Cool Cats – Page 5 – Hot Dog Cool Cats

Your No Kid, Your No Kid, of Mine

I am so delighted because, you know, summer is here and I get to spend hours and hours outside, in the garden, sniffing the flowers, chewing the grass and sun bathing on the brick steps.

You already know that I am a Glam Cat, with aspirations to have long, thick, glittery eye lashes and teeny, tiny high heels. Maybe I could have little scented sparkly diamond studs in my ears (say what?) that cast beams of rain bow colored light and exotic fragrances into the world, attracting the attention of resplendent butterflies. Remember, you heard about scented earrings to attract butterflies here first. As I said before, I am no Brainiac but I am a Creative Genius, I tell you.

As much as I love summer, it always brings out the strays. Clem had been doing a proper good job of sneaking around so that none of the Colony Cats followed him back to the land of Kitty Club Med. If he was being followed by a starving, meowing feral, he would drive them away with a ferocious attack because he is super high-strung and can not abide the caterwauling or even worse, trespassers. No one invited the strays. Clem is like Jakita, all Policies and Procedures, none of which apply to him, but with even a shorter fuse and higher developed sense of punishment for transgressions.

On Saturday morning, we saw Clem was in Crusade / Cleanup Mode. I would not stay outside and see Clem attack a starving but still gorgeous grey striped feral tabby, who had the nerve to outwit Clem and end up on our doorstep. But a feral can be very wily.

Clem hears the call of the wild. — Clem sees all, hears all, feels all.

Gorgeous Grey Tabby would not run. He just sat very still as Clem went ballistic. It is hard to fight an enemy who turns the other cheek. In the end, Clem, still with his ears and tail twitching, stalked off. Gorgeous Grey just waited, waited some more, till Clem disappeared in to the thicket, then left on his chosen time. Our Bad Boy Andy, with that male testosterone, flooding his reason, sat on the hood of Momma’s car, to get a ring side seat. Momma tried to coax him in, so no harm would come to him, but to no avail. No, it was show time, he had paid the price of tickets, over the years, The Bad Boy was not going anywhere. Who can figure out the male species, really?

Still, worse was to come. Gorgeous Grey has never returned but…he must have shared his experience at the Cat Colony because in his place came Lucifer.

Poor little Lucifer. A sad kitty. Please stop crying. You are annoying me. From Morguefile.com cmw3_n90s_353_jasper2.jpg By snowbear — Poor little Lucifer. A sad kitty. Please stop crying. You are annoying me.
From Morguefile.com
cmw3_n90s_353_jasper2.jpg By snow bear

Pure black with a few wisps of white fur, on his belly, Lucifer has decided ‘su casa es mi casa’ (your home is my home) and will not leave even when Clem threatens him or Wonder Boy stamps his feet. If he was well-behaved like Gorgeous Grey, no problem. But Lucifer is, well, needy, that kid at school you abided in the day’ ….when bullying wasn’t allowed. He cries all the time. If Momma puts food down, he doesn’t even have the brains to eat. Maybe he is trying to tell Momma, ‘Go catch me some fresh mice.’ And, if I am outside, he clings to me, like Velcro or stalks me like he is on an African Safari and I am the catch ‘du jour.’. I am not his Baby Mama. It is way too annoying for a Glam Cat. I refuse to go outside. It makes me very tense and twitchy. I have Wonder Boy wrapped around my finger. If I can not abide Lucifer, neither can he. So he has lectured Momma not to encourage Lucifer. Yeah, well, good luck with that.

It is an oasis of calm. Charlie on the left, on guard duty with Ruby in the middle, while Gen to the left, Jakita and Tigger at the bottom of Momma's bed do siesta. — It is an oasis of calm. Charlie on the left, on guard duty with Ruby in the middle, while Gen to the left, Jakita and Tigger at the bottom of Momma’s bed.

So pray for me – that my summer will not be ruined. Best case scenario, Lucifer chills around me and we can both enjoy the great outdoors. Or, I will be more like Andy and ignore his presence, like I can not see or hear him, he does not even exist. Any other suggestions?

For now I will just hunker down with my BFF Jakita, Charlie, Ruby, and Tigger. They keep me grounded and stress free.

Still, the clock on summer is ticking (tic toc, tic toc). Maybe Lucifer will just give in or give up. I will keep you posted.

Take A Walk On the Wild Side

A gray cat, a stray cat, I am, with a tapestry of light grey to black stripes with flecks of red and gold fur and don’t forget my alluring white tuxedo shirt and white-tipped paws.

Look at my picture perfect strands of color. No wonder I have tortitude. In the sun porch, awaiting release to general pop(ulation).

