back, Momma and Wonder Boy noticed they had not seen me all day.The Search was on. I heard them call but was too weak to respond. When I had recuperated enough, I limped back, dragging my broken tail behind me. Again you may ask, ‘Mao, how did you do that?’ I have no idea because like getting to Kitty Purgatory, I do not remember. I take the Fifth Amendment. Momma said maybe I got caught in a trap or maybe I was rolling on the road, which I did quite often, silly me, and a car drove over my tail . Maybe the Forest Freak got crabby one night . I do not know.

Look into this deep forest of twigs, vines, birch, maple, and cedar trees, so innocuous in one hundred shades of green. But you know and I know the secret. It is the Home of the Forest Freak. — You know and I know the secret. It is the Home of the Forest Freak.

After unsuccessfully splinting my tail for a few days, the vet, removed it surgically. Although I still went outside, I spent more time on the back of the couch in the sun room. My personality went from outgoing to withdrawn, almost antisocial. Who knew how much a cat needs a tail? To be truthful I was always a bit clumsy but having no tail only added to the equation, making me even more wobbly.

Also that Andy, The Brainiac made my life misery – Momma thinks he is a Cat-a-Stein – I considered him a ‘Back Street Bully’, always exploiting any weakness he can find in any cat that doesn’t share his DNA (which means Beau Cat and Diva Gen get a pass). But he is sneaky – he doesn’t do it in the presence of Momma.

Sometimes now, when the fog thins, I get a glimpse of home, I see Charlie’s neat metamorphosis from a caterpillar into a Butterfly, any memory of me seemingly expunged. I see Andy Cat actually sniffing noses with her – but then again, only when Momma is in the room…….

So, when I exitted earth, headed to Pet Heaven, I had to leap over a blue cloud to my pink fluffy landing pad, where I can survey 'our Kingdom come' 24/7. I am watching you as I count the days, the hours and the minutes for the rest of my family to catch up with me. — **There is my pink cloud now!**

PS: I will keep you updated on my progress in Kitty Purgatory. Meanwhile, pray for my deliverance. Who knew I was a practicing Catholic Kitty? I just want a fluffy pink cloud to sail on just like our Cat Mandu. Come to think of it, I can not wait to see her.

PPS: Is that you, over there in Pet Heaven, standing beside our Cat Mandu, Mr. Black Eyed Raccoon? Help me get out of Purgatory and over to your side. Are there any gold-fish in Pet Heaven?

Senorita Jakita and Peter Cottontail

Jakita tells the tale of Peter Cottontail to Calico Gen and the Adorable, Wide-Eyed Stuffed Monkey, Ruby, who shares all hopes, dreams and secrets of all those who sleep in or on Momma's bed - (Ruby was a gift given to Momma many moons ago, by Super Boy). — Jakita tells the tale of Peter Cottontail to Calico Gen and the Adorable, Wide-Eyed Stuffed Monkey, Ruby.

One day, long time ago, Momma’s father (a.k.a Grandpapa to me) told her and her sisters that he had met up with Peter Cottontail that very day in the forest. (OK, alright, settle down, they lived in the country, not downtown Toronto).

Now at that time, you did not argue with or disbelieve your elders. To their amazement, Grandpapa told them Peter communicated with him that he (Peter) had gone out to the local store, dressed in the disguise of Little Red Riding Hood and bought a package of Wrigley’s Spearmint gum. Peter wanted my father to give a stick of gum to each of his good children.

With that said, Momma’s father solemnly reached in to his breast pocket of his blue plaid lumberjack shirt, extracted the package and passed it around from oldest to youngest, for them to each take a piece of green wrapped Spearmint Chewing Gum .

Momma never asked her sisters if they believed that yarn but I deemed my Grandpapa’s Peter Cottontail story to be totally plausible. I’ve had my eyes on the cotton-tails and know that they are nervy enough to eat the vegetables out of Momma’s garden, staring at me, ears all a twitch, taunting me, just brazen, the lot of them.

