Tag: Kitty Cat Club Med

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.

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.

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?

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.

 

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……

 

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?