Category: Cool Cats

We all draw a lot, or spin a wheel or engage in some other game of chance that decides our fate.  That Momma decided to take me, when my two other brothers looked just like me, was the first random act of luck.

There were five hungry little kittens but it was the cries of Andy, The Brainiac that alerted a couple of Two Footed (the General Manager and his Assistant), that a Rescue must be arranged.  We were fished out of a deep and wide automotive parts bin, trundled in the office and passed to any takers. No one wanted or needed us. Kittens under four weeks are a lot of maintenance. Momma stepped up to the plate and volunteered to take 3 – she snapped up Diva Calico Gen and The Brainiac, Andy then looked at the three left.  It was like we were triplets, with our marking  so similar – thick black shiny fur, white toes with  a white star at our neck, a broad zigzag blaze of white down our bellies. 

Yet instantly I felt Momma’s inner spirit and knew, I had to make her realize, Two Footed or Four Footed, we were soul mates.  So sad to say but my other two  triplet brothers were not so fortunate.  They were taken in by the receptionist, who was very kind but after a week, or so, because of a volatile personal relationship, took them to SPCA, so their fate is unknown.  It satisfies me to think that they were adopted by Momma clones. Or maybe they were adopted by eccentric billionaires who feed them caviar from crystal bowls.

Life was  good.  At the very beginning, there was talk about finding us Forever Homes with  other families once we were eight weeks old. However as a willing adoptee came forward, Wonder Boy evaluated and eliminated all takers. They were too young, too old, too lazy, too shiftless.  No one fit the bill of prerequisites that Wonder Boy had crafted.  

Well, that was just dandy for us because, you know Momma, RIP Daddy and Wonder Boy had lots of experience with cats.  They were more than willing to let the cat in, let the cat out  (once we were spayed or neutered).  It made for a better adjusted, mentally happy cat who spent most of the out time on the front steps, in the back yard on comfy chairs or in the garage.  Then of course we would take a walk on the wild side when we crossed the street to go to the ravine, where we lay out in the sun,  on slabs of cement. We had full exposure to the sun, water to drink,  and even better, we could see the Colony Cats, hiding in the bushes.  Looking back, we were a hoity–toity threesome, with me having the most attitude because it was my job to keep The Diva and The Brainiac safe from all takers.

But at night, when we were all inside the house, I could revert to the baby kitty I had been when I first met Momma (albeit a scheming baby).  When she sat on the couch, trying to read the paper cover to cover, I would use my head as a battering ram and knock the paper out of Momma’s hands. That competed, I buried my head on her lap.  Purring contentedly, I would lay on my side, begging Momma to rub my belly, don’t stop, forget the paper, the news is too distressing to take seriously anyway. But Momma, you were mentioning, you had read, pets bring down the stress level in humans.  If only they could learn how to do that with their fellow felines.

I know, like a giant tiger in the jungle, or maybe just a bully, I gave, both Black and White Mao and Calico Mandu a life of terror, hiding under bushes, dive bombing them, while I emitted frightening snarls.  They were both small cats, who I easily could pounce on, gaining complete control. Looking back that was not a period of my life worthy of celebrating. Although I never actually fought them, there were no scratches or bite marks, just emotional scarring, shame on me.  I would never do that to Andy The Brainiac or Calico Gen or Phantom Charlie, or even Senorita Jakita.  I ♥’ed that puppy.

And like it begins, so it must end and after ten fun-filled years of life, in a matter of a short week, all of the sand, ran through my egg timer. With my Momma at my side, I grabbed the first blue cloud and sailed to heaven, into Daddy’s waiting arms.  A forgiving Mandu and Mao were standing on either side of Daddy, with flip charts and overheads. 

Apparently they have lots to teach me to ready me for my next life.  I’ll keep you posted.

Here I am, cute as a button, the Ruler of the Free World, NOTE TO SELF: Female, of course… or is that more like the Ruler of My Own World of Felines and a Manipulator of Others, able to sashay around with tail held high, as I purvey the world through my glittering green eyes.

But there are things I was born without. Still, it is easy in this world of ours, to build your own war chest (and other kinds of chests that plastic surgeons provide) paid by, you got it, plastic cards with outrageous interest rates and credit limits. Still there is one thing I ache for and mean to have one day. It is long, thick flower petal eyelashes, (hot pink would do) with silver and gold sparkles to accentuate my pea green eyes. It would be so amazing. I could start a trend.