So soft, so sweet. Who could be mean to a little white, fluffy bunny rabbit with pink stick-up-straight ears? From Morguefile.com IMG_7421.JPGBy xandert — So soft, so sweet, so deceptive, yet who can not love a fluffy cottontail with pink stick-up-straight ears?
From Morguefile.com
IMG_7421.JPGBy xandert

I have no doubt that Peter would fool the storekeeper with a disguise. What probably is harder to compute is that Peter Cottontail would give the gum to Grandpapa to share with his kids. The deed of buying the gum and tricking the storekeeper was believable, they are a crafty lot who could easily bamboozle the locals, but sharing their spoils, I doubt it. Certainly not the Cotton-tails in this part of the woods, who don’t even flinch when I bark and growl to try to chase them from the garden. They are of the mistaken opinion that the lettuce, the carrots, even the tulips from the flower gardens, are for their consumption and I had better get with the picture.

Where Grampsey met up with Peter Cottontail (so I am told) when he was cutting down massive trees that were made in to lumber at the local saw mill. The sunshine beckons you down the path to an Enchanted Forest where the Four Footed share their Shangri-La and wisdom with the Two Footed. Don't you wish you were there? — Where Grampsey met up with Peter Cottontail (so I am told). Don’t you wish you were there?

Momma told me about that well-loved bunny, Thumper who befriended Bambi in the movie, helping him adjust to the reality of the forest and all of its blessings and challenges. I am telling you, there are no Thumpers in Jakitaville, no, we got city slicker rabbits, with ra-bi-tude who look at all domestics and the Two Footed with disdain. Since Peter Cottontail was from the Country, maybe he was that altruistic, I am not going to totally rule it out…..because well, you know already, Ruby, Gen and I like to believe:

‘The truth is out there.’

Sir BB as in Black Beauty, Blue Beard or Beastie Boy

Relaxing on the couch at Chez Momma after my initial stay at the Vet Clinic to be rejuvenated and re-hydrated. See the little patches of white, scattered amongst the gleaming black fur. Also note the numerous scratches and patches of fur missing. Life was good, never better. If only.... — Relaxing on the couch at Chez Momma. Life was good, never better. If only….

BB – That would be as in Black Beauty, (just a streak of white underbelly, with a white star under the chin) or Blue Beard (the one-eyed pirate as suggested at the vet clinic), Beastie Boy (around Clem) or Beau Baby in Momma’s arms. I had history, unfortunately, a lot of it way negative, my energy attracting cat fights that I never won. I was covered in scratches, big gouges ripped from around my mouth, my eyes, all over my skinny black body. I will never forget the night I went home to Momma, crying all the way, with only one eye functioning. Was it my nemesis or Clem or the Forest Freak, whoever it was, got me good, clawing the right eye, to the extent that we had no idea if I would lose my sight permanently or get partial sight restored. What could poor Momma do? It was beyond her meager skills of feeding, watering and nurturing. It was time to take me to meet Dr. C.

You can see, this was one ugly wound even after healing for a week. The perpetrator should be charged with assault, with a deadly weapon (clawed paw, possibly?). It is time for me to start a Kitty Court, all Judges to be black cats with a touch of white patches. All other cats can be Lawyers, Prosecutors, Jury, Victims and the BAD GUYS. Justice for the Abused! — You can see, this was one ugly wound even after healing for a week.

What you should also know about me is I was the LIFO Cat (Last In First Out) which in inventory refers to the way items are stored. But I did not know that because, well, I did not know much. One day when Andy had come over to the Cat Colony to lord it over us, I followed him home, meowing loudly, stop, look at me, I am sick, I am hungry, I am so lost and lonely. When Momma opened the door to see what all my caterwauling was about, Andy looked at her with beseeching eyes, ‘Just make it stop’.

Now that was the first time I realized there was something called cat food, poured in a dish, just for you, while the other cats were all given their own bowl. On top of that we all had our own water. Wow, what a system. I learned fast. You don’t go putting your nose in someone else’s bowl. You wait till he finishes, then you check out his bowl while the other cat checks out yours, for leftovers.