In my mind, I have it all. I ROCK!

Why is that, you ask? Easy, I have the whole out doors to live in. I am not tied to one location. Like the old Blues song, ‘Wherever I throw my hat, is my home.’ I don’t really have a hat, but you know what I mean.

With that comes its own set of problems, like all those outlaw feral, that I swear have invisible leather vests, no moral code and a need to have a leader, associates, prospects and full-blooded members, like a Feline Biker Gang and just about as violent. And they got tats, man – the scars of battles, lost and won. Their weapon of choice are those sharp incisor teeth and claw nails, like switch blade knives. Then there are those Forest Freaks made of who knows what spare parts from the Four Footed. I am not Cat Trash, like they obviously are. I am a loner. I see everything, hear everything, all the while hiding efficiently, moving around stealthily and always getting to my planned destination, without wear and tear to my holy temple, my God-given body. But if you want to fight, Bring It On. The wild cat surfaces in me. Be careful what you wish for…..I never lose. Only the uninformed take me on. I don’t have scars, I deliver scars.

Still, a little, nagging voice inside me keeps testing my fragile ego, telling me I am just not good enough to make the grade, to have a home, or a family that worries about me. I know Momma cares. She even named me, a rather strange name, but Clem it is. I can live with that! She is delighted when I come to her door, even if I have been in a snit and not showed up for a month. Wonder Boy likes me, too and he is a hard sell. He does not put his heart out on a serving platter to be stabbed with tiny plastic tipped toothpicks.

I remember the time I disappeared for a month because I could not take BB and his non stop caterwauling, growling and hissing. I know, he had poor health, I should have had compassion. I don’t do empathy. I did not want to hear about his pain and neurosis. So we battled fiercely. He always limped away, never learning.

My nemesis, BB catching the rays. If only he could have been laid back while wake, — My nemesis, BB catching the rays. If only he could have been laid back while awake.

One day it dawned on me, as I hid under the shrubs and peony bushes, I had not seen BB in a few days. Then a couple of weeks passed, still no BB. There was Diva Calico Gen, oh, and that Andy-Long-Legs, but no BB. Apparently, (according to Momma), it was a month to the day I was last seen, when I returned, like Houdini, actually better than Houdini, magically reappearing. I walked up the steps to the front door, stood on the bench, leaned over to try to open the door handle with my paws, looking in the beveled glass pane and there was my Momma. We were eyeball to eyeball. I could read the disbelief on her face. Nevertheless, I could have been the Prodigal Son, the way she feasted and feted me. If the other cats thought I needed to be taught a lesson for leaving home, (does it sound a little like the Prodigal Son’s brother???), I could adapt. I let Kitty Club Med enter the home first, skirting around Andy, giving him a wide berth and nose sniffing Gen. Piece a cake.

Momma really thought come the harsh True North Strong and Free Winter I would officially become an Indoor Outdoor Cat. Not me. I was born to wander. I love warming up on the heat registers, found my own hide away under the claw footed bathtub but once I am fed and well rested, I insist that I got to go.

I love you, Momma and Wonder Boy but I got things to do, places to go. I take my job seriously. I mean, who else is capable of 24 hour seven-day surveillance of the neighbor hood? Trust me, I know what everyone and everything has done or will do! On one hand I fancy myself a 007 James Bond Spy, on the other I am beloved by Momma and Wonder Boy, with food to eat, comfy rugs to sleep on and lots of hands on stroking and scratching. What’s not to love?

Don’t kid yourself. I am not going anywhere soon, you betcha!

Lest We Forget

Now it is time for a Diva Calico Gen Cat to confess. Somewhere in my pretty little brain, I assumed the Two Footed had the slice of the pie, while the Four Footed had to continually strive in order to achieve a life worth living. Listening to the stories Momma shares, I may have had it all wrong. We, the Four Footed, sit in shock as she pours bucket after bucket of truth on our heads and in our ears, flooding our hearts with compassion.

Uncle WW2 Sergeant (Grandmama’s brother) had gone to the war a naïve country boy but returned as a stranger, so said the locals. He had seen too much, lived through too much mayhem, for such a sensitive soul. Today it would be labelled PTSD. Then, you were written off as another raging alcoholic. To Momma, Uncle WW2 Sergeant appeared to be no shrinking violet but rather belligerent, burly and in your face. His ability to turn an ounce into a pound was well renowned. He rented expensive farm equipment to the local farmers. On top of that he rented himself out as a Captain on a big fishing boat. He commandeered men, boats and fish, all with the same gung-ho-get-it-done attitude. Still, everyone knew he was a victim, with some invisible part cut out and left on a battlefield in Italy. We listened if he talked about the war but were warned not to ask questions and possibly make him have more re-occurring nightmares.