Any venture capitalist’s interested in bank-rolling start-up costs – let’s say an 80/20 split? I am sure I can talk Momma in to donating to the cause. She is such a pushover for  a well thought out, profitable  Five Year Business Plan.

Also, after realizing the Two Footed wear shoes which protects their feet as well as glamorize them, I have put my creativity to use. What else would accentuate the Diva Calico  Gen’s individualism, but a pair of itty-bitty-kitty, bejewelled high heels so I can prance coquettishly on the Cat Walk, capturing and keeping the attention of all living creatures.

Again it might be a jackpot of an idea in a world troubled by recession, if lots of kitties, what the heck, maybe even some puppies, what about birds and butterflies, all ordered itty-bitty-kitty high heels, and pink petal  eye lashes, paid for with a plastic card by the Millennium public for their  Millennium pets.

I know, I know they are not for everyday wear, mercy, I might blind myself or break my pretty diva neck if I had them on when I am having a game of tag or being Canadian, playing a round of floor hockey, with my buddies, but I want them, okay.

And I will leave it up to the Alpha, High Alert – Type A Personality, Ultimate Mother Earth doglet, Senorita Jakita (my BFF) to come up with any necessary additions to her Policies and Procedures for All Creation – I mean, don’t tell anyone, Jakita may have a higher IQ than me, still,  I shouldn’t boast, but I am a creative genius.

So think about it.  If you want to set up crowd sourcing, (kidding) let me know. I want ideas  to find the best way to move forward.  I am ready to take suggestions – and remember,  for copyright purposes, you heard about pink petal eye lashes and of itty-bitty-kitty bejewelled high heels for the Four Footed HERE first.

Got It???

So, as I said, I love my Momma.  Now I have heard her say I am the most Loving and Giving pet (was I born on a Friday?) that she has ever encountered.  After I was no longer under the influence of Mandu, who was floating around on her Pink Cloud, I needed to plan for my future. During the day, as I laid on RIP  Daddy’s bed, I made long-term plans for sharing Momma’s bed at night, hence forth.

I also patrolled Momma’s  bedroom and noticed little Calico Diva Gen spent a lot of time on the bed and even got to eat kibble from a bowl, fed at the bottom of the bed. Huh!

I have got to get Jakita  to look that up in her Policy and Procedures for All Creation but I am almost certain that it is verboten and that Gen is just an overindulged, spoiled little Diva because she meows so sweetly, her fur is so soft and she knows how to manipulate individuals or even more importantly, how to work a crowd.  So what can I do to stand out in a house where I have to compete to get attention?

Like a good miner I must survey, then stake a claim and find the gold.  By 9:30 pm each night I jump on Momma’s bed, waiting, because as Gen said, ‘What else does a cat do?’  Around about 10:00pm  Momma & Jakita come in the bedroom, Momma lifts Jakita on the bed because, well, she is like a white (wo)man.  She can not jump.  If that was me, I’d be humiliated, but Jakita is so pampered, she does not even notice that she seemed to be born without springs in her back legs. But no trash talking Jakita.  She has a  good heart,  even if she is a bit paranoid, tattling to Momma  if I do wrong. At the same time she protects me from other cats, takes my side if I go out on a limb, reassure Momma when I over extend myself. She’s got my back.

Once the lights are out, I make my move, pouring my body against Momma’s  rib cage, my thick, matted fur wedged between the bed and her bones, purring contentedly. Meanwhile Jakita,  sleeps at Momma’s feet, drifting off to never-never-land.  I do not really get it but it is like Jakita  passes out, she does not even move a muscle, all night long, unless, I accidentally wake her up like I did a couple of nights ago.

Something I noticed is Momma  always brings a glass of water to bed, placing it on the bedside table, every night.  Now Momma  fills our water bowls many times a day.  She even mistakenly leaves toilet lids up and whoa, Andy thinks it is his private drinking bowl.   Not my cup of tea.  However, I do not mind drinking from the same glass as Momma.  Say what, Momma… won’t like that?  I have only one thing to say about that.  I am most fastidious, so get over it, Momma. One night I was thirsty. It was right in front of me, not two feet away.  The lights were off, but cats are nocturnal, right?