I bonded quickly with Wonder Boy, I loved his energy, the way the squirrels came right up and took peanuts from his hand. Momma, well, that took longer, but it was solid once in place. Then Dr. CK, Dr.WY, Dr.MW and all the staff showered me with love and free call backs over the last two months of my life. Even as much as they cared, I was like Humpty Dumpty with all my catastrophic diseases, impossible to put together again. It was easy to see why I would change my allegiance to the Two Footed, who bathed me in love, while the Four Footed, ignored or tortured me.

So…it is okay, Momma, no more tears, Momma, repeat after me ‘It is OK’. I did what you told me to, leaping from your arms to that fluffy blue cloud that catapulted me to RIP Daddy’s warm embrace.

Look at my Launching Pad, the blue cloud, floating along in an inexplicably awesome universe lit by the sun in the day, the moon and the stars at night. — My Launching Pad, the blue cloud, floating along in an inexplicably awesome universe lit by the sun in the day, the moon and the stars at night.

I saw you, Momma, when you arrived home with an empty cage. Immediately, the love of my life, Jakita ran over, confused. She needed an answer. What happened to BB? And Sweet Gen (who would sniff my nose, to show me I was acceptable in her sight), joined them, communicating in soft meows, ‘Oh wow, Momma, I’ll be good, just please don’t take me away.’ I saw as your tears dripped on their heads as you consoled them.

Just remember, I had three months of food, whenever I wanted it. I had three months of belonging to a family which meant three months of love. If I was annoying because I meowed so loudly and long, I am sorry. I know I even deafened myself by mostly shouting out anguishing wails with volume set to full tilt. For that I apologize. It was not respectful of the Zen like ambience that turns a home into a paradise. Now I know, you should only hear the flutter of butterflies, the chirps of satisfied birds and the tinkling bells ring when angels earn their wings. As well, my biggest crime, I drove off Clem, who will tell his own story, I get it.

If I could change anything in my past life, my relationship with Clem would be a re-do. I would make him love me, just like the you, the Two Footed did.

So………..I was not meant for a long time, but in that three months, well you, Wonder Boy, the Vets, especially Dr C. and the Clinic Staff, you all made it a purr-fect time… And in the end Momma, in the end I was loved by you.

Senorita Jakita Shares About Her Family

Eyes non wavering, eyes open, Jakita listens to Ruby's tale. — Eyes non wavering, eyes open, Jakita tells cat tales.

So…let’s talk about those kitties….don’t let me get started on the kitties……….yet 4-5-6 even seven cats are easier to keep in line that one Momma – at least the one I got. I mean I have her well-trained about when I want to go outside, when I need fresh water, to be fed, brushed, petted, or walked, but that can get out of hand because first in the morning, she prepares a combination of dry and wet food for Andy, Gen, Charlie, BB and sometimes Clem. I have to give them credit – good little soldiers that they are, Momma sets down a dish for each and they always go to their own dish, Andy on the staircase, Charlie on her bed, Gen on the mat, BB in the sun porch, Clem outside. Quite the spectacle it is. But that takes time and Momma gets slower and slower it seems to me so I do not even leave my bed until they are all fed and gone because I can be testy in the morning, sometimes at noon and often at night.

Ok, I am not sure why the cats, Andy, Beau and Gen think they are invited on the walks Momma and I take. (I know Andy is considered the Brainiac but it was Beau, the Muscle that actually started the tradition of joining the walk that turns into an impromptu parade). At some point Andy and Gen decided ‘cool’ and joined in along the way. They think they are doing us a favor, sauntering along with Momma and I, but it is just more stress for me as I worry that they will get lost when they dive into the neighbor’s bushes, or be bitten by the neighbor’s massive pit bull or step out on to the road and be hit by a car. I know they go out by themselves every day and come back just fine but hello!!! Does no one remember Mao?