Momma's 2 uncles and a friend that manned the tank. Grandmama's other brother was polar opposite to Uncle WW2 Sergeant. He was a sweetheart. — Two of Momma’s uncles that manned the tank behind them. To the left is a fellow soldier. Grandmama’s other brother was polar opposite to Uncle WW2 Sergeant. He was rational, hilarious and an outstanding family man.

Now p–l–e–a–s–e, don’t say that all the baby boomers born after the war were not interested in the battles their fathers, cousins, brothers, uncles and friends fought. However ‘in the day’, if adults told them not to question, they obeyed, said Momma. Yes, they were interested but waited long after Buddy had disappeared before Uncle WW2 Sergeant opened up about his experiences of the war and how powerless it made him feel.

It is not that Uncle WW2 Sergeant was totally insensitive to the world around him. It was a great disappointment to him and Auntie Spanish Marilyn Munroe that they only had the one son. Buddy prayed to God nightly, because he wanted a sibling, but if that was too much to ask for, could he just have a puppy? Uncle WW2 Sergeant had his finger on every pulse, so of course, the next puppies that were born in his community, had one ear was marked for Buddy.

Oh and that baby thing? Well that took a little longer but Uncle WW2 Sergeant also had a team of locals with their ears to the ground, waiting for an opportunity to help out a damsel in distress….and well, money talks, it screams, actually. Just ask Grandmama’s Aunt Only Sister who waited years to adopt her son by jumping through the legal bureaucratic hoops of no return. Trust me, that privately arranged adoption of a baby girl, right in his home town, went much faster.

Talk about bragging rights. Uncle WW2 Sergeant, Auntie Spanish Marilyn Munroe and Buddy were over the moon, in love. Baby Be All End All walked at six months, she talked at nine months, and she was absolutely the most amazing baby ever born, according to Uncle WW2 Sergeant, Auntie Spanish Marilyn Munroe and Buddy. She was amazingly alert, with smoky grey-blue eyes that appeared to have a black rim around her pupils, that bewitched you. It was difficult to tear your gaze away. Everyone knew how long they waited and most were just happy to see them so satisfied after such an agonizing effort brought forth such a resounding result. But that green-eyed monster lived long and had no intention of dying. There were inaudible grumbles that ‘you reap what you sew’ ……but who among has not felt that sometime about someone.

The Sunset of Life...so inevitable. Fr: Morguefile — The Sunset of Life…so inevitable. Fr: Morguefile

Ah, a new day was dawning with a Panoramic View of Paradise. Who knew how fast and furiously the sun would set, leaving the family in tatters? Charlie, Jakita and I just shake our head in disbelief as Momma tells us, there is more. Just let me try to wrap my calico head around it before I share it with you….because you know and I know, sometimes….Stuff Happens…..

Andy Evolves to the Brainiac-Protector

Being Andy, the Brainiac Cat, is not all it is cracked up to be. Sure, sure, sure, I get recognition for my cleverness from Momma and Wonder Boy, but as for my fellow felines, well, it is just water off a duck’s back to them. After all, a Higher Power doled out the goodies, like Diva Calico Gen has the art of being irresistible, while Beau(Re-Guarded) had to ability to protect us. It is not something I am allowed to brag about since it falls under the same premise that a cat does not choose the color of fur assigned. No, that evolves from some unknown hereditary genes that no cat ever takes credit for.

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me!

Then again, there are those Hybrid Designer Cats who may be bred for size, temperament or lines of ancestry but, not me. I am a Proud Feral descended from the deep, dark Jungle many, many eons ago.

Still, here in Kitty Cat Club Med, a lot of changes have occurred. My Big Brother RIP Beau-Re-Guard caught the Blue Cloud to Heaven so I feel an obligation not only to be the leader but to protect the homestead and its parameters . That is why trouble finds me (and it always finds me). Somehow, somewhere along the twisted road of life, I seemed to have morphed in to Beau who, like the Irish, would never consider backing down from a fight.

Gen sleeps while Beau, her brother and protector, is on guard. Nothing would happen on his watch.

Let’s start with my sister Diva Calico Gen. She is a piece of cake, so easy to get along with. She grooms me painstakingly and with the conviction of a mother cat. Yet, that devil that lurks inside of me sometimes surfaces and without thought of consequences, I decide to nip or claw her. It is only to get a chase going, but Gen is so sensitive and Momma buys into her plaintive meows, ‘Andy is bullying me.’ You know the bad press bullies get these days. If Momma is not fast enough, Senorita Jakita makes short work of me, jumping on my back, pinning me in place, till I beg for mercy. Still there is no grudge held for past indiscretions. We have an understanding like the Three Musketeers – all for one and one for all.

