Category: Cool Cats

Although as you already know, I am an Indoor Outdoor cat, I have a secret second life, reserved for Wonder Boy, wiling away the hours napping on his bed during the night, or when I am allowed. When Wonder Boy’s bed is off-limits to me, Momma’s bed will do. It is also very comfortable to sleep on especially in the dog days of  summer.

So that is a bit about me but I am so much more than that. Having two brothers makes me a little Tom Boy although I am graceful as I float through life, flaunting my exquisitely ringed tail high in air, stepping so lightly I barely touch the surface I land on.

However after ten years on planet earth, I got very sick.  Like what does a cat know?  Let me get back to you with the truth, the whole truth  and nothing but the truth, so Help me God!

The disease manifested itself on a hot June afternoon – I felt sssssssssssoooo lethargic that I baked on the neighbour’s patio, not even seeking the shade of the bushes.  As night fell Momma came calling but I ignored her. I was just too tired to make my way home. As darkness prevailed, Momma kept coming out, checking, so nervous because well Mao went missing and never returned, we think she must be in what the Two Footed call ‘Kitty Purgatory.’

I knew Wonder Boy  would not be happy if I didn’t make it home. Feeling unbelievably wobbly, I slipped  off the neighbor’s patio and dragged myself under the first peony bush to spend the night.

Momma kept coming out, calling my name, but I was too weak to respond. The next morning , Jakita on full alert and Momma went walking, pounding the paving, calling my name.  I heard them, but the pain and weakness kept me from responding. Like clock work every half hour Momma would come out, call my name, implore me to come back, she had no shame of what the neighbours would think. Momma may worry about her pets more than some parents do about their kids, I think.

It just so happened Momma came out on her scheduled patrol at four o’clock in the afternoon, as I started the long crawl, flat on my belly, to the front door to get help from my Two Footed Momma and Four Footed Jakita.  I know how cats react to illness. We are all so neurotic  that we avoid sick cats like the plague. She scooped me up, took me inside to lay on her bed, brought me food and water, which I refused. I had no clue what I needed to get better so I decided to disappear downstairs to the cool crawl space, away from the family hustle and bustle.

You know Wonder Boy loves me, loves me, loves me. When he could not reach me in the crawl space he was fit to be tied.  You can bet that Wonder Boy is going to persevere until I am safe and sound in his arms, no matter if it was midnight. Although the mission was successful, we all knew I needed medical intervention, to bring me back to the land of the living.

No wonder Wonder Boy and Momma were so fearful to lose me. Mao had so silently slipped out of our life. Come morning an appointment was set and it was off to the vet.   After two days and nights of re-hydration, antibiotics, anti acid and some vitamin pills, I started to pickup and even enjoy the attention and the spoiling from the Vet and Staff.  At home, I lived the life of Riley, I had 3 dishes, 1 of water, one of wet and one of dry food fed to me alone, away from the other cats, in Momma’s bedroom. What is not to love? My only complaint was I had to continue the medications, if I wanted to live.

Remember, lovable as I am, I wasn’t always fed in bed….that had been a ‘In Sickness’ commitment. Now behind my back (I hear her) Momma doesn’t call me The Diva Calico Gen. No, I am named  her $1300.00 Cat. After a run of ten years of good health, I collapsed, along with every organ in my body.

 

Something you should know about my Momma…. Now that I spend more time in her bedroom, I notice she rushes here, she rushes there, making a sharp left in to her bedroom, notes me sleeping with my head resting on pillow, top right hand bed corner.  I get up, do my stretch and venture to the bottom, resting my paws on the back board of the bed, begging for the food dish (for the 10^th time today) to be opened and please, please, please brush me.

Momma ignores me – that’s okay, I can wait,  what else does a kitty do, I silently  communicate to her.

Momma does her In and Out of the Bedroom, as fast as she came, she’s gone and I sit there, staring at my white paws hanging over the edge of the bed.  She’ll be back.  Count on it.  Twenty minutes later back comes Momma carrying all kinds of frightful whisks, mops and brooms, enough to frighten a sane cat in to hiding, but I sit there, still imploring Momma, with my ‘I would die for you’ eyes.  She capitulates as I manipulate, brushing my fur, opening my food dish, all the while, cooing at me softly . Our God is good and predictable.