I quietly tried to step over Momma  to get close to the water-glass (thank our Baby Jesus it was a plastic).  Like a missile, the glass went flying, baptizing me, Momma,  the nightstand and the floor.  Angels and semi precious gems took flight, pills scattered, and Momma’s crystal ball rolled, like thunder from heaven, on the hardwood floor.

In a flash Momma   was awake, turning on the light, saying, ‘What the heck?’  I was in shock. What had I done? Would I be evicted from the inner sanctum? I jumped back over Momma,  positioned myself by my protector, Jakita  who seemed to rise from the great beyond and further. She sat up, shook her head to clear away the cob webs, looked at Momma  beseechingly as if to say, ‘No worries.  It was an accident,’   and  promptly flopped down and went back to her former comatose state.

Momma  looked at me, then at Jakita, hopped out of bed to get  towels to mop up the wet floor, and rectified random objects that had been caught in the devastation.  She got back in bed, turned off the light and said, ‘Go to sleep Charlie, Fais Do-Do, Jakita. Sweet Dreams and Charlie, the water is, as Jakita would say – mine, mine, mine.’

Is it any wonder I love, love, love Momma?

Something I have been meaning to bring up…I am so glad I was born a cat. We have it made in the shade, especially, if you have a Momma in your life.  She can be tough, not even raise her voice, just point the way to the door, out of here, when I do something I shouldn’t, like chasing and terrorizing Gen or our Stray Grey Clem (What ever made Momma think I would welcome another MALE cat in to my domain?) .

Then there is that other ‘whoops’, when I spray on the wall to show ownership, and mark my territory.  Since Momma has to go around behind me, cleaning, on her hands and knees, trust me, I am giving myself a short rope. I look in her eyes, see her disappointment in me, race to the door and literally eject myself, so she doesn’t do it for me.

Still, it is a good life. Clem’s a bit paranoid, a wild card, so it is easy to rile him, but son of a gun, that Jakita, who I have sniff air kissed every day since she came on board, has a system. She gives a piercing one bark only, to warn Clem I am just around the corner, destroying the surprise attacks, I so meticulously work on.  I couldn’t believe it but one day when I was skulking around, I saw both Sister Gen and Jakita give Clem the sniff air kiss.

At least Charlie doesn’t welcome the Stray Grey with open arms.  No, Charlie just lumbers off when she sees Clem approach, unless she has to take sides. It happened again last week.

On this particular day, I was not even being mean. I saw Clem sitting at the top of the stairs so I stopped to sniff, just sniff, his tail.  Well, Clem is always in attack mode with other cats.  He turned around so fast, using his massive right thumping paw to flip me on my back. His sharp claw, like a razor blade, hovered at my neck.  As I looked into his blank stare, it was as if a trained Ninja warrior held my fate in his hand.

Absolutely appalled at his reaction, Jakita, along with Charlie and Gen, came running, forming a barrier around me.  Meantime even Clem appeared shocked at his reaction. He jumped back on the food shelf and sat down, not snarling or growling, but crying, like a sad,little kitty as if to lament, ‘So sorry.  Sometimes I just lose it. Please don’t hold it against me.’ It was pitiful!

So you know by now, I am no ‘forgive and forget kitty,’ more a tit-for-tat and learn-your-lesson type. Fair is fair.  I was delighted to see the loyalty that I inspired in my sibling Gen, my step sibling Charlie, Jakita, the Author of  The Policies and Procedures of All Creation, but I had been humiliated and I am not like Sweet-Baby-Jesus, as far as turning the other cheek, you understand.

Next day, bold as brass and let-bygones-be-bygones, Clem came marching in when Momma held the door open.  He ate, I waited.  He slept under the table, on a dining room table chair, I waited.  I needed a good clear space to do my damage.  Feeling confident, Clem went to his favorite perch on the back of the arm-chair in the sun porch.  That meant this eleven year old Brainiac (not Muscle) Cat could jump him fair and square, in the open so all the household could see his humility, except Momma who would be busy doing this or that. In any case, she would not approve of or condone my Guerrilla Warfare attack.