Then, well, there is Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte (Charlie). She may be a cousin, or we may even share the same mother since we came from the same cat colony (Charlie was born the year previous to me). All that being said, she is so different. Can cats have mental health issues? Truly, Charlie seems to like the Two Footed much better than the Four Footed (except Jakita, who she depends on to defend her against me). I mean, I do not get that cat. I am walking down the hall, minding my own business. Charlie will be hiding under the table. All of a sudden she is hissing like a snake, scaring me in to a ‘fight or flight attack.’ And me, I always choose the fight. Here we are, at six o’clock in the morning engaging in hand to hand combat, rolling around on our backs, growling, hissing, caterwauling, both hoping to land the knockout punch shot before Momma and Jakita come to straighten us out. And we never forget. And there is no surrender.

Now Clem the Colony Cat still hangs around a lot, but he is like me. He is clever. If we land at the front steps together, he lets me lead the way in to the house. He waits patiently for Momma to feed me, Gen, Charlie, then him. Once I have left my feeding station (we all have our own), then Clem will go to check out my left overs.

True story, we all have our own feeding station.

Problem is, I still have that need to confirm who is boss so sometimes I will try to provoke Clem in to a reaction. He is younger and faster than me and can usually leave me in the dust but I got to show him, I am the Tom Cat Leader. I have no intention to pass on my title yet. So, just keep respecting me and you will live to see another day.

But don’t tell Momma I said that, okay? She doesn’t understand the testosterone blessing and / or curse that rules the male body, soul and mind that makes us do the things we do. 🙂

Beau-Be-Gone and the Hereafter

I don’t understand about the Hereafter because I am Beau-Be-Gone, not the Brainiac Bad Boy Andy-Long-Legs. One minute I was moseying along, the next I was deathly sick, not the garden variety $300.00 at the vet to fix all your troubles, no I was the thousands of dollars at the vet and no guarantees on recuperation type of sick. Not a good scene!

Look, it is all. And I am keeping my eye on you now that I have been taught the Golden Rule - Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Why didn't Momma teach me that so that I would not have lived by the Law of the Jungle. — **Beau-Be-Gone** is keeping his eye on the earth plane, now that he has been taught the Golden Rule – Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

The last thing I remember Momma is stroking me, then boom, I catapulted through space to heaven, landing in RIP Daddy’s arms as if we had practiced in advance. Winding around Daddy’s legs were all the cats I had lived with through the years.

I always (well, sometimes) wondered where they had gone….. but would never have believed it if I had not seen it with own two eyes. There was the once psychotic Cat Mandu, friendly and welcoming. Gee, would I change that much? Also there to greet me was, our feral cat Casey, who like Humpty-Dumpty (and me) could never be put together again, and look, shy little Cat Mao, with her Raccoon Friend. Well, I be!

You probably are wondering about the passage from this world to the next. It makes me want to share a story Momma told me about she was growing up in country in the 1950’s – just don’t tell Jakita I told you. She thinks that the privilege to share the Mystery of the Reality belongs to her solely. But hey, I am in heaven, she can not jump on my back and chew my ears now.

It came to pass, in Momma’s small town that a father left his family behind and the Single-Mother (unheard of in the 1950’s), had to find a home for herself and four children. She heard there was a three bedroom bungalow, close to the beach that stood empty. No one had lived in it since the end of the Second World War.

Made of white clapboard, with a black thatched roof, the house made you think of a cottage that may have been found nestled in any New England town on the Eastern Seaboard. You could watch the sun rise and set, painting the water in magnificent hues, different colours, every day. As storms came in, you could see the waves turn menacing, watch the ice floes in the winter, or marvel at the shadows the full moon blanketed the water with, on a moonlit night.

Life is a beach party.... — Life is a beach party….

It was a location city folks would have given their eye teeth to own. How could any one have left this Paradise behind? The challenge was to locate the owners, to see if it could be rented.

The owners were found and a deal was worked out. The family moved in, a new segment of life to begin. The youngest child, Little Lilly, was still taking daily afternoon naps. One day, after a nap, she asked her mother, ‘Can you see the Soldier Boy in the room with us?’ Single-Mom looked around and saw nothing. ‘Not over there, sitting crossed leg at the foot of my bed. He seems confused about why I am in his bedroom, although he never talks to me’, her young daughter explained.

Single Mom thought maybe she should find out more about this family who had rented them what she thought was a God sent home. She established that the couple had only one son that went off her World War Two but never came home. The room her youngest daughter slept in, was Soldier Boy’s bedroom. It was whispered that after his death, he started making visitations to his parents, in their home on the beach, according to the old-timers, who claimed they had been sworn to secrecy.

