housekeeping

Pretty Little Miss Kat Mandu

Shangri la ...as Momma imagines... — Shangri la …as Momma imagines…Fr: Morguefiles By: hot black

OK, you are right, my name – sounds like Kathmandu – the Capital of Nepal.

It was assigned by Lover Boy, Wonder Boy’s friend, brother-in-arms as well as his drunk and disorderly tank mate – well, at least on one occasion….(oh, was I not suppose to say that)? My Bad…What did Bambi’s Momma say again – oh, yeah, ‘If you don’t have something nice to say, don’t say anything at all.’ Who cares? I am just a manipulative Sociopath from the Moraine. Who would believe me anyway?

But now, well, now, I am Angel Cat Mandu, gone to my greater reward and I do see the universe and what I contributed to it, well from a panoramic 360 degree wide-angle. Maybe I was a Feline Sociopath with my divide & conquer skills, leading poor Charlie astray, a bit!! I was the most senior, although smallest feline. As such, it was expected for me to take charge. Forget that. As a feral, taken in somewhere around six to eight months old, I already had a well-developed ‘Survival-of-the-Fittest’ in a Tough-Love World.

I always looked like an Angel rather than a little she-devil who endlessly manipulated both the Two Footed and the Four Footed, especially poor, naive Charlie. — I always looked like an Angel rather than a scheming little she-devil who endlessly manipulated both the Two Footed and the Four Footed, especially poor, naive Charlie.

I exhibited the normal traits of ginger and black, with white trim only, a long-haired calico that was accompanied with a regal bushy tail and white bib and paws. (Momma said it looked like I stepped diffidently through white paint). As a rule, a Calico is generally prone to be withdrawn, and skittish. However, when I was rescued from the moraine in York Region, I had never even darkened the doorway of a house before. I had zero interaction with the Two Footed menagerie, and only ever lived in an outdoor Cat Colony. Therefore, once inside, I promptly bolted out of the carrying case and disappeared for three days.

Poor Momma searched in vain in her small house, embarrassed to tell anyone that she had lost a stray kitten she had ‘rescued….LOL.’ Where was I, you ask? Hiding in plain sight in Momma’s bedroom, no less. The first night, lights out, I stayed put under the bed, behind a suitcase. I moved an iota, something fell over. Momma jumped, turned on the lights, got on her hands and knees, peered under the bed, nothing. Must be the squirrels, trying to break in the attic, she thought as she fell back to sleep. The second night Momma was really perplexed. She could have sworn some creature swooped on to her bed. Again when she turned on the overhead light, nothing was revealed so she drifted back to the Land of Snooze, even though she had a missing-in-action feral somewhere in her possession. Go figure – how could she have missed connecting the dots on that one?

On the third day, Momma came home from work and was discussing something with Wonder Boy in her bedroom. Out I jumped. I had needs. No food or bathroom privileges for three days can even make a feral desperate. Momma held me, talking softly while Wonder Boy got food. From that day forward I did my own thing, mostly hiding out in the basement but coming up to the food dishes to eat with the other cats in the house.

Within a month I had been trundled off to the vet to get my vaccines and that nasty surgery that meant ‘no kitties’ – that worked for me. Once over that ordeal, I chose to be an indoor cat, afraid when a door was opened, to cross the threshold. Then at two years old I followed another one of our cats to the back yard.

Thus started my legacy as an Indoor / Outdoor Cat – for about three weeks. I would disappear three days at a time, and then sneak back in for a couple of days till the wander lust took over again. I was hooked, addicted to my past. Finally, I tired of the out-door life and remained inside, stretching in a patch of light in the sun porch or hiding out in the basement. When two feral kittens were brought home, I ignored them because I now felt Four Feet Bad – Two Foot Good. I still took comfort by jumping on Momma’s bed to have an afternoon siesta, choosing the bottom of the bed to sleep on. But don’t stretch out beside me, Momma or I am out-of-here. ‘Don’t stand so close to me’, was my battle song.

The next year, can you believe it, without consulting me, Momma brought home an additional three kittens. Now my personality hardened, it got even more strident. I not only wanted, but demanded attention, with my annoyingly loud meow. Don’t kid yourself. Life had been a battle field on the moraine, even the Two Foot Good were suspect, breeding us for money, dumping us, if the pet stores did not want us. And the Forest Freak in Peel Region, easy breezy, in comparison to the Forest Freak we met up with on the Moraine.