I just wonder….. if Momma  noticed the how the crystal hanging in the window seemed to create a tiny tiara above my head  as she squinted in the afternoon sun beam – fit for a  Countess Diva who does not lose, she perseveres on to victory.

 

 

 

 

Hands down, I am the strategist cat in this gang land.  For instance,  I quickly noted how our Forever Family turn the door handles to open them and so I routinely do the same, with various degrees of success (I see Clem, the Feral has figured it out as well – bummer, another Brainiac…not as clever as me…of course. When it doesn’t work, I move back and hurdle my body against the door and in no time, I am in or out – like Houdini, I am magic.

At one point, we had the cutest little Yorkie, Xanadu (aka  Zanny).  She was an escape artist, faster than a speeding bullet, ripping in and out of traffic, crossing busy streets and the word STOP meant GO FASTER in her ditzy little pea brain. We all know stories like that have no good endings….Then again, tiny as Zanny was,  I worried she could also be dog napped because well, a pure bred puppy is like money in the bank for some evil Two Footed excuses for humanity.

And so because of all Zanny’s  aberrant behavior, I learned how to stop her dead in her tracks (except that fateful day – I know, it is her story to tell).  If Zanny escaped and was off like the wind on her lead, I,  Andy-Long-Legs would

dart in front of her and sit my body on the lead, waiting for  Momma to catch up with us.  Some times, if the Yorkie got out without the lead on, I would stop her in her tracks by plunking my long, sinewy body on top of this itsy-bitsy fur ball.  I also taught my siblings how to team tag Zanny and they too could help in the rescue. I was / am a legend in my own mind, until…that day.

 

Like Senorita  Jakita,  Momma tested me and, no kidding, I am what is called a Cat-a-stein because of the way I respond to human stimuli. It seems that Momma has to crafty herself  to outsmart me.   Momma says I just  walk to the beat of my own drum.  However if you are asking me, I am the Leader, the Brainiac Management Cat, goal oriented, with plans in place, carried out and on to the next fire to control, then extinguish. It is a ‘Plan-Do-Check’ method of operation. If Jakita has an over abundance of dog-a-tude, I have cat-a-tude in spades.

One day, years ago, when Daddy was still with us, God-Rest-His Soul, I came in for a bite to eat (I may catch birds, bees, mice or whatever – but I am a city slicker kitty – I only eat specially blended and  balanced top of the line cat chow, with Vitamins and minerals added, two maybe three mouth full at a time, befitting a Cat of Extreme Culture).

Somehow I sensed Momma needed my help and I would do most anything for my Forever Family. She was lying down on the couch in the living room and I meandered in, issuing mournful sounds (‘I am so sorry you are feeling poorly‘, I meowed).

I jumped on the couch beside Momma, placed my two paws on either side of her face and carefully looked her over, never breaking eye contact.  After conducting my appraisal, I decided some deep kneading and purring were the remedy.  I went about pushing the blanket with my two front paws, offering white noise in the form of a low purr for a few minutes, then once again took Momma’s face between my paws and looked for signs of improvement.  Apparently, it was working, so I continued my mission, kneading and purring, with us both drifting off to never, never land.

A couple of hours later Daddy came home, and stood over Momma and I. He asked did she want him to get rid of that cat. Well…excuse me!  I  jumped off the couch, gave Dad a huffy look and stalked out the door, tail held high.  I had completed the healing, now, anyway, and if that was the gratitude I was shown, I was so out of there.  If I was going anywhere, I would do it on my own steam, not with an eviction notice being carried out by Daddy, apparently the self-appointed Sheriff in Town.

There is one more thing I want to share with you so you know how special I am. Beau and I (Beau followed me everywhere) discovered that Wonder Boy (Momma & Daddy’s one and  only child) sometimes partied at his friend (Lover Boy’s) home, about five or six houses down the street.

