Category: Cool Cats

So as my new-found reality (See Post: Andy’s Plight Without a Fight) of unconquerable pain wore on, I was sorry – sorry I teased Charlie, chased Clem and generally caused mayhem.  I wouldn’t do that again – if only it would make the agony pass.

Truth be told, the longer I sat  at the front door, waiting for it  to ‘open sesame’, I felt meaner and meaner.  The sky brightened, the sun rose and so did Momma.  Of course she noticed right away that I was hopping along on three paws but she is not the panic OMG type – more like the wait and see type. Apparently I wasn’t a priority. Where did I hear that one before?

As the days went on, I got meaner and meaner with the cats as I dragged around putting as little pressure as possible on my right paw.  My little white paw started to swell, like a balloon.  I could no longer eat.  I did not go outside.  I felt done like a dinner.  Momma said it was vet time….

Vets come in all stripes, you know.  Some are compassionate to a fault, others look at Momma and say, ‘It’s just a cat. You can get another one.’ What pray tell does that mean? Am I expendable?  Have I not claimed a spot in the heart of my family?  Won’t they miss my low purrs and louder meows (to be left outdoor) if I am gone?   Let’s call the vet I saw Dr. Practical Empathy.  He was absolutely kind to me but since the only cure for my swollen paw was an operation, the vet informed Momma another option available was to put me down. Huh? Did I hear that correctly? Momma was shocked.  ‘No, Andy is healthy, well–loved and an integral part of our family. Operate.’  Phew.  Cats really do have nine lives, it . Muchas gracias, Momma.

So it came to pass, I was whisked in to surgery and woke up with a cast like bandage on my right paw.  It did not feel right but, good news, the pain had turned to just the discomfort of  restriction.  And all the staff fussed over me, telling me how brave I was. A few hours later, Momma came to take me  home, home on the range, where the dog, cats, skunks, raccoons and rabbits roam…and a few foolhardy mice.  Dr. Practical Empathy told Momma another cat (he could tell by the size of the teeth mark) had bitten clear through my bone.  Sounds like I met up with the dreaded Forest Freak.

Let me tell you, I was given a Royal Welcome when I got home.  Jakita rushed over to sniff and air kiss me.  Even Diva Calico Gen got up and sauntered over, and massaged me with her head.  Charlie stood back and observed but seeing how I was not quite at par, she did not hiss.  That was a first.  I guess she like the new non-threatening pathetic Andy.

I hobbled over to the kitty hotel, jumped on the roof, away from all the love.  I had some healing to do…don’t interrupt me…but thanks for caring….I’ll tell you the details later……

Now being the Diva Calico Gen is WAY cool.  I pick my spot on the back of the couch in the sun porch, stretch out and flex my front paws, holding them up,  so that the rainbows cast by the disco crystal ball colors each claw nail a different shade of happy.  I imagine the light weight diamond stud earrings that will one day be in my pointy ears will bring even more light in to a world that is burdened with unseen yet heavy dark forces. 

It is my job to lighten up the world at large and live each day to contribute joy, love and peace, well sometimes.  I mean, don’t ask for a reference from that little mouse Wonder Boy caught me tossing in the air and catching, just for a lark and a laugh….Yuck, I am not going to eat it….I’ve got a Momma to feed me.

Still, day in, day out, when I am not dreaming of changing the world of felines by giving them access to fingernail polish, glittering earrings and teeny tiny stiletto high heel shoes (still working out how we will walk in them), I nap a lot, on Momma’s bed and I beg a lot for food to be served in my food dish, right on that very same bed.

But Houston, we got a problem because Charlie, who I would never refuse, has a notion she should be able to eat out of my dish….She looks at me with those unwavering green eyes, clumps of fur bristling, communicating, Momma loves me too.  And Momma does.  But Momma is hopeless.  She loves strays and even those poor underfed orphans from down at the creek. 

Momma loves the underdog  and I am an ‘under’ nothing.   No, no, no, I am more like what you’d call a going concern.  This may sound conceited but still, true story. Every cat wants to be me….because who does not want to shed light in the world.