Not where I was actually born but my nest was down the hill, in a forest, under a big fir tree. From Morguefile.com 4 Walk in Mt Jerusalem National Park 10Aug2014.jpg By johnlindsay — My birthplace. From Morguefile.com
4 Walk in Mt Jerusalem National Park
10Aug2014.jpg By john lindsay

Now, I can’t say for sure but Forest Freaks up there were rumored to be part wildcat, part coyote with fox and Canadian Wild Geese, that would attack any critter, anywhere, anytime and yes, goes without saying, they love the Moraine. And just the thought of them scared me (clawed paws, scissor sharp teeth and wings that flap furiously – a nightmare). However, no matter how clever I thought I was, now I never would be able to find the Moraine which was forty kilometres east, even if I was looking, but no, I wasn’t. This little house of Momma’s suited me dandy, even if I was more wild than domesticated. The only thing I hated was Momma’s need to nurture strays forcing her to bring home more abandoned kitties.

Charlie, under my spell, never far from the basement door then ! — Charlie, under my spell, never far from the basement door then!

Although I resisted all friendly overtures from the kitties, I finally decided to choose at least one who would have my back. Naturally, it had to be a Calico, a kitty that looked like me – that would be a ‘no thanks’ to the Black and Whites. And.. that Virginia, is how I lured Charlie to become ‘The Phantom…. my power over her, grew stronger yet’ making her choose to live her life in a dark, dreary, damp basement instead of in the sunshine, on the back of the couch, where she could have enjoyed watching the neighbor hood.

Life in the ‘Hood’ means choosing sides and blind allegiance to unworthy leaders who needs at least one follower. Ka-ching, Ka-ching, I had one, named Charlie.

Senorita Jakita: I Am What I Am

So with Momma always busy with let-the-cats-in, let-the-cats-out, when does she get time to meet my expectations and requirements? I am the Alpha, the Omega, the Ultimate Earth Dog, according to my Naturopath, worrying about everyone and everything I come in to contact with. It is a job tailor-made for a puppy with dog-a–tude. For example, when all else fails, I will go on record to say that my powers of healing literally hauled Itty-Bitty Baby back to the world of the living, although science will never recognize my highly unsubstantiated talents and ability.

Applying layers of healing to poor, sick Itty Bitty Baby. — Applying layers of healing to poor, sick Itty-Bitty Baby.

And I tell you, I got to put up with a lot because my ears hear the butterflies flapping their wings in flight from Africa. So I know, I know what those squirrels in the trees, the feral cats over at the colony or the people in the neighborhood, are up to. Then I have to keep track of our cats, three at present but there is no trusting Momma, could be five or six – once it was seven – Gasp! Seven?

Please don’t give me another worry by reporting us to the City who will call Animal Control, who will dutifully come to deliver a half-hearted, wink-wink admonishment because if Momma won’t help those poor cats, they will end up at their over crowded shelter. Just thank God there are no dog colonies around here because I don’t want to share my food, my water, my toys, my pillows, my Momma or my Wonder Boy. They are mine, mine, mine.

Do you see the gleam in my eyes and the wildly divergent shades of black tipped silver, gold, beige, and browns with a white shirt. Look at those creamy paws and that feathery tail -Do I look 'mavellous dawling'? — Do I not look ‘marvelous, darling’?

Now, get down to business, what do you look like, you ask – big hang up of Masters and their families – almost like a puppy’s looks are a reflection of the families’ beauty, so to speak. I am Havanese, Diva material…. A Sable-Irish Pied for those in the know and or a White shirt and paws, Sable (Gold/Silver Grey with Black Tipped Tan coat) tuxedo – a Havanese with perfect markings, a sturdy little body that floats like a butterfly, stings like a bee – or that was me until I flunked every canine blood and bone marrow test. But hey, nothing that blood transfusions couldn’t put straight, along with taking some gruesome mood altering prescription drugs. When they hit my system, I would no longer eat, I vacuumed, sucking up food or rocks, or twigs, or dirt – like I was fussy. And I was so grouchy and hard to get along with – the cats skittered past me, eyes cast down to avoid confrontation – it is not me, honestly, it was the drugs. Good news – FREE AT LAST – I no longer need medication and I am fit as a fiddle.

