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.

In the end, I was loved by you.
In the end, I was loved by you.

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 walkThey 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.

BFF Gen and Jakita with Little Tigger.
BFF Gen and Jakita with Little Tigger.

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 herTime 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 Homethey 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?

 

 

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 figurehow 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 domesticatedThe 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-atude.  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.

Sick like a dog…?

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…

Jakita today and Good Boy Andy

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.