Totally appalled and with total disbelief that the dead would appear (even if it was their son), the parents had abandoned the only home they had ever lived in as a family. But those in ‘the know’ said, ‘don’t tell anyone but’ even after the parents had moved, Soldier Boy still found them at their new home, appearing to them until such time as his parents joined him in Paradise…. Kids, eh????

Single-Mom decided that it was probably better to move her family on. She had no way of knowing the long-term effect this could have on her youngest daughter and the older children longed to have eyes to see (but they didn’t). Meanwhile the owners, without being told, intuitively knew what had driven the family from their former home. They felt they had no choice but to have their bungalow pulled down, clapboard by clapboard, then two by four by two by four, so as to prevent other families from being exposed to the unknown, that they themselves struggled to put their heads around.

But still, it was said that their son’s apparition could be seen by some of the locals, (not sure if there was some sippy juice consumed before the sightings) on Moon lit nights, a lone figure, with a bayonet, sitting on the rocks, as the waves crashed on the shore. It seemed our Soldier Boy was looking out toward the bay, wiling away the time until he could join his parents, extended family and friends in the hereafter.

Crashing waves. From Morguefile By: Pellini — Crashing waves.
From Morguefile
By: Pellini

We have it (on very good authority), that since his parents passed on to their glory, no one has seen him sitting on the rock, looking out at the bay, or anywhere else in Momma’s little town. They all believed he has crossed over into the light, with his parents to his greater reward.

What we know for sure, is the waves still crash on the cliffs and the tide still goes in and out, without him.

Kitten Kaboodle

Looks ile a Kitty Tail or Tale to me.... — Looks like a Kitty Tail or Tale to me….

There is always another kitty tale to bring you and no one ever tells them better than me. I have looked at the Family Tree pictures, constructed the time line of where, when and who, as well as put my Diva Calico Gen spin on it so, pull up a chair and lend an ear.

Deep in the forest Momma went to find nests of kitties that needed Forever Homes.

You know, there is nothing like kittens (or puppies) to bring out the ooohhh’s and the aaahhh’s in the Two Footed, unless they have a pitiful heart of stone. In the spring, just after the Princess took her cats and moved back in with her parents, Feral Mama cats were birthing all over town, in the bushes, deep in the forests by swift flowing creeks or wherever a nest could be hidden from the Forest Freaks. Little did Momma know two of those kittens had her name registered as legal owner, so far up there in the clouds that only Momma’s esoteric father (aka Grandpapa) knew.

Now Momma and her father shared this amazing Father-Daughter relationship, so I am told. They were of one accord on most subjects although she did push back when he trotted out some theories passed down and nixed, by even the cavemen. But kittens, that needed a home, that was hard to argue and justify refusal.

One day on a long weekend holiday Monday, just to please her father and maybe out of curiosity, Momma went deep in to the forest and was absolutely astonished. Grandpapa was not pulling her leg…. this time. There were several nests of kittens, little balls of fur, all colors curled up next to their sleeping siblings. A quick survey indicated the Mama cats were out, probably hunting. Good, no attack cats to intercept the mission. With every color, every size available, how could a Two Footed decide which to choose? There were all so captivating. However, a pure white, stood up, stretched and stared at Momma as if to say, ‘I know what you are up to. Take me.’ The well-mannered Etiquette Queen Finicky Cat now had a Forever Home.

When Momma arrived with Finicky Cat, Daddy asked why had she not brought a second one, so back they went. Marching around the long-term care parking lot was a little scrap of a black and white kitty, following her splotchy gray and white gaunter-by-the-minute Mama, who actually stopped, looked at Momma & Daddy, as if to say, ‘Take her, please. She does not have what it takes to be a feral. She is like a stalker, following me everywhere I go. Enough already, take her.’ Thus Little Miss Fraidy Cat joined Finicky Cat in a land of abundant food, fresh water, cat nip and balls with bells (liked all that) and regular trips to vet (did not like that so much).

Our JAG boy lovingly holds FInicky. Beside him Wonder Boy holds Finicky and Fraidy Cat (he was so teeny tiny, even his tail was short). — Our JAG Boy lovingly holds FInicky. Beside him Wonder Boy holds Finicky and Fraidy Cat (he was so teeny tiny, even his tail was short).

Now when you take in teeny tiny kittens who have never been inside four walls with a roof, it is very scary for them. Ask me, I lived it. Finicky apparently rolled with the punches, sensing it was all good but Fraidy, was well, afraid. I mean did the name cause the condition or the condition cause the name, I ask?