When a party broke forth..frequently, may we add... we would pad on down the street, slink behind bushes as we meandered over to peek in the basement window to rouse our Lord-and-Master, to remind him, ‘It is time to go home.  The roosters are crowing’.  At the window, we batted the glass pane with our paws, to get Wonder Boy’s attention.  Of course, we ended up getting everyone’s attention.  If Wonder Boy was still not ready to come home yet, he told us to ‘just go away’.  Do you think we listened?  We knew Momma would be on our side. We silently padded out back to the sidewalk, which is public property, you know and patiently waited for our Lord-and-Master.  When  Wonder Boy finally headed home, we raced on ahead of him, not trotting at his side, like a dog would, but streaking, kitty style, anxious to be in position on the front step, vying to be ‘first in’ when he opened the door.  Once more, we sighed, we were enfolded in the bosom of our chosen home wherein we found a comfortable spot to rejuvenate our kitty souls.

PS:  Over the years Lover Boy was so  entertained by Wonder Boy’s cats, that he finally convinced his parents that they too should get a kitten. They chose a handsome, long-haired, ginger kitten, who was as street savvy and (almost) as clever as me.  I am sure you have already guessed – Lover Boy proudly tells the world he has the best looking, smartest cat in the world.                                    What were the odds of that  happening as long as I am still alive?

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.

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.

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.

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.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

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?

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….

 

My name is Charlie, short for Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte, but nobody has called me that in a way long time – I mean, I am called Kitty, or Pussy-Cat-Pussy-Cat-Where-Have-You-Been but never Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte – if I gave a pop quiz, I bet you not one of our house guests and their hang-a-longs would remember when I used to have a name, fit for a Girlie Kitty, because I’d been to London to Visit the Queen. I have been told I am now called Pretty Little Miss Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte Cat but just call me Charlie, I will come…now-a-days…but it was not always that way….

You see, years ago, before I got all Amish, shunning Momma like she was the dreaded ‘English’, I had an amazingly contented life. But then Cat Mandu happened.  It is no wonder Momma called me her ‘Phantom-of-the-Opera-Cat’, with my mental health issues that may have been learned or inherited.  I skulked around downstairs, only coming up to the food dishes, hissing and snarling at every cat that dared to come near – even though there were 6 dishes and truth be told, I could only eat from one of them at a time.  But I had seniority and let every cat wait till I got my fill of food & water (if I got my fill), that was my reasoning.

It was not always like that.  I had been rescued from a manufacturing facility as a feral kitten along with my sister, Black and White Mao. Can I tell about her, please, please – no, she has to tell her own story, well, OK, I guess. We were dirty from crawling around lube laden bins and food dumpsters, scrounging for our next meal.  In order for us to meet standards apparently in place for domesticated cats, Momma almost drowned us by bathing us in water and scrubbing us down with Dawn Dish Detergent (well, drowning might be harsh, Momma let us keep our heads above water, as our little legs and paws trod the water furiously). You should have seen us, we looked like a Tom & Jerry cartoon, fur flattened in gobs, our  ears bent backwards – we were towel dried, that felt good but I had to shake my head forever to get the water out of my ears.  Good news is we learned to self groom so never went through that indignity again.

Then we were set up in a room with a lot of cleanser smells, porcelain and gurgling water, like the Creek my Baby Momma took us to.  The Shower Stall was set up with towels, a litter box,  whhaaattt??? And food and water in shiny dishes you could see your face and whiskers in, once it was emptied, of course.  We were no longer in Kansas, Toto.

In no time (what is time to a kitten, you ask?), our boundaries expanded, we moved to a larger bathroom, then we were allowed to roam in the bedroom and the bathroom so consistently hid under Momma’s bed. No one could find me, even poor Momma  who got on her hands & knees with a flash light, could not find me – but as she left, she said to the room at large, ‘You will come out when you are hungry.” That is one astute Momma – but those were the days when formation of character was happening and somehow, I fell off the track……………..It started out fine, before Cat Mandu from the Moraine taught me her version of the George Orwell, Animal Farm philosophy – some 4 Footed, good, 2 Footed all bbbbaaaaaddddd!!!