And I am savvy enough to know I am a lucky one…first plucked from a manufacturing bin where I would have been crushed by First Tier Metal Automotive Parts….then taken home by Momma…adopted by Wonder Boy…and kept in line by the gentle Jakita because, well, I can get frisky….like a wild stallion, leading a pack of horses, thundering across the fenceless fields. When I take off on a tear, chubby little Jakita takes off behind me.  Sometimes I slow down so she can catch me.  She leaps on my back, pinning me to the floor, nibbling my ears, as I complain just loud enough for Momma to hear and reprimand Jakita, troublemaker that I am. 

However, I know the repercussions should Andy had been in the house, Big Bro though he is. If I woke him up racing around, the punishment would have been much more severe.  He doesn’t seem to have the gift of play.  He would have pounced on me and bit my delicate little ear lobes.

That is why I miss Bro’ RIP Beau.  He would never have allowed Andy to board me, like a hockey player on steroids. In Beau’s eyes, I could do no wrong and Andy respected Beau’s muscle mass – no wonder I miss him. The solution is simple.  I make sure Bad Boy Andy is outside before I go wild.

 

But you know how it is ….. as Cyndi Lauper says, ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.’

Ya with, me?

It’s not easy being a Bad Boy.….nobody approves of you, unless you happen to be fighting their battle.  Now being a Brainiac is easy-breezy.  Everyone wants you on your Team …. they want the Bad Boy attitude with a well thought-out considered response to avoid confrontation. 

It used to be so easy or at least that is the way I remember it, when my Big Bro’ Beau had my back, my front and my sides too. Life has changed since our Protector Beau took his blue cloud to join RIP Daddy in Heaven.

First off our Diva Calico Gen has become more skittish.  While Beau roamed the highways and the byways of our lives, Gen would stay out past 10:00pm.  On a moonlit summer night the three of us would routinely troupe together, me first, Gen second and Beau bringing up the rear. Over the street, under the fence, down the hill to the creek we would roam.  Not any more. Gen would rather be safe inside, than take her chances with me as her Protector.  After what happened to me who could blame her?

It was a beautiful night.  I remembered Momma had said FDR claimed that ‘the only thing to fear is fear itself.’. .. I was good with that.  I would go trekking by myself, I would.  It was so easy.  I pushed under the fence, peered around to give myself the ‘all clear’ and whammo.  It was like I stepped on a buried hand grenade. Sharp teeth sunk deep through my bone, eliciting piecing pain in my right paw.

What the Sam Hill was that?  Could it be that long talked about Forest Freak that I thought was an old wive’s tale to keep cats inside the house?    I emitted a guttural growl that started at my toes, and spewed from my mouth and ears, deafening my attacker, who bolted away at the speed of lightning, never to be seen again. The silence of the dark forest was broken wide open as rabbits, mice, raccoons and squirrels scrambled to gather up their young ones and disappear into the dense woods. Birds squawked and flapped their wings,  as they too recognized danger had replaced the tranquility of the night.

Like the Farmer in the Dell Rhyme, ‘The Cheese Was Left Alone.’ I had no one to help me. I belly crawled up the hill, under the fence in unbelievable pain, no idea what had happened.  Some Brainiac I was.  Without Beau-Re-Guard I was helpless to defend myself from these thuggish guerrilla warfare tactics.

Still, I had a plan.  I would go wait on the bench for Momma to open the door.  She could fix it.  She can fix anything!

As the Fashionista Kitty Cat of the Kitty Club Med, the Neighborhood Cats and the Cat Colony, I must keep my eye out for up coming trends and then reject or accept and implement them.  I know, I see you, smirking  but this is a real job for a Kitty Cat who has vision, loves glitter and is still working on bringing those high heels and sparkly eye lashes to the kitty market.

Besotted feline lovers are every where, willing to indulge their precious tabbies, although some of them are ashamed to admit it. Derision is heaped on  the Cat Lady or the poor Cat Man who indulges his soul and forges an inexplicable bond with a feline who everyone knows can not possibly replace the love of a dog. My take on that theory is a lot of the Two Footed know ‘nawthing about nawthing’. Still. dogs may be all things wise and wonderful as well as fine pillows to sleep on (at least Jakita is) but they are high maintenance, and sometimes hard on your ears, you know.