Momma recalled that the day after they brought them home, Daddy, more of a dog lover, but would put up with Momma’s weakness, told her they were taking them back to the forest that very day because Fraidy hissed at him so ferociously, like a wild cat, he said. No telling what that orphaned feral would do once she was full size.

Momma laughed and told him, ‘Give it a week. She will be all over the new and improved life. What is not to like?’ It included not only the Two Footed but two dogs (Angel Teddy and Mama Tammy) who wanted to mother smother the latest additions to the family . Momma knew, Daddy was a soft spot, once the purring kicked in.

Gen looks very serious and pensive (both her eyes are green, really) as she tells Tigger whose steps she is following in.

Fraidy Cat and Finicky Cat were really our stepping-stones, laying down the Cat-A-Laws for Momma, Daddy and Wonder Boy, introducing for the first time the miracle and healing power of Feral Kitties.

There is another real life in the jungle or you can not beat your DNA story to bring you about our Foremothers, Fraidy and Finicky but it must wait for another day, another dollar. Kaching!

In the Beginning

Hi. It is Gen, Jakita’s BFF.

Listen up folks if you want to know who came before you! — Listen up folks, if you want to know who came before you!

You know the deal – it is my right to tell tales, kitty tails. What about the Budgie, Momma? Well, you can fit him in, when you mention Finicky. But let’s begin with Ginger and Fluffy because they were the first two cats (brother and sister) that Momma & RIP Daddy and, well, they only came when the Run Away Princess moved in. ‘Who is that?’ you ask. No accounting for stories, they meander like a river that over throws its banks, flooding your basement to such a degree that no one will sell you home insurance again. That is another story, for another ‘day in the life of….’. Let’s fill you in with how RIP Daddy and Momma took in the Run Away Princess.

Call Momma Peter Pan, but she always related well to children. That is why it was so easy to embrace RIP Daddy’s niece Pretty-Little-Dutch-Girl, (his brother’s daughter) who reminded her of that skipping rhyme they used to sing on the school yard play ground: ‘I am a pretty little Dutch girl, As pretty as pretty can be, be, be, And all the boys in my town, Are crazy over me, me, me.’ She was absolutely ‘picture perfect’ with her streaked blonde hair, turquoise blue eyes that were accentuated by her wholesome tanned skin. And so was her behaviour. Momma found that very odd. After all, she had nieces and nephews who got in all kinds of trouble growing up, in words and deeds, but Pretty-Little-Dutch-Girl’s mother swore she never did or said anything bad.

Left to Right: Mother of the Runaway Princess (RIP) The Run Away Princess Father of the Runaway Princess (RIP) The Uncle of the Runaway Princess (Daddy-RIP) — Left to Right:
Mother of the Runaway Princess (RIP)
The Run Away Princess
Father of the Runaway Princess (RIP)
Uncle of the Runaway Princess (Daddy-RIP). !

Give me a ‘for instance’, you say. Well, one day Daddy’s sweet sister was visiting with her rambunctious son. He kept jumping on the couch, his mother kept pleading with him to stop. So Momma’s five your old niece stepped in. She looked at Daddy’s sister and said, “If I had a kid like him, I would not take him anywhere.” Daddy’s sister left. Problem solved.

So being from a fine family of normal, mouthy children, Momma tried to talk to Daddy that she did not think it was healthy to be perfect. He got very riled at her, reminding her that Pretty-Little-Dutch-Girl’s grandfather had been a much respected, important in the Dutch community minister and that she probably had inherited all of his good genes. But are we not taught that all have sinned and come short of the glory of God?

Now there are optical illusions, delusions and downright lies that can mask family life. At the home base the Pretty-Little-Dutch-girl struggled and failed, to be perfect, as she entered her teenage years. That is why she became the Run Away Princess, who moved in with a (girl)friend. The disengaged parents agreed to the deception until…Momma put a letter in the Big Smoke newspaper that touched their cold hearts.

The Run Away Princess moved in with RIP Daddy and Momma the day the letter was published. Her first order of business was to have a cat since her mother would not allow pets in her house. And that, Virginia, is how Ginger (male ginger tiger-striped) and Fluffy (female soft fluffy ginger tabby) came into our lives. Don’t kid yourself, Momma fed them, RIP Daddy changed their litter boxes but their loyalty was always to the Run Away Princess who had rescued them from bedlam and brought them to an oasis. When she would go out, they would sit outside her bedroom door, awaiting the return of their Masteress (so to speak).

Or is it Fluffy and Ginger. By, George, I think I got it. — Ginger and Fluffy? Or is it Fluffy and Ginger? That is Momma with Ginger, ignoring the camera.
By, George, I think I got it now.