Once we had the free range of our new home, I would creep in to my Momma’s room at night, jump on her bed, stretch my growing body against her legs, and nod off to never-never land where I won all the battles and had an endless supply of fresh food and water.

However during the day I am sorry to say I came under the influence of Cat Mandu (I know, I know the rules, she tells her own story).  She was already living with Momma when Mao and I arrived.  Like me, Mandu was a Calico Cat and maybe because of my coloring, she became my Baby Momma, through adoption.  She had no time for a Black and White Cat so Mao was left out of our inner circle –  sweet, small and curious Mao was the first casualty of my shunning.  How could I have done that to my own sister?  But one thing, I promise, I never hissed at her when she was at the food dish.  She and Mandu both were on the “Do Not Hiss List” I created in my head.  So I agree, I am a bit bipolar, but aren’t all calico cats?

Now, now that Cat Mandu is History, I heard Momma claim, like a Monarch caterpillar, I have morphed into a chrysalis and emerged as a multi-colored butterfly, (albeit with thick clumps of mattered furs) –  that is why  now she calls me Pretty Little Miss Calico Butterfly Charlie. We’ll catch up later – I have lots to say, these days.

 

 

 

Okay, I insist, I must go first because I have so much to contribute since, well, I am  Sir Andrew Long Legs, (Andy for short). When I yawn, my jaws separate so widely that I could swallow a full-grown pumpkin. Sometimes I emit a guttural growl that starts at my toes, and moves up my body to join the air emanating from my lungs, creating a storm that spews from my mouth and ears, putting fear in all critters, even me, truth be known.

In the beginning, when we found our Forever Home, the  vet  told Momma that two of the kitties she had rescued from work, were female and one was a male.  So I was called Antoinette – till Momma and Daddy caught me in the act, indulging my male testosterone level with poor, innocent Gen. Daddy grabbed me, Momma picked up Gen to  soothe her and let her know that there was a cure for that dastardly deed and it would be  imposed forthwith. I was renamed – Andrew or Andy-Long-Legs because I have such a long body and legs.

The surgery for the cure was promptly moved forward. Even though I was not sure exactly  why, still,  it still made me feel like I had committed one of the Seven Sins –  notwithstanding, I wasn’t chastised in any way and it had no long-term psychological effect on me, honestly.

After healing from the surgery, my siblings (Beau and Gen) and I, quickly became Indoor / Outdoor cats. We would wander over to the neighbors’ yards or across the street to pick up the other members of our feline  only ‘gangsta’ club from the Cat Colony or the neighbor hood.  We would hang out on street corners, sauntering down the side-walk, sometimes three deep. However, by nature, we are hunters (our Baby Momma cat did not get a chance to teach us, and I can assure you, Momma is clueless about stalking prey). Most of our outside time was spent at the Creek or in our front or back yard. I tell you that there are no more mice, pretty little birds, bees or butterflies in Jakitaville.  Unfortunately, it is the law of nature, we cull the herd.

Once the hunting is done, it is time for a nap, on a lawn chair, in the sun on a cool day, or in the shade, in the heat of summer.

When I wake up, all refreshed and energized, I go looking for a game of chase with Mr. Grey Squirrel. Since the back yard is a Squirrel Free Zone, patrolled and enforced by Jakita (our Hot Dog), Mr. Grey Squirrel scampers back and forth on the fence that encloses our yard, screeching, dive bombing from the fence to the cherry tree to the roof of the garage –all the time secure in the knowledge I can never catch him.

In no time, Mr. Grey Squirrel is complaining because I tired him out. He takes a timeout high in the red maple, chirping and upbraiding me, his beady eyes keeping watch while the leaves camouflage  his rat like body and his big, bushy tail. Feeling I have accomplished a full day, I push my way through the hole in the screen door (that I created for ease of entry). I go in the house meowing,  ‘Hey, I am back. did you miss me?’  and head to my usual spot on the living room couch. When I am lucky, I even find  another kitty to curl up with, for what else…. a cat nap.