So what do you have – something off with my Red Blood Cell Count. How did you know you were sick, you ask? I didn’t, I just was tired, so tired, and no longer wanted to eat. After seeing our Vet, a call came that my Red Blood Cell Count was so low I needed an immediate blood transfusion to survive – but not just anywhere, at an Emergency Clinic for pets in the most dire straights, where each patient has an Emergency Intake Vet assigned, then Specialists according to your condition from Oncologists, to Cardiologists, to Internists, to Neurologists, yeah you get where I am coming from. It would be intimidating if it wasn’t for my pure bred blood – after all most of the clients are from Oakville so….. that means, well, those Mommas and their puppies wear matching diamond and pearl chokers.

However, the good news for the puppies is that they did not have to wear matching killer heels like their Momma’s wear. My Clumsy Mumsy would break her ankle if not her neck. Anyway, who cares about diamond and pearl chokers. Before any serious procedures are done, we are stripped of all hardware so whether you belong to a ‘Real-Housewife of Beverley Hills or Oakville’ or your run of the mill Momma from Jakitaville, same policies and procedures are followed. We are all equal on the gurney, under the powerful LED Operation Lighting System that scrutinizes every detail for the diligent surgeons to consider. I LIKE that!

And so…….after three different clinics…… various medical / specialist vets and one Medical Holistic Vet, all is well…for now… toes crossed…

If it sounds time-consuming, it was…..and if it sounds expensive, ditto…But now I am healthy and earn my keep by entertaining, and protecting Momma.

Mostly I keep those cats in line, all the while, showering Wonder Boy and Momma with love and wet kisses because, well,….

I know which side my bread is buttered on.

Pretty Little Miss Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte (Charlie)

Little Miss Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte (aka Charlie), big green eyes complimented by the streak of white on my nose, the ginger and black around my eyes and you are right, I was the Calico with the most black in my fur. — Little Miss Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte (aka Charlie.

My name is Charlie, short for Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte, but nobody has called me that in a way long time – I mean, I am called Kitty, or Pussy-Cat-Pussy-Cat-Where-Have-You-Been but never Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte – if I gave a pop quiz, I bet you not one of our house guests and their hang-a-longs would remember when I used to have a name, fit for a Girlie Kitty, because I’d been to London to Visit the Queen. I have been told I am now called Pretty Little Miss Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte Cat but just call me Charlie, I will come…now-a-days…but it was not always that way….

You see, years ago, before I got all Amish, shunning Momma like she was the dreaded ‘English’, I had an amazingly contented life. But then Cat Mandu happened. It is no wonder Momma called me her ‘Phantom-of-the-Opera-Cat’, with my mental health issues that may have been learned or inherited. I skulked around downstairs, only coming up to the food dishes, hissing and snarling at every cat that dared to come near – even though there were 6 dishes and truth be told, I could only eat from one of them at a time. But I had seniority and let every cat wait till I got my fill of food & water (if I got my fill), that was my reasoning.

It was not always like that. I had been rescued from a manufacturing facility as a feral kitten along with my sister, Black and White Mao. Can I tell about her, please, please – no, she has to tell her own story, well, OK, I guess. We were dirty from crawling around lube laden bins and food dumpsters, scrounging for our next meal. In order for us to meet standards apparently in place for domesticated cats, Momma almost drowned us by bathing us in water and scrubbing us down with Dawn Dish Detergent (well, drowning might be harsh, Momma let us keep our heads above water, as our little legs and paws trod the water furiously). You should have seen us, we looked like a Tom & Jerry cartoon, fur flattened in gobs, our ears bent backwards – we were towel dried, that felt good but I had to shake my head forever to get the water out of my ears. Good news is we learned to self groom so never went through that indignity again.

Then we were set up in a room with a lot of cleanser smells, porcelain and gurgling water, like the Creek my Baby Momma took us to. The Shower Stall was set up with towels, a litter box, whhaaattt??? And food and water in shiny dishes you could see your face and whiskers in, once it was emptied, of course. We were no longer in Kansas, Toto.