They moved out five years later when the Princess, no longer a Run Away, moved back home with her parents. Suddenly pets were okay, if it meant they could get their daughter back. Live and learn. Live and learn.

And the Lesson. First off: Try it, you just may like it! The Princess’ mother loved those cats, indulged their every whim, even keeping them when the Princess married and moved out, worrying over them as she had about her own daughter. Go figure, eh!

Stand Your Ground

So get this straight from the horse’s (or in my case cat’s) mouth. I am not a bully. I am a sweet♥ . Just ask Momma. Everyday when she is sitting in RIP Daddy’s easy chair, reading the paper (yup, she has not gone digital yet), I jump on her lap, purring loudly, sending sections helter–skelter. I scrounge around for a good place to exercise my kneading, latch on to suck on her oversize winter cardigan, finally settling down, then falling in to a blissful sleep.

So see what I said. I am such a Brainiac, I shade my eyes with my paw when I fall asleep in the daytime. All those brilliant, constantly moving, changing rainbows interfere with my sleep. — So see what I said. I am such a Brainiac, I shade my eyes with my paw when I fall asleep in the daytime.

No, I am not a mean cat but unfortunately, like all male (cats), sometime my testosterone runs high. This can cast me in a poor light, but get a grip, I am the Brainiac. I know when to stop. If I don’t, well, both Jakita and Momma are more than willing to settle me down.

I confess that when I am home bound in the winter, I act a trifle wired. I mean, when it is too cold for a Club Med kitty to venture outside, I look around for ways to burn off my abundance of hormones.

First I consider, should I give chase to the Diva Calico Gen? On the plus side, she loves a good chase, if I give her a head start. However, she is so pretty and my little sister, as well as Jakita’s best friend forever. If I take on Gen, I take on Jakita who will join the chase, jump on my back and chew my ears. That is no fun.

Gen and Jakita, BFF, asleep with Gen's Kitty, Tigger. — Gen and Jakita, BFF, asleep with Gen’s Kitty, Tigger.

Well, there is always Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte (Charlie). But that is problematic as well because Jakita is not kidding, she has ears that hear the butterflies flap their wings in Africa. The first hiss out of Charlie and Jakita barks to tell on me. Momma comes running, shoos me away, comforts Charlie, praises Jakita and I am the one in the proverbial dog house.

However, I have a secret. Jakita is afraid when Momma vacuums because her ears are so sensitive to noise, so she hunkers down by me for protection. So good luck with that hard ball you sometimes send my way, Jakita. Who said, what goes around, comes around?

A picture is worth a thousand words. Look at Jakita's worried look as she presses against me, cool as a cucumber, while Momma vacuums. — A picture is worth a thousand words. Look at Jakita’s worried look as she presses against me, cool as a cucumber, while Momma vacuums.

Something very disturbing happened last night. Since Gen, Charlie and Jakita sleep on Momma’s bed every night, I thought, I did, if you can’t beat them, join them. Once lights were out, I jumped so lightly on the end of the bed, Momma did not even feel me launching. I was nowhere near her, but still, Charlie took exception and emitted a low, steady growl. She was not sharing a sleeping space with me and she was not going anywhere. Momma turned on the lamp, looked me straight in the eye and said, ‘Sorry Bad Boy Andy, you got to learn to play nice if you want to earn a space on my bed.’

Okay, got it already. This Lover Boy Sweet♥ Cat will go sleep by myself, in the sun porch or on the couch, or on the heat register, apparently anywhere but Momma’s bed. Nobody has a sense of humor anymore.

Casey’s Obituary

It is with great sadness that we tell you that on Sunday August 4, 2013 @6:30pm approximately Casey joined Cat Mao and Cat Mandu in Pet Heaven, where puppies do not snarl and kitties do not hiss.

Here I am, no scars, clean eyes, my fur no longer patchy. I am a fine looking fellow. — Here I am, no scars, clean eyes, my fur no longer patchy. I am a fine-looking fellow.

Casey left behind his new Best Friend Forever Jakita (even though she nipped him when he was shooed from the table). How was a feral cat to know that was considered bad manners…tell me, how?

Casey will also miss his kitty family, new pal, Bad Boy Andy, his sometimes Ally, Beau depending on the day of the week it was, and Diva Calico Gen who would even sleep on the same bed as him, and of course, all his Cat Colony friends, especially Seven.

So, I have only been inside two weeks but I know what a pillow is for.

More importantly, Casey knows he left a tiny hole in Momma, and Wonder Boys’ hearts because Momma said, she did, that he was the most amazingly easy feral cat to become domesticated. He will always cherish having a home to claim as his own and feeling beloved, even if it only lasted two and a half months.