First off a Two Footed Owner has to train a dog to do just about anything. Sit, stand, stay, run, fetch, drop, wave, wiggle, you get it – oh, and house break them.  Not cats.  Momma just put a litter tray in the bathroom, closed us in the first few days and we figured it out ourselves.  No road map.  No GPS. No ‘Go Pottie’.  We got it, Pontiac.

Momma doesn’t have to take us for a walk.  We choose if we want to follow her and Jakita on their walks but otherwise,  we have it figured out.  We can walk leisurely or stealthily or thunder whenever, wherever we want at any given time, not on some dead set rigid schedule. Still it is kind of fun to tag along with Momma and Jakita, run ahead, hide in the bushes, then jump out at them.  Momma stops to pet us and try to get us home safely but we got that too, Momma.  We cross the road to the creek and back a dozen times a day.

Then there is the grooming.  What’s up with that, huh?  Jakita digs in the mud, jumps in puddles, then expects Momma to bath, brush and blow dry her.  I must admit.  I love getting brushed myself and if I am out in the rain, when Momma opens the door to let me in, I expect her to pick the fluffiest towel and dry me down promptly.  Failure to comply on her behalf, results in my giving her a proper dressing down.  I always say, ‘A dry cat is a happy cat.’

Yet I can’t deny, my BFF (Best Friend Forever) is Jakita.  She is definitely demanding and high maintenance but she has a good head on her shoulders and a non judgemental tender heart.  Sometimes I think because she grew up in a minority, she likes cats (especially me, but Andy will do when Momma vacuums and Charlie when I am outside) more than dogs that sniff to long, bark too loud or worse still, have to show their dominance over her.  You got to know Jakita.  Inside of her lives a warrior that can take care of business, anyone’s business.

What I know is, dog lovers, cat lovers they are usually all good people. We got to put aside some dog owner superiority.  And, I  got  a secret.  Somewhere deep in my heart I feel the same way about Jakita that she does for me. That begs the question if a dog and cat can be best friends forever, what is wrong with those  hard-headed, critical Two Footed pet owners that pit a dog’s loyalty against an adorable, playful, agile cat? Just ask Jakita and I. We both bring love to the table….and love is a grand thing, init???

 

I love nights. I know what you are thinking. All cats love nights – they are nocturnal.  Yes, we like to prowl around, hide in bushes, then ambush unsuspecting moonbeams, but that is not why I like nights.

No, I love nights because I have Momma’s undivided attention. By 9:00pm I am skulking around at her bedroom door, trying to remind her through telepathy, that it is time to go to sleep because then and only then, I no longer have to share Momma with our gaggle of pets, housecleaning, gardening, painting, computer time and who ever she visits, when she goes God knows where.  Sometimes she comes back with cat food, oh and little Temptation morsels, that she only serves to me because I turn up my nose (and whiskers) at wet food. Obviously,  I don’t begrudge those trips. I even would encourage to go more often to the pet store.

Jakita, in her wisdom, decided she would much rather follow Wonder Boy’s ‘late to bed, late to rise’ schedule.  I mean one night she just plopped off Momma’s bed and she never returned. Well, that is not quite accurate.

You see, during the day when Gen and I are sleeping, Jakita begs Momma to put her up on the bed, (I’m pretty out of shape but I’d be so ashamed if I could not make it on the bed without help – was she born without springs in her back paws?) Then she dog naps as we cat nap. I like Jakita.  She always shows me the respect I deserve but I don’t always understand her choices.

Gen and I, we get along fine, love to air kiss but the Diva Calico Gen is besotted with Wonder Boy so she has always wants to share his space at night.  Come early morning, when she hears Momma stir, she comes in, meowing softly and jumps up on the bed beside Momma and I, all kisses and giggles, ready to kick-start the day, always up, like the Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidtt. What’s that all about?