In no time (what is time to a kitten, you ask?), our boundaries expanded, we moved to a larger bathroom, then we were allowed to roam in the bedroom and the bathroom so consistently hid under Momma’s bed. No one could find me, even poor Momma who got on her hands & knees with a flash light, could not find me – but as she left, she said to the room at large, ‘You will come out when you are hungry.” That is one astute Momma – but those were the days when formation of character was happening and somehow, I fell off the track……………..It started out fine, before Cat Mandu from the Moraine taught me her version of the George Orwell, Animal Farm philosophy – some 4 Footed, good, 2 Footed all bbbbaaaaaddddd!!!

Once we had the free range of our new home, I would creep in to my Momma’s room at night, jump on her bed, stretch my growing body against her legs, and nod off to never-never land where I won all the battles and had an endless supply of fresh food and water.

However during the day I am sorry to say I came under the influence of Cat Mandu (I know, I know the rules, she tells her own story). She was already living with Momma when Mao and I arrived. Like me, Mandu was a Calico Cat and maybe because of my coloring, she became my Baby Momma, through adoption. She had no time for a Black and White Cat so Mao was left out of our inner circle – sweet, small and curious Mao was the first casualty of my shunning. How could I have done that to my own sister? But one thing, I promise, I never hissed at her when she was at the food dish. She and Mandu both were on the “Do Not Hiss List” I created in my head. So I agree, I am a bit bipolar, but aren’t all calico cats?

I love posing for a pictures, showing off the beauty of the random dollops of colors, weaved in to an exquisite pattern. I understand that the Calico tri-color pattern is difficult to breed for because it is scientifically based, dependent on a series of X chromosomes. doing their thing. That is all I know about it. — I love posing for a pictures.

Now, now that Cat Mandu is History, I heard Momma claim, like a Monarch caterpillar, I have morphed into a chrysalis and emerged as a multi-colored butterfly, (albeit with thick clumps of mattered furs) – that is why now she calls me Pretty Little Miss Calico Butterfly Charlie. We’ll catch up later – I have lots to say, these days.

Senorita Jakita Explains the Policies and Procedures

And so it came to be I called a meeting with Momma’s collection of Indoor and Indoor/Outdoor cats. I negotiated terms and conditions, after feedback, discussion and consensus, from the lot of them:

1) We needed a name of our place of abide (just guess who suggested Jakitaville).

2) Because of the lofty duties I must exercise judicially, I needed a title – I was hoping Queen or Empress or even Princess but majority rules and the Cats were set on Senorita Jakita. They considered Mayor but they vetoed the idea because they do not have the power to vote me out. And if my head got too big and I did not carry out my duties, I’d still hang around, bossing and bullying (like another Mayor you may remember), become a binge party animal that did not respond well to intervention. Right, we got something in common (immeasurable egos), but ya think they are going to fire me??? I’ll get a lawyer, I will go to court, I will make their life miserable! Does that sound like someone you know, that is in the news every day?

Just between you and me, Jakitaville will turn in to a dictatorship – a benevolent dictatorship, but still NOBODY messes around with Jakita and her genius of manipulation and self-aggrandizement.

3) Once I had all the cats on side, (okay, okay, I bribed them by promising that the male members would also have the title of Sir in front of their given Name and the females would be known as The Pretty Little Misses (eg. Pretty Little Miss Diva Calico Gen) – got all that – yeah, my eyeballs are going round and round in my head, but I am still the Boss. Oh, and more thing, although I could mention them in my blog, the cats insisted they were to have their own voice and be able to insert their version of events before, during and after, in their very own, cat-a-log. Whatever!!!!!

The Alter of our Shangri-La, with raw and polished gems of every color, butterflies and angels who look over us through cut stain glass, creating prisms and rainbows along the way. — The Alter of our Shangri-La.

And so, we are living the dream, turning our Shangri-La into an oasis, where every critter lives in peace, knowing its’ boundaries, doing ‘no harm’ with all due loyalty and support to Momma, Wonder Boy and Daddy (May He Rest In Peace). We must give credit where it is due and remember who pays for our kibble, our room and board, grooming, vet bills and generally keeps the ship on course – if only Momma would not be so easily seduced by every sad, bedraggled feral who look so needy and cries so pitifully because they are so hungry. If only. Why don’t the feral cats just stay at the Cat Colony?

