I am a little concerned. I heard Momma saying to Wonder Boy that I did not have a clue about the ‘concept of play’. And that would be important…why???
Well, excuse me, but back at the Cat Colony there were no little plastic balls with a jingle bell inside, hanging on a pretty ribbon on the boughs of the trees and bushes. No, more like dangling deer ticks and thistles, that were all out to get you and you, and oh, you too. I had to be a contortionist to remove them from my coat. When I managed to expel them, I would also pull out a patch of fur, which in turn formed scabs that became infected.
When Momma took me to the vet, because of my running sores, the gouge over my infected eyes and sprained leg, she learned……. too much information. I was high risk, with Feline Leukemia. If she wanted me indoors, I could not eat from the same dishes or use the same litter boxes as the other cats. I needed segregation, although I longed to be accepted, but not only by Jakita (who liked me from Day 1, sensing my brokeness both physically and mentally).
I can never forget the dreary, wet day, Momma took me inside, me, a wild cat, that had just recently met the Two Footed. I had no experience with dogs and had never entered an enclosed space without an escape route. Now surrounded by walls and ceilings and doors. I saw her put a comfortable cushion in the cat carrier, in the garage leaving the top off since cats always like a get-away. Then like a farmer’s wife, collecting eggs from the hen’s nest, Momma kept checking for me to take the bait. I did.
After all, when we had gone to the vet together, Momma had cried because of my condition. I knew I had taken over her heart. I trusted this woman. So I dragged my weak body and useless leg on to the inviting cushion, out of the rain. She came out, threw a towel over my eyes to keep me from freaking out, picked up the cat carrier and took me inside, leaving me alone in a small room alone to chill out. I inherently knew, Momma had my back, my belly, my very kitty being. I hid under the claw footed bathtub and peaked out, perplexed about the gurgling toilet.
From time to time Momma would come in, get down on the floor, look at me, all the while talking softly, then leave me alone. As I grew braver, I slid between the end of the tub and the wall, inching closer so Momma could reach out to brush and stroke me. As time progressed and I was more at ease, Momma put ointment on my eyes and scabs, fed me antibiotics, food enrichment and tiny little vitamin packed treats. The truth be told, what I liked the most about my new life, was having a full dish of cold water. A fever can leave you devilishly thirsty.
There was no stopping Momma. Still, it was a dilemma for the Two Footed who are supposed to rationalize, rather than emotionalize, facts and figures.
But that playing stuff, I mean I tried, domesticated cat rules, I used Momma’s scratching pads for my claws, her litter box, ate and drank carefully to not have crumbs and dribbles on the carpet, always self groomed after every meal but…I didn’t do balls on strings, yet. Like, is that a problem?
I wanted to be PURRFECT for Momma and Wonder Boy. Then I learned (rather indignantly) although I probably should have felt proud, that I was going to be subjected to the on-line (of course) Cat Intelligence Test. I was only beaten by, you guessed it, Andy The Brainiac who of course bested me by his reaction over a piece string Momma teased us with. Logically, I had ignored the string, rather than becoming ‘engaged’. Heck, over at The Colony, it is like being in The Big House, you don’t ‘engage’ the unknown, you ignore it, and maybe, live to see another day. And being as suspicious as I am, I wondered if maybe The Brainiac had been tested before and knew what the expectations were in order to qualify as an Einstein Cat.
As you can understand, I am a textbook product of my scary, past environment. I probably need lots of years of cat psychology. But I do have a lot of love to give because well, all you need is love. If I have to ‘play’ to be a well-rounded cat for Momma, so be it. I am on it, as soon as I feel good enough to jump, run, and act like a frisky kitten. After all, if the ten-year old Diva Calico Gen, can bat balls on ribbons on door knobs, find treasures to push from table tops to the floor, or in the corners, I’ll ‘just do it’ and make Momma’s day, even if it means that all the while I will be chased by a barking super-hyper Jakita, who can’t decide if she should join the fun or tattle on us and get us in trouble.
I am working on getting this ‘play concept’, honestly! Any suggestions?
Email: housekeeping@hotdogcoolcats.com
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