No flowers, but next time you give to the SPCA, think of Casey – he had 2.5 months of bliss. Your every little contributions and kind deeds help make stray cat lives, no matter how short, better.

FYI: Casey was fine Saturday, even ventured outside twice. He refused to eat food Sunday morning, which totally baffled and worried Momma. He would not leave the room. By the afternoon, Casey heard Momma and Wonder Boy in the kitchen and inched himself forward on his belly, to be with them in the kitchen. Momma picked him up and took him wherever she went. At suppertime, sensing Casey needed quiet, Momma shut him in his bedroom, (away from curious, pesky Jakita), snuggling him in a clothes basket, lined with comfy towels. Like a lamp that dims as it runs out of oil, he left the earth realm.

Mandu pondering the self serving Changes in Charlie's life. — Miss Mandu .

Casey was greeted by fellow Angel kitties, Cat Mandu and Cat Mao at the Golden Gates. He has reached his eternal rest yet we believe he will still keep an eye out to see what we are up to down on earth.

So, if he can be of any help, just call him. He’s waiting………

In this portrait I had been an Inside / Outside Cat for about 6 weeks so the war wounds had healed. As you can see, a fine looking Tom Cat, with various shades of gray to charcoal to black. — I am a fine-looking Tom Cat, with various shades of gray to charcoal to black.

Postscript from Momma: Poor precious, brave Casey. Although only between two to three years old by the time he was rescued, he had been too famished for too long and battled too many diseases to be able to have a normal span of cat life. Our vet warned us not to get attached but the heart, like the wind, goes wherever it wants to go.

Stray Cat Style

Trees buried in snowbank...Momma is happy...she is on her way inside! — Momma …so easily tempted!

Momma is at it again – flirting with a stray cat that she promises me will be an Outside cat. Where did we hear that before – oh, yeah, Casey and it did not turn out well. He drove a little stake in Momma’s heart, creeping closer every day, until he reached the front door but even so, it was Momma (blame Momma) who actually carried him through that door to the horror of all the Indoor, Indoor / Outdoor Cats and me.

Oh why, oh why must this happen again? Is there a sign up down at the Cat Colony, Homeless Shelter for Stray Ferals, with a picture of Momma and arrows pointing the way to our house? Probably not. It is just when Momma realized that we had non paying guests seeking shelter in our garage, in the sub-zero winter weather, she did what all good hostesses do. She put out food. Now one of them for sure is a sibling to Casey, a luxurious striped tiger gray, wearing a white tuxedo shirt. But the stray who has the most staying power is a hard-headed tortoise shelled cat with tortitude, not willing to succumb an inch to the members of the Kitty Club Med. Me, he ignores, as if I am invisible, in his cat-i-tude world.

Too late! Clem already is an Inside / Outside Cat, blissfully asleep, gasp on Momma's bed? Where was I? How did this happen? I demand answers! — Too late to shut the farm door! Clem already is an inside blissfully asleep, gasp! on Momma’s bed? Where was I? How did this happen? I demand answers!

Oh why, oh why can Stray Cats not be like Roman Catholic Secular priests and nuns used to be, wearing far-reaching habits that would cover their frost-bitten ears, their matted fur and starving bodies with bones sticking out. That way, only their eyes would be revealed to show their desperation. (Ok, don’t freak, I know very few Orders still dress that way today). You know how Momma can not abide suffering, even for the ugly old slugs in the basement. I believe if Momma could not see what dire straights the strays were in, she would not go in to rescue mode.

Indoor, Indoor/Outdoor Cats, I promise we will do our best, trying to scare that stray back to the Colony but this one is clever and getting nervier – even with me barking annoyingly and Andy Cat hissing, snarling, and caterwauling, it is flipping its’ tail at us and standing his ground, like a Floridian we all heard about – showing up more often, waiting for his food and water bowl to be filled, biding his time while the glow from the pine, makes a fool out of me. Next thing you know, Momma will be setting up a comfortable place for him to sleep with a pillow and a heating pad, in the garage. Will she never learn?

PS: Andy Cat is so two-faced – I told you, I told you, dogs and cats are day and night. Here I am trying to run the stray off, using techniques Border Security employs between the United States and Mexico, (though I don’t have guns and detention lock-ups), thinking I have full feline support on my side. However, as Momma opened the door today to take me for my afternoon walk, there sat Andy Cat with the Stray Cat, like two steps from inside. There was no hissing, no snarling, just two cats, finding a patch of sun to snooze in.

I will be conducting a full investigation and filing a complaint with the Federation of Worldwide Registered Canines and Felines. We are not going to take it any more!

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