Why is there no law and order Border Security, like between Mexico and United States – a Trumpster wall, well, scratch that, the desperate always find a way over, under or through. They are so committed to succeed or die trying, they are even willing to put up with me. But I am a piece of cake compared to the creatures that lurk around the Cat Colony.

Sir Andy-Long-Legs

Andy-Long-Legs begs: Please, please, please, leave me out..... — Andy-Long-Legs begs: Please, please, please, leave me out…..

Okay, I insist, I must go first because I have so much to contribute since, well, I am Sir Andrew Long Legs, (Andy for short). When I yawn, my jaws separate so widely that I could swallow a full-grown pumpkin. Sometimes I emit a guttural growl that starts at my toes, and moves up my body to join the air emanating from my lungs, creating a storm that spews from my mouth and ears, putting fear in all critters, even me, truth be known.

In the beginning, when we found our Forever Home, the vet told Momma that two of the kitties she had rescued from work, were female and one was a male. So I was called Antoinette – till Momma and Daddy caught me in the act, indulging my male testosterone level with poor, innocent Gen. Daddy grabbed me, Momma picked up Gen to soothe her and let her know that there was a cure for that dastardly deed and it would be imposed forthwith. I was renamed – Andrew or Andy-Long-Legs because I have such a long body and legs.

The surgery for the cure was promptly moved forward. Even though I was not sure exactly why, still, it still made me feel like I had committed one of the Seven Sins – notwithstanding, I wasn’t chastised in any way and it had no long-term psychological effect on me, honestly.

After healing from the surgery, my siblings (Beau and Gen) and I, quickly became Indoor / Outdoor cats. We would wander over to the neighbors’ yards or across the street to pick up the other members of our feline only ‘gangsta’ club from the Cat Colony or the neighbor hood. We would hang out on street corners, sauntering down the side-walk, sometimes three deep. However, by nature, we are hunters (our Baby Momma cat did not get a chance to teach us, and I can assure you, Momma is clueless about stalking prey). Most of our outside time was spent at the Creek or in our front or back yard. I tell you that there are no more mice, pretty little birds, bees or butterflies in Jakitaville. Unfortunately, it is the law of nature, we cull the herd.

Once the hunting is done, it is time for a nap, on a lawn chair, in the sun on a cool day, or in the shade, in the heat of summer.

Ready, Set, Go for the game of tag with Andy-Long-Legs.

When I wake up, all refreshed and energized, I go looking for a game of chase with Mr. Grey Squirrel. Since the back yard is a Squirrel Free Zone, patrolled and enforced by Jakita (our Hot Dog), Mr. Grey Squirrel scampers back and forth on the fence that encloses our yard, screeching, dive bombing from the fence to the cherry tree to the roof of the garage –all the time secure in the knowledge I can never catch him.

In no time, Mr. Grey Squirrel is complaining because I tired him out. He takes a timeout high in the red maple, chirping and upbraiding me, his beady eyes keeping watch while the leaves camouflage his rat like body and his big, bushy tail. Feeling I have accomplished a full day, I push my way through the hole in the screen door (that I created for ease of entry). I go in the house meowing, ‘Hey, I am back. did you miss me?’ and head to my usual spot on the living room couch. When I am lucky, I even find another kitty to curl up with, for what else…. a cat nap.

The Kit-and-Ka-Budle Left Black and White Sir Beau-Re-Guard, Pretty Little Miss Calico Gen (centre) and me Black and White Sir Andy Long Legs (Right) — The Kit-and-KaBoodle: Beau-Re-Guard, Gen and me, Andy Long Legs (Right)

Senorita Jakita – Intro to a Hot Dog

Hi New Friends: I am Senorita Jakita – AKA: Cuddle-Wuddle-Double- Trouble, Itsy-Bitsy-Baby- Boo or Jakita-Boo- Couchie-Coo Residence: Jakitaville, Canada Position Held: Little Miss Senorita Jakita Breed: Havanese Born: Feb.2, 2010 Weight: A Lady Never Tells…

Do you mind, please indulge me, just so you get to know me. This is the story of the protagonist, Jakita, descended from a fine line of designer dogs, (nod, nod, wink, wink) as shared by my Forever Family and with my fellow Pets, and Wildlife (mostly antagonists), Vets, Emergency Doctors, an Internist and, oh yeah, a dog like me, needs a Naturopath. So listen and learn – what you see is maybe not all you get. Do ya think I have them wrapped around my little paw-paw or are they too puppy-savvy for that? You be the judge.

