Sir Andy-Long-Legs Explains His Role

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?