Cat

Weather Predicting Cat

We had a wonderful yellow cat for quite a few years. He was an indoor/ outdoor cat by choice. Nearly grown when he came to us, he made his own decisions. We fed him indoors, hoping he’d accommodate us into his plans. Though he was polite enough not to eat and run, after a good meal and nap, he made it clear he had business outdoors as evening approached. His habits didn’t alter

even when he did. He was quite a hunter, bringing us gifts of mice, moles, and other small critters regularly. Because he refused our efforts domesticity, I didn’t feel the big fe, nor wishing to aid and abet him in their slaughter. As h aged, he spent more and more time outdoors. We did come to rely on his weather reports. Without fail, he’d come in before storms and bitter weather. Taking his ease on a pillow near the fire, he’d visit for the duration, taking his leave when the weather improved. He was always polite and friendly, but always made it clear his visits were that and nothing more.

Patches: A Story of Our Calico Cat

I believe our calico cat, Patches, was mentally ill. From the beginning, she liked the men in the family. As for the women, she either treated us with disdain or total rejection.

Many times, Patches behaved as though she was having hallucinations, staring intensely at walls or furniture as though something was there.

She was a very picky eater, preferring one brand of boxed cat food. The only other thing she’d touch was tuna. One morning I gave her the last of the cat food. That afternoon, on the way home from school, I sent my daughter into a convenience store with a five-dollar bill, assuming that was plenty. In a minute she was back out with her purchase. I always let the kids keep the change if they went in the store.

When we got home, Patches was yowling. I tore the top off the bag and poured. Patches had her face almost in the dish as dust fogged in her face, nearly choking her. My daughter had bought the cheapest item on the shelf with a cat picture. That may have been the very moment Patches took a dislike to us.

Bud and I settled into bed one night when Patches decided to visit him. He was lying flat on his back when she jumped up on him and started purring loudly and making biscuits on his chest. Eventually, she quieted down.

“Thank goodness, she finally settled down.” I said

“Yea, but I’d feel at lot better about it if she didn’t have her butt right on my face.” The

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Exploring Nature: Our Cat’s Hunting Tales

We live on a two acre tree-covered lot. It slopes down to a wet-weather creek. The creek flows much of the year. As a result, we are well-supplied with water-loving creatures: frogs, snakes, and mosquitoes. We keep it free of overgrowth, but we don’t hang around out there.

That brings me to our black cat, Socks. He was a sweetheart, regularly gifting us with mice, moles, and the occasional snake. We soon learned not to automatically open the door without d checking to see what gift he be bearing.

Socks particularly liked hunting snakes. He’d make for the creek, seeking them out, turning over, rocks, and branches, slapping at the water. His encounters weren’t happenstance. From a distance, you tell when he found his prey. He’d go from stalking to attack in seconds,

Most often, he’d fare well, bringing a floppy snake to play with. Twice he went missing for about three days, finally returning with a softball-sized head and healing fang -marks. He’d keep close to home for a few days before returning to to hunt.

Sadly, after a few years, Socks went missing, presumably suffering a fatal snake encounter.

How the Cat Taught Me to Make the Bed

Mother always stayed on me about making my bed.  I was a bonafide lazy kid, intent on getting loud without doing it.  It just wasn’t on my priority list.  Sadly, Mother usually caught me and sent me back to do it. I knew better than to lie. Despite her nagging,  I hadn’t internalized the need to make my bed at that point.

One morning, she had multiple catastrophes allowing me to slip out.  I sloppily pulled my covers up, pulled the door behind me and escaped, unaware I’d shut the cat in my room.  He snuggled into the warm spot I’d left and settled in for a nice nice nap.  I suppose he yowled later in the day and Mother let him out.

When I got in bed that night, I lifted the covers and slid between the sheets in one swift move, encountering a cold,slimy sensation from knee to thigh.  When I hopped out of bed, I found a soupy poop surprise the cat smeared on my leg.  It was horrible and felt like it couldn’t’ t be washed off.  It changed my attitude about bed making forever.  The cat knew how to motivate

Tough Cat

Ol’ Tom lived back in the good old days and had the run of the farm and only God knows how many wooded acres. Since he was intact, he often took leaves of absence to exercise his tom-catting. Sometimes he’d be gone as much as three months, then show up skinny, battered, and exhausted for some much needed rest and relaxation. With his tattered ears and many scars, he wasn’t handsome but it didn’t seem to effect his social life.

Tom and the dogs ignored each other except at feeding time. Daddy had several dogs and dispensed food in several receptacles to prevent fighting. I don’t mean dishes, I mean old hubcaps, old pots and pans, or bucket lids. Daddy made the dogs stand back till all the dishes were filled, then gave the signal “Ok!” The ravenous dogs fell to eating and never left a scrap.

Tom took command when he was home. Once the “ dog dishes” were filled, he took his pick. The older, wiser dogs stepped back till Ol’ Tom had his fill. A foolish dog might threaten him, once. Tom would calmly reach out and hook the dog’s tender nose, holding the poor animal captive at paw’s length till he ate his fill. At Tom’s convenience, he’d retract the claw and saunter off. It never took a dog but one lesson to respect Tom.