So what happened? The All knowing, all hearing (remember the butterflies flapping their wings in Africa) Jakita, barked once. No response from Momma but Clem got it, very quickly. He dived behind the  chair, ears flat on his head, claws clinging to the yellow/gold/white afghan and arm-chair fabric, giving Momma enough time to hear the commotion and get an EXIT plan going.

I sauntered over to the door, proud that I let him know who was boss and that once again my mates rushed in but….

Hey, wait, are they protecting me from Clem or Clem from me? No worries, I got my eyes on that situation but I am thinking, it’s all good now.

Oooohhh, I love Momma, I love, love, love Momma.  Every day I still ask myself, what possessed me to behave so radically, when I could have had a life of ease?  Maybe my brain waves became scrambled from breathing the rancid air in the crawl space . I  believed I could tuck myself in to secret crevices where the Two Footed Foe could not even find me.

Then there was the all knowing Kat Mandu, who kept me captive and believing.  How was I to know I was a classic Stockholm Syndrome victim?  It makes me shutter to think that the only reason I would approach Momma, dear, sweet Momma, was to have her go to the door in the middle of the night to let that self-serving little Mandu back in the house to sleep with me.  But Mandu passed and along with her went her stories of horror from her life on the Moraine where she was abused, starved and rejected by both the Two and Four Footed that walk among us.

Give me a break. Tell me to shake my head a time or two.  When did a Two Footed abuse you, you may ask?  I have to admit…..well, never.  They fed me, brushed me, petted me, looked disappointed when I hissed, horrified when I would emit a deep-throated growl at other cats and totally mesmerized when I purred.  So what exactly made me believe a psychopath cat?  Maybe because she mothered me – she looked out for me and she played the best chess game of divide and conquer, winning each game but losing the  battle to live in harmony with all that share the earth plane.

The very day Mandu got sick, I dragged my solid body supported by my arthritic legs, upstairs and started to survey the lay of the land.  I had a feeling I was going to have to be not only the Quarterback, but the whole team.

Momma was no problem.  She did what all good Momma’s do, combing me, scratching me, talking in a loving manner. However, sneaky Momma had a plan to keep me upstairs.  A month or so after Mandu passed, Momma had someone close off the crawl space.  Not only did that keep me out, it kept all the cats from being sucked into the vortex whenever they were sick or in a moody mood.  It was not a popular choice at first for any of the cats who felt their privacy was being invaded.  However, in the long-term, we have come to recognize the wisdom, in this decision, Momma, since isolation leads to neurosis be it Two or Four Footed Critters.

Still, I had some mending of fences with the other cats since I had routinely denied them access to food dishes, the water and even the staircase, like the Troll under the Bridge, refusing safe passage. I hissed, I snarled and even attacked the other cats when they had the nerve to enter the basement, my sanctuary.

I kept a wary eye on Puppy Jakita.  She was so sweet-natured, while still very protective of all the household and it menageries, that I quickly felt comfortable around her.  We played a game of keeping our eyes down yet inching closer and closer to each other as we fell asleep, both trusting in this new  relationship.

Now that I did not have a crawl space, I wanted a comfortable  place to wile away the hours, where I could see what was going on, without having to part of the action.  I chose the bedroom of my RIP Daddy, laying my head on a  pillow, my body on the duvet, which I routinely burrowed beneath, to stay toasty warm.  And that was good but I was starting to want to have more time with Momma.  All day long she ran around, doing this and that, so it did not matter where I slept, she was constantly in and  out and  all about.  However, at nights, she slept in her bedroom with Jakita – no problem – Jakita and I were buds, weren’t we?

So I devised a plan to share the inner sanctum. I laid at Momma’s bedroom door. I pushed my paw under the bottom of the door, trying to miraculously open it, but that was a no-go. Guess I had the wrong tool box. Then I threw my solid body at said door, until, like ‘Open Sesame’ the  knob complied and I rapidly skittered in. I hid under the bed, then in one leap, sprang out on top of Momma, waking her from a deep sleep,  sending  her into shock and awe, all at the same time.  I was so proud of myself.  I purred so loudly, that Jakita, at the foot of the bed, whined at me to settle down.

Rule Number One, if I was sharing the bed – Jakita  was not like the cats, napping all day. She had a lot of responsibility, so she needed her rest at night….so settle down, already! 

Okay, okay, I get it, I will settle down for now but I got some plans Jakita, we’ll talk in the morning……