cats – Aremyfeetofftheground

Furry ventriloquism

I never knew what cats were thinking, until my teenaged daughter started “rescuing” them, one by one, and bringing them home. In one case, it was a clandestine operation involving a smuggle under her jacket, and a fait accompli when we arrived.

Like many Dads, I found it hard to stay mad for very long, and actually was secretly amused by the lengths to which she would go to get these fleabags in the door.
Ahem, one of them actually was a fleabag. This was the smuggled one, and it came from her aunt’s place, who once (when asked how many cats she had) said “several”. Really, it was about 30, so this was classified as a rescue. Apparently, her Mom knew about it beforehand, and was in cahoots. When produced from inside her jacket, it was already scratching and had sores on its chin…..vet visit the very next day.

Once we had domesticated these things, it became my daughter’s habit to amuse everyone by devising clever things that she thought each cat would say in a given situation, then (with a straight face) speak the lines in a voice which was a dead ringer for the Gingerbread Man from Shrek.

It nearly made me pee myself, and, of course, this encouraged her. So, for the few more years that she lived at home, I got so used to it that I almost found myself wanting to have a conversation with the silly things.

When it finally came time for her to go on her own, she left them with us.
We were standing at the door to see her off, and my tears started to roll.
All I could think of to say was “Now, how am I going to know what the cats are thinking?”

Caturday

When you’re home alone, and you don’t think about closing the bathroom door, it is one of the absolute certainties in life that you will hear a little thump on the living room floor, and a click click click, as the cat jumps down from his window perch, and pads along the hallway to come and stare at you while you’re sitting on the throne. This is more important and entertaining to him than his usual pastime of licking his behind.

Someone wrote on Twitter the other day that if you get into a staring contest with a cat, and begin to wonder how intelligent it is, you can be assured that the cat is thinking the same thing about you.

We had an old tuxedo cat that lived to be about 18, and he was my infallible companion. Followed me everywhere, and we somehow got into a game that was mutually fun. He would lie down on the bed and eye me expectantly, knowing what was gonna happen next