Somebody Broke the Dog

I am visiting my son for a few days.  This big boy has to be near me all the time.  I woke up with two Akitas and a cat in bed with me this morning.  I wasn’t lonely.

 

Misogynistic Cat

Patches was an appealing calico  kitten until you took her personality into account. She clearly had issues.  I have to admit, I never got her to a cat psychiatrist, so my diagnoses may not impress the more knowledgeable among  you.  At first, like any kitten, she was all teeth and claws as she frisked around.  My daughter was a sweet little girl, totally enamored of Patches.  That fickle feline  wouldn’t give her the time of day unless the child was opening cat food. Patches spit or hissed at me every time I got close.

Conversely, Patches couldn’t get enough of my son, even though he put forth nothing good.  He’d stick rolled tape to her feet and she’d come back for more.  He rubbed her fur the wrong way.  She loved it.  He never fed her.  My daughter would try to entice Patches to sleep with her.  Patches always struggled loose and sped into John’s room.  Should she be locked out, she yowled at the door till he let her in.

Patches might have been a Floozy in a previous life.  She loved Bud, too.  If John was not available, she’d cuddle up on Bud’s lap and purr like a washing machine.  I believe she also suffered from hallucinations.  From time to time, she’d be walking across the floor and seem to see something then panic wildly, before running to hide under a bed or sofa.  Other times, she’d wake from a dead sleep and run till she banged her head into the wall.  It was not uncommon for her to pursue an invisible mouse or yowl at nothing.  It never occurred to me me till now, but perhaps she was Seeing ghosts.

One night, John was gone, so Patches had to make do with Bud.   She hopped on him in bed,  moving several times, made a lot of biscuits, with her purring in overdrive the whole time.  It was impossible to go to sleep. Eventually, she settled down.  “Finally.  That’s a relief.” I said, “Maybe she finally went to sleep.”

In a muffled tone, Bud answered. “Yeah, well I’d feel a lot better if her butt hole wasn’t right over my nose.”

Smarty Kitty

Don’t ever watch infomercials when you’re bored and your wallet is handy.  Had a cold a few weeks ago, was flipping channels, and happened on a commercial for Smarty-Kitty, a product that will train a cat of any age to use the toilet.  I didn’t need Smarty-Kitty.  Squeaky, my ragdoll cat is five years old and up until I interfered with his life at that point, had never had an accident.  Well, naturally, I got busy and ordered Smarty-Kitty and the amazing “But wait” cat products that came along with it, postage and handling separate.  As soon as Smarty-Kitty arrived, I set it up as directed on a stool, in the bathroom near toilet, and Squeaky accommodated my craziness by using it, just like the commercial said he would.  We progressed in baby steps, as directed, moving it closer, finally, putting cat toilet directly on toilet seat.  Squeaky was okay with all this until I reached the point that I started cutting out circles when he would have been pooping directly into the toilet.  This was too much for him and he revolted and started pooping in bathtub.  I repented and put catbox back immediately, but he refuses to forgive me.  Since that time, any time I leave my bathroom door open, he poops in the bathtub, on a towel if he can find one, or on my bathroom rug.  He even got my sewing kit once. I have repented of buying Smarty-Kitty many times, but have yet to obtain Squeaky’s forgiveness.  I will never mess with a cat’s bathroom habits again.

Bird Dog

I was greeted by the desperate fluttering of a bird trapped in my fireplace this morning.  Shutting the doors to adjacent rooms, I went for a flashlight and dish towel before opening the fireplace doors.  Fortunately, he was blinded and clung fearfully to the bricks when I shone the light on him.  I was so relieved he easily disengaged from the wall when I grasped him with the dish towel.  My heart soared as he winged his way to freedom like so many others I’ve released from my chimney trap.  I was reminded of another bird experience.

Annie, our Dalmatian dog once alerted me to a bird on the fireplace.  That time it didn’t go so smoothly, since I hadn’t yet learned to shine the light on the bird to confuse it.  The bird escaped into the living room.  It took me a few attempts before I caught and released it.  During the melee, Annie bonded with the poor, terrified bird.  She clearly enjoyed seeing its return to safety.  Lest you think a lot of kind thoughts about Annie, I need to let you know, that’s the only non-despicable she ever did.  She was sweet about the bird.

The next day, I went to visit my sister.  Marilyn had just gotten a bird.  That poor bird must have thought it had gone to Hell.  Marilyn’s cat  had his hissing face pressed into the cage with his front paws clutching the cage in a death grip.  The traumatized bird had backed as far away  as the cage would allow.  Marilyn was tired of pulling the cat off the bird’s cage, so when she offered me the bird, I took it.  The weather was fine, so the bird stayed on the patio for the rest of our visit with the disappointed cat’s nose pressed against the glass the whole time.

Annie assumed ownership of the bird, greeting it every time she walked by and napping by its cage.  The bird enjoyed her company chattering merrily when Annie greeted it. They were friends for several years until the bird’s death.  It was a heartwarming friendship.