I admit I have a Type A Personality with Excessive High Alert when on Prednisone. Also, my head seems to be on 360 degree swivel tilt – I see, feel, hear everything. For example on walks, I hear, see, feel people coming up, at any angle. I will stop, move over, only continuing once any potential threat has passed. No one is to follow me. My paranoia demands that I must control the situation.

The first night at my new home I was so stressed to leave the litter, I panted, my heart raced a hundred miles an hour but I was compliant, settling down to sleep in my cage. I was taken to the Vet within 2 days of coming home. I was / am EASILY trained both at housebreaking and or tricks but did not seem to like people too much from lack of socialization. Every human just said ‘No’, continually bathed, wiped my paws, cleaned my ears, or bossed me around. My two brothers & sister were much more fun. They did not give me such a rigid routine to follow and liked getting in trouble with me.

Momma says some times we can not help our rash behavior...it depends on the alignment of the planets on the day you are born...apparently Zanny's chart was capricious. — Momma says some times we can not help our rash behavior…it depends on the alignment of the planets on the day you are born…

Momma, being obsessively Virgo Analytical had to do Dog IQ test on me & the result from the tests, string over head, follow ball etc., reported I was brilliant and she was just lucky I liked her. She laughed out loud because when she first brought me home, she felt my indifference and she was right, as always. I did not like her but over time, as I saw her soul (and she fed me) that has changed. I mean Havanese came from Europe (Spain and France) to Cuba, with generations of my ancestors considering Momma ‘s type hopeless gringos and / or square heads, so I had some attitude adjusting to contemplate if this was my destiny long-term. More importantly, now, I am older and wiser.

I have become very sociable with people, kids, and some other pets. I am a neighbor hood favourite and definitely like people better than dogs, especially big dogs who give off bad energy. I avoid them like the plague. I love to tussle with our cats in a no winner, end up kissing, routine. After all, they are my responsibility – if they need out, I bark for Momma to open the door. If they are sick, I lay with them, but still, if they jump on the table I tattle on them. It is a big job.

Although Momma says I am a dominant Alpha Dog, I prefer how my Naturopath Doctor says I am the Ultimate Earth Dog, responsible for the security and well-being of all within my circle of influence. So, it is time to tell how I got the honor of having our Pet Sanctuary, named Jakitaville, after me. Could it be that my Alpha Dog personality played a role in it? No, really it was simple – Momma & Daddy (RIP) had a slew of pets over the years, loosely set up like a well run commune, everyone had a say, which meant since puppies were outnumbered, kitties ruled and smirked behind their clawed paws. I know how those Cat Colonies operate. All of our cats had been feral foundlings at one time (like we all descended from Adam and Eve, no matter our high brow ways), but were just enormously lucky to have crossed paths with Momma – OK, me too. But they were not ‘to the manor’ born, and I know, I know, I may be the product of a, gasp! – Puppy Mill, but at least there was a record kept of who my Baby Momma and Baby Daddy were. My blood was bluer than the cats. On top of that I not only stepped up to the podium, I owned it. I told our Indoor, Indoor/Outdoor Cats, you might as well get used to it, Momma is going to nurture Cats from the Colony, Squirrels, Raccoons, even the Bunnies that raid the lettuce from the garden and of course that lonely possum who hangs upside down in the tree at night.

As Senorita Jakita of Jakitaville, I am constructing a Policy and Procedure Handbook of All Creation, (it is underway as we speak), in which I promise to keep all vermin out of the back yard by chasing, barking, snarling and nipping, when nothing else works. Mind you, those Colony cats persevere, through floods, blizzards and Arctic vortexes. They will hang around for shelter and food, knowing if Momma catches me being inhospitable, she will command me to cease and desist.

All you need to know about it is contained between these covers!

Sometimes I fear Momma will never even open the ‘Policies and Procedures Handbook of All Creation’ that I am writing. She says, she does, ‘cute idea, but not going to fly’ .

Knowing Momma’s propensity to not recognize ‘genius’, she probably would have told Mark Zuckerberg the same thing about Facebook.

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