That leaves only Bad Boy Andy who would love to sleep with Momma at night, but it is not happening, at least not in my life time.  The second he steps in to the bedroom I start my low growl.  If he dares to jump on the bed he gets my hisses, and  snarls from way down deep in my belly, as I take a menacing stance.  Andy may have Momma fooled, but not me.  He terrorized me  so much over the years, chasing me round the basement, through the crawl space, (never in front of Momma), hunting me down, jumping on my back, nipping my ears.  Let Momma love him in the daytime but I got her at night. Andy is the Brainiac.  He knows why I give him the deep six. And  he will never pursue me in front of Momma because he wants her to think of him as the Black and White Tuxedo Gentleman Cat that he is not!

So I may be old, I may not be a Diva, or a Brainiac. I may have too many coats of fur that turn in to dreadful clumps and make me look like an overweight and out of  shape porcupine. 

But I know how to take care of business….and Momma is my business.

 

I am a fine Black and White, and like a good wine, I get better as I age. Just don’t put me in a bottle in your wine cellar. Then I may not live up to your expectations.

As in Indoor / Outdoor / Indoor cat I have the blessings of a home, while still able to quench my call of the wild streak that runs from the tip of my twitching nose, down my back, to my tail and up my soft belly. I know it is invisible to mere mortals but it is real and goading me to the next level of interaction with the Four Footed and some Two Footed.

In order to quell my call of the wild streak as well as my testosterone  level, I spend a lot of time breathing deeply, exhaling, stretching, doing yoga poses, clearing the wheat from the chaff, so to speak because Momma is not a fan of that side of me. That is why I spend a lot of time outside on the front bench just surveying Andyville.  Oh, oh, don’t tell Jakita what I said.  She calls our homeland Jakitaville but she does not put in the long hours that I do, culling the herd, so to speak.

Now I am no Jakita.  I do not have a book of Policies and Procedures.  No, I just react, situation by situation, to keep our surroundings safe and habitable.  I can be ever so accommodating with the squirrels and the raccoons.  They have a separate cycle of life that I do not interfere with as long as they are no threat to my family and me.  It is other situations I feel I must control. I will give you a for instance.

Momma is on her hands and knees weeding the front garden.  Someone passing by stops to chat.  I get off my front perch and stroll over.  No, do not pat me, I am like the President’s Secret Service.  I am on duty.  I sit on a stepping stone to evaluate the threat.  If it seems to be a friendly, I stretch out in the sun.  Then again, if it appears to be a loony tune or an unsub, I pester Momma by winding around her and caterwauling, until she tells the person, uuuhhh, she has to see what I want.  Maybe I am hungry.  That works.  Some fresh chicken chunks for saving, possibly, your life.  Seems like a fair trade-off to me.

 

 

My next big challenge is the feral felines that steal Momma’s time and sometimes her heart.  Now Casey is Over and Out but I barely tolerated him.  Next came BB.  Oh, what a troubled cat he was.  I never knew such a vocal, disturbed, (I tell you) cat, howling and growling, like a hand grenade about to detonate. But I saw through him.  He was just frightened and trying to keep all taker’s back.  And…. if BB was the grenade, Clem was the pin. 

I know I was  a Feral, rescued at a tender age so I don’t understand how that pecking order works completely.  All I know is when BB started hissing and growling, Clem with  his tortitude went in to an attack mode that pulverized poor BB.  Momma interfering left her with gashes and bite marks.  Throwing cold water or shaking a bottle of marbles at them, intensified the fight, bringing it to a new level of unbridled suffering.  And BB, a much bigger cat, always lost to this little wild cat from. H_LL.  I would just shake my head.  Leave them alone and let them go home, Momma, anywhere out of my sight.

Momma, please, you can’t go investing your heart in the strays, should it be the Two Footed or Four Footed kind.  You know it surely did not lengthen Casey and BB’s life. From where I stand, I don’t see any improvement in the life of the poor unfortunate Two Footed either who walk around muttering to the voices in their head.  They actually looked scared when you look at them, like maybe they have done something wrong, just by walking by.  As the Most Wise Wonder Boy says, do not encourage the strays. Their ways are not our ways, okay. You heard that one before, you say?

Wonder Boy and I, we understand testosterone and feel things we don’t see. Now it is time to embrace it, Momma.  After all, we are depending on you to not upset the apple cart of life, okay, Momma?