So…let’s talk about those kitties….don’t let me get started on the kitties……….yet 4-5-6 even seven cats are easier to keep in line that one Momma – at least the one I got. I mean I have her well-trained about when I want to go outside, when I need fresh water, to be fed, brushed, petted, or walked, but that can get out of hand because first in the morning, she prepares a combination of dry and wet food for Andy, Gen, Charlie, BB and sometimes Clem. I have to give them credit – good little soldiers that they are, Momma sets down a dish for each and they always go to their own dish, Andy on the staircase, Charlie on her bed, Gen on the mat, BB in the sun porch, Clem outside. Quite the spectacle it is. But that takes time and Momma gets slower and slower it seems to me so I do not even leave my bed until they are all fed and gone because I can be testy in the morning, sometimes at noon and often at night.
Ok, I am not sure why the cats, Andy, Beau and Gen think they are invited on the walks Momma and I take. (I know Andy is considered the Brainiac but it was Beau, the Muscle that actually started the tradition of joining the walk that turns into an impromptu parade). At some point Andy and Gen decided ‘cool’ and joined in along the way. They think they are doing us a favor, sauntering along with Momma and I, but it is just more stress for me as I worry that they will get lost when they dive into the neighbor’s bushes, or be bitten by the neighbor’s massive pit bull or step out on to the road and be hit by a car. I know they go out by themselves every day and come back just fine but hello!!! Does no one remember Mao?
Momma is oblivious, but I see, feel, hear those cats without even turning, so I stop dead to let them catch up with us. Then Momma looks around and here comes, sometimes one, sometimes two but more often three cats, racing up our left side, hiding behind bushes every time they hear a car,then disappearing under the fence down to the creek and eerily reappearing, always two steps a head of us. Of course Momma cheerfully welcomes them, and graciously stoops down to pet them. I feel like the Prodigal Son’s oldest brother because I go through life on the premise that it is ‘all about me’.
Momma has to worry too, because only, the Brainiac, Andy Cat has it figured out. He will look both ways before crossing the road, check the traffic like a Cross-walk Guard. Not Diva Gen Cat or the Muscle Beau Cat. They are more like me (only I am on a leash and controlled by Momma). I have seen Gen rolling around on the middle of the street, begging Momma to scratch her belly. Beau goes out to prompt her to return to the safety of the sidewalk and then will become frozen in the middle of the street because he hears a car coming two streets away. Should he go back or continue forward? It seems there is no panic when he accompanies Momma and me alone, since he has no problem making and executing the right calls for himself. To tell the truth (but I am at liberty to deny it at any time), it is actually kind of therapeutic as the three of us roll around the block, through the park and home. However there are rules and one of them is Beau does not cross busy streets, like Centre. No, if we are going to cross Centre Street to go for a walk in the Cemetery, he will patiently wait in the bushes on the corner of Nelson and Centre, then accompany us home.
That being said, it still is an irrefutable fact, that the walk loses its ability to make me feel calm when we have three cats tagging along. My heart races, my breathing grows shallow and I plunk down until I can catch my breath. Oh and just for good measure, the first cat that comes near me gets a little growl to let them know they ruined my walk. They look at me, free as birds, tails held high, as they sail home before me, singing, ‘Na-na-na-na’ but the one who laughs last, laughs hardest….and I am the one in Momma’s bedroom every night.
In my dreams, all cats are in wire cages, and dogs run free but Momma says, ‘That’s a problem, you might get lost, like Sophie did.’ ‘The cats always find their way home, Momma,’ I remind her. ‘No dice, you are too cute, you’d be kidnapped or even worse, suffer Zanny’s fate’, explains Momma. ‘Never, ever, ever’, I pout but she has her fingers stuck in her ears. Why does she make decisions based on history? Go figure.