Just look at them - they look like Angel Kitties with Gen using Beau not only for a pillow but as a Guard against any takers. However, take them on a walk, Gen becomes an Airhead and Beau becomes frozen to inaction because of all the incoming transmissions he is receiving and his need to get the team home safely. — Just look at them – they look like Angel Kitties.

Momma is oblivious, but I see, feel, hear those cats without even turning, so I stop dead to let them catch up with us. Then Momma looks around and here comes, sometimes one, sometimes two but more often three cats, racing up our left side, hiding behind bushes every time they hear a car,then disappearing under the fence down to the creek and eerily reappearing, always two steps a head of us. Of course Momma cheerfully welcomes them, and graciously stoops down to pet them. I feel like the Prodigal Son’s oldest brother because I go through life on the premise that it is ‘all about me’.

Momma has to worry too, because only, the Brainiac, Andy Cat has it figured out. He will look both ways before crossing the road, check the traffic like a Cross-walk Guard. Not Diva Gen Cat or the Muscle Beau Cat. They are more like me (only I am on a leash and controlled by Momma). I have seen Gen rolling around on the middle of the street, begging Momma to scratch her belly. Beau goes out to prompt her to return to the safety of the sidewalk and then will become frozen in the middle of the street because he hears a car coming two streets away. Should he go back or continue forward? It seems there is no panic when he accompanies Momma and me alone, since he has no problem making and executing the right calls for himself. To tell the truth (but I am at liberty to deny it at any time), it is actually kind of therapeutic as the three of us roll around the block, through the park and home. However there are rules and one of them is Beau does not cross busy streets, like Centre. No, if we are going to cross Centre Street to go for a walk in the Cemetery, he will patiently wait in the bushes on the corner of Nelson and Centre, then accompany us home.

That being said, it still is an irrefutable fact, that the walk loses its ability to make me feel calm when we have three cats tagging along. My heart races, my breathing grows shallow and I plunk down until I can catch my breath. Oh and just for good measure, the first cat that comes near me gets a little growl to let them know they ruined my walk. They look at me, free as birds, tails held high, as they sail home before me, singing, ‘Na-na-na-na’ but the one who laughs last, laughs hardest….and I am the one in Momma’s bedroom every night.

Like their outdoor escapades, always together, sharing the same space, with distance to separate egos - except for BFF Jakita and Calico Gen - I (Casey) had not made it to Momma's bed yet (Andy top left, Beau, bottom right). — Like their outdoor escapades, always together, sharing the same space.

In my dreams, all cats are in wire cages, and dogs run free but Momma says, ‘That’s a problem, you might get lost, like Sophie did.’ ‘The cats always find their way home, Momma,’ I remind her. ‘No dice, you are too cute, you’d be kidnapped or even worse, suffer Zanny’s fate’, explains Momma. ‘Never, ever, ever’, I pout but she has her fingers stuck in her ears. Why does she make decisions based on history? Go figure.

Little Miss Diva Calico Genevieve (aka Gen)

Excuse me, having two dominant brothers, I am used to waiting, but when is it my turn to speak, that is? I have a lot to say and a well formulated opinion on everyone and everything, so give me the floor now, please? Thank you, much appreciated.

So, as I said my name is Gen, not Jen for Jennifer BUT Gen for Genevieve. I fear I present as a pretty snooty Miss Puss & Boots. I am not surprised when Momma and Wonder Boy muse that I am The Diva (not the devil) because my colors are so rich and striking in the contrast of the blackest black, the boldest orange, a wide array of varying shades of ginger to tan, with tuxedo white down my belly and paws that look like I stepped in a bowl of rich cream.

Look at my random pattern of ginger, black, tans and dollops of orange with a white tuxedo shirt, my long white whiskers and my peacock tail. No wonder I am a Diva! — Look at my random pattern of ginger, black, tan and dollops of orange with a white tuxedo shirt, my long white whiskers and my peacock tail. No wonder I am a Diva!

As a tiny female calico, I was easy to christen. Momma said I had the grace and beauty that befitted a ‘Genevieve’ – some long-lost Countess of Paris, but you can call me Gen for short.

Even as a kitten, everyone wanted to take me home because I was and still am irresistible. I am so glad to report Momma and Wonder Boy said ‘No’ to all offers because they did not feel the applicants would give me the home I deserved, where I could be loved, have lots of freedom, be spoiled a little bit, and most importantly, learn to live in harmony with both the Two and Four Footed – because – well, ‘they’ walk among us.

Although I will join in the rough and tumble with my two black and white siblings, then fall asleep in a ball with them, at the bottom of Wonder Boy’s bed, I believe at the end of the day, everyone is inferior to me. There is a lot of talk that Andy is the Brainiac but though this may seem a bit harsh on my part, I have scientific evidence to prove my superiority . For example, no one but me jumps on the kitchen table or a dresser or wherever my heart desires whenever I spy something with my little eye. To get the party started, I fish a treasure, such as a bling bracelet from a wicker basket or a watch left unattended or even a sparkly diamond ring one time and sweep it on the floor. (One time I accidentally shot Momma’s engagement ring in the gap between the floor and the floor board). Momma was on her knees with a flash light and a whisk for days, like the widow in the Gospels looking for the silver coin, not giving up, not giving in, or maybe like a good Shepherd, looking for her lost sheep.

My point is, Momma’s bad. Valuables should not be thrown down so carelessly on tables or dressers. My lesson to the Two Footed’s is simple. If it is there, I will find it and push it off the edge and Puppy Jakita, ears that can hear a bug in a rug, takes possession. The treasures may go on the Dog Bone Pillow under the kitchen table, or under the coffee table in the living room or any other little rug, in any other room in the house. Wherever Jakita puts them, she thinks, they are off-limits to any other living being, be it human or pet form.

Jakita and Gen - Gen's ready - Game on! — Jakita and Gen – Gen’s ready – Game on!

Of course, since I initiated the fun, I know the rules do not apply to me, so I may rearrange or move them to my satisfaction. Then Jakita starts growling, and it is game on with me chasing the treasure, Jakita in hot pursuit, jumping on my back and pinning me down until I reluctantly walk away. In the end, I give in to Jakita’s wishes because ‘girls just want to have fun‘ and I heard Momma say Jakita is not well so I do not want to add to her stress.

Still, I look at Momma, as if to question, ‘Does our doggie understand we are playing an old-fashioned hockey game? A little boarding is okay by why does she have to get so Tie Domi on me?‘ I think Momma understood because she said, ‘I don’t know Gen, puppies are very proud, they have to win or they feel inferior so just ignore her bad manners.

I tried to teach her better’ – yeah, Momma tried, Momma tried….still, after all, as a picture tells a thousand words, here is the proof, Jakita is my Best Friend Forever.

Senorita Jakita Confesses to a Humble Beginning

Yup, no doubt about it, all Momma said about me is true and even some she did not put on the record. It was about sleep time. As explained, I was a puppy that seemed to suffer from colic and come evening time the whole family including any cats that were inside, all were subjected to a reign of terror brought on by not only bad, but also, barn manners.

You see, every night, at the Puppy Mill, after we were a few weeks old, we would leave our Baby Mama’s side by escaping our lair and like the movie Groundhog Day, we would be traumatized daily by the other dogs, cats, the clucking hens and a vengeful rooster. Baby Mamma begged us to stay by her side, but you think we listened?

As soon as the chase race began, the hens would squawk, the dogs barked, the cats caterwauled, the cows mooed, and the horses whinnied. My puppy siblings and I would hurtle around, deeking, diving in an effort to avoid inanimate and live objects. Sometimes we would jump in the pig pen, huddling together in one corner and hide out till the din died down, Mama Pig, eying us but with non threatening grunts and squeals, communicating with her eyes, ‘You young ‘uns, never learn. When will you just obey your Baby Mama? Anyway, no worries, the enemy is not brave enough to engage me in battle’. I liked Mama Pigs’ attitude.

Once all the animals were settled down for the night, breathing deeply, or snoring, we would slink back to our Baby Mama and crawl back in to our lair to curl up for a good night’s sleep. One night, tired of waiting for sleep to descend, we cuddled up with the piglets and Mama Pig. Baby Mama was so

Just look at me - baying at the sun. Look at those lower incisor teeth, perfected over canine history by chewing on bones. Wouldn't you be scared if you saw me coming? Now if only Momma would trim the fur around my eyes, I'd be right as rain. — Just look at me – lost in the leaves, baying at the sun.

worried she came looking for us and told us never to do that again to her. And we didn’t. That is the history of the where and when the night terrors began and why we liked the sun to go down. So you might be kind enough to say, I was just a product of my environment and have compassion on me.

However, once I found my Forever Home, the cats that lived there were not buying my act. I am sure I heard them ask Momma, why would I behave like that? The last puppy, Zanny had her faults but she was not ‘loco’ for two hours every night. Momma sighed and explained that Zanny was home raised, she had been socialized since birth, interacting and loving humans from the get go. Right, I saw the Cats rolled their eyes, as they reminded Momma, they were all feral kitties, never had interacted with any human until the day Momma captured them and brought them home. Now they had a hard luck story – born in the wilds, not even a barn for shelter and they were pretty sure that they were not that much trouble. Well, gee, thanks for your warm support, I am going to remember that the next time you want to lie beside me on MY doggie pillow.

All I can tell you is I did get better, really but until I reached that milestone, I was a hurtling little time bomb. After two frenetic hours of bad behavior every evening, I would fall asleep, in a heap on my doggie pillow – at that point when I was so mean and nippy, the cats avoided me – (go figure, now, I am so well-mannered that I have to fight for a corner on my own doggie pillow). That is when the pointy eared / long-tailed little devil with the pitchfork emerged. At bed time Momma would come to pick me up to carry in to her room and I am ashamed to say, I would snarl and growl at her. She would jump back in shock, like she was bitten by a snake. I mean, what part of ‘let sleeping dogs lie’ etiquette did she not understand?.

Jakita tells a spellbound Gen about life at the barn and why she wasn't 'Miss Manners' when she first arrived at her Forever Home. Gen, her BFF, and psychologist looks deep in to Jakita's eyes, caressing her paw, to commiserate and to urge her on because, well, Gen is a practising Catholic from Woodbridge, who realizes 'Confession is good for the soul'. — Jakita tells a spellbound Gen about life at the barn. Since Gen is a Catholic Kitty from Maple, she realizes ‘Confession is good for the soul.’

Finally, exasperated, one night, at my response, Momma tweaked me on the nose and it registered, oh yeah, it is your Momma, just settle down. Startled into submission, I looked in Momma’s eyes and saw the pain and confusion my night terrors, my snarling and growling caused her. Time to let go of those barn yard manners, I realized, you don’t need it when you live in a home with food and fresh water delivered every couple of hours, long walks, a big back yard, comfy pillows, a bed, a basket of toys and some well-mannered cats to play with. That is when I made a conscious effort to get with the program and I got a secret for you. I noticed Momma changed as well, her feelings for Fidel pushed further back in her memory bank, as she committed herself to me.

Sir Beau-Re-Guard Cat

I'm a sweet♥ ...really! — I’m a sweet♥ …really!

Hi. I am Sir Beau-Re-Guard, but I don’t have a swell head, because in this life time, I am a.k.a. The Muscle. No doubt I am handsome with gleaming black and white fur that casts red light in the sun with a long tail, milky paws and the whitest of whiskers that is startling against my black countenance. I am a well proportioned Kitty with claws that can shred Kevlar, sharp incisor teeth that will leave a lasting impression, and a muscled body that can trap the enemy until he begs for mercy – even the Forest Freaks are spooked by me.

Now if this sounds like I sound conceited for just another stray alley cat, well you are wrong. The proof is in the pudding. And so, if my brother, Andy, (a.k.a The Brainiac) and my sister, Calico Gen (a.k.a. The Diva) and I go walking The Brainiac leads us, The Diva follows, reaping the benefit of being Guarded by me, The Muscle, at the end of the single file formation . Really a big softy, that loves to lay on my back beside my Momma, trapping her hand between my paws so she can scratch the top of my head, now, do my chin, oh please rub my belly as I warble and purr, seems lost on my enemies. It is as if I have a split personality, I tell you or like maybe feline bipolar, but …I do what has to be done because, like the Three Musketeers, it is: ‘All for one and one for all.’

I know from whence I came because Momma told me. It all began in a stamping plant parking lot, a long time ago. Sometimes I vaguely remember the constant thumping of the 1000 Ton Presses, endlessly turning coils of steel into auto parts that clanged as they fed into Just In Time Bins, for the ‘Big Three’ Automotive Companies. In cat nightmares I still recall the pervasive smell of the lube, and hear the irritating back up beeper of the fork lifts, as they whizzed around the parking lot. It was our lot, until the miracle of Momma, Dad (RIP) and Wonder Boy.

Those were the days - the three of us harmonized like a well run orchestra without the strings. Beau on left, Andy on right, Calico Diva Gen bridging us. — Those were the days – the three of us harmonized like a well run orchestra without the strings. Beau on left, Andy on right, Calico Diva Gen bridging us.

My next memory clip is being bottle / nipple fed by Momma or Wonder Boy, a type of gruel, heavy on watered down milk, light on baby cereal. It made me gag and choke, spewing the contents over all surfaces, be it the bathroom or the wet nurses. No surprise that I did not retain enough to stay hydrated – not good. Guess what happened to me? Wonder Boy reported my condition, Momma & Daddy rushed me to the vet, a limp, dehydrated, not responding kitten, wrapped in a towel.

Daddy, in emergency mode, made an illegal right hand turn (it is not permitted Monday to Friday, between 4:00pm to 6:00pm) on the way to the vet. Although very lucrative for our city (since it is a legal right hand turn for twenty-two of twenty-four hours in a day), still it comes as a total shock to most of the drivers, who are unaware of the trap. Having the luck of the Irish, there was one of Our City’s finest, enforcing the traffic laws, that fill the city coffers. ‘Please’, Momma said to the officer, ‘Our kitten is dying, and time is of the essence, just let us take him to the vet.’ Not only did the ‘Mr. To Serve and Protect Officer‘ do that, he said, if we would bring back the vet’s bill, he would cancel the ticket. A good guy. I am mighty thankful with your understanding the emergency at hand, Mr. Policeman. I heard Momma talking that just a little longer and it may have been game over for me.

When I was well enough to go home, I chomped down on whatever gruel I was fed, just like The Brainiac and The Diva – it always just made sense to fall in line and copy what The Brainiac did, if you had any wits about you at all.

What do I do with my time? I go out doors, I hunt, I play endless games of chase whether it be with the squirrels, my siblings, the neighborhood cats or the feral but mostly I am a front and centre solitaire, spending a lot of time resting my head on Momma’s pillow, as I slumber away. However, I still bare the curse of being a Tom Cat.

Early one morning, as the dawn was breaking, to Momma and Daddy’s horror, I even went so far as to hunt down a rabbit. I streaked across the back yard, the fully grown rabbit clamped in my jaw, trying to hide my bounty, instinctively realizing that Two Footed’s would be appalled by my outlaw hunting action when they so willingly fed me vitamin induced cat food.

Sometimes, when I decide to terrorize the indoor cats, Wonder Boy cools me down by ejecting me out into the dark, cold winter night. For the next few days, I behave like the fine gentleman cat I pretend to be, (in Momma’s presence only). She has a calming effect on me, so says Wonder Boy. But, hey, I am The Muscle, so what else would you expect from me?

Beau Beau Claims: Of course, Momma likes me the best. Here is the proof - am I not, sleeping on Momma's bed? Okay, that proves nothing but see the headboard behind me - I am on her pillows, where she lays her head each and every night. How much closer than that could I get? — Beau Beau Claims: Of course, Momma likes me the best.

However, I am special in my own unique way. When Momma says, ‘Hi Beau’, to me every morning, I reply ‘Hi’ back to Momma, not ‘Meow’, not ‘Hi Mummy’, just ‘Hi’. Then Momma gives me a sliver of a piece of her buttered toast – amazingly I love Two Footed food, although none of the other cats do.

What really inspires me is how easy it was to train Momma to use her ears and eyes to hear and see me as a unique kitty, beloved for what I bring to the equation, not what I am sadly lacking or even worse, being judged by the contributions our other cats bring. So till later….

Senorita Jakita Clarifies A Thing or Two About Momma

And she is sticking to it!!! — Jakita tells of Momma’s bloodline.

As you can well imagine, with a father who stuffed Momma’s full of stories of the animal kingdom, she and all of her siblings would have a passion for pets. It still is hard for them to go to a Pet Store or even worse, the SPCA and see those little critters, in pens, like jail cells, not understanding why they are captured, their eyes begging to be rescued. Still today, the family can not watch SPCA Advertisements or Reality Pet Rescues, or they sit and weep. The problem is, they have so many pets at home already, it defies logic to take in another mouth to feed, more vet bills and four more paws to clean up after. Listen to the tale of why Momma has irrefutable proof that befriending strays is part of her complicated DNA.

Jakita tellls Gen, Charlie, Tigger and Ruby about Momma's old maid cousin's cats. — Jakita tells Gen, Charlie, Tigger and Ruby about Momma’s spinster cousin’s cats.

One day, Momma walked in to her kitchen and saw five of our six cats, sitting on the kitchen table, napping in the sunlight, (it was before my time – they would not get away with that behavior if I had been there). Suddenly, Momma remembered something from her childhood, so many years ago. She saw her present unravel as her mind traveled back to a journey in her youth. It occurred to poor Momma, that she had turned in to her father’s old maid cousin who had more cats than, well: ‘There was an old woman who lived in the shoe, She had so many children (see cat – interchangeable), she didn’t know what to do.’

Once a year, on a summer Sunday afternoon, all of Momma’s family would pile in the car and travel down the coast to see their dear spinster cousin. The whole way down, my Grandmother-God-Rest-Her-Clean-Soul warned, that they would not even accept a cup of tea from that woman because her house was so filthy from the flea-bitten cats that covered her every table, couch, beds or any other surface, that suited their purposes.

As the family trooped into the house, they caught the unmistakable smell that comes from male cats marking their territory. Cousin Sally would be so happy to see them, so grateful to be actually interacting with humans, that it made them feel mean-spirited to refuse her bland refreshments. All of the children, for once sat in silence, thankfully letting the adults carry the conversation, in order to avoid breathing in the foul, stale air that permeated the house.

Momma tells me she has no idea what happened to all those cats when Cousin Sally joined the Family Circle in the Sky. As the old folks would say, ‘Blood is thicker than Water’ and, Momma, being like her father before her, has never learned the ‘Just-Say-No’ when it comes to strays. The more beaten up and woe-be-gone it is, the more Momma loves it.

I mean, it's not that hard...just stop the next time you see someone stumbling through an intersection. He may be headed to the hospital... From Morguefile.com DSC_1144.JPGBy kconnors — I mean, it’s not that hard…just stop , Momma.
From Morguefile.com
DSC_1144.JPGBy kconnors

Who am I to stand in judgement of Momma? Still, I keep practicing my most annoying, loud big girl woof to get the feral felines, the heck out of Jakitaville. Cats, I have noticed hate incessant barking (accept the crew that were already on-board when I made this my Forever Home – they just walk up and bat me in the face with their clawed paw, which roughly translates to ‘shut-uppa-your-face’ and I do, but not without first tattling on them to Momma.

You tell me. Has Momma been blessed or cursed with the genes of her father and her Spinster Cousin Sally, Once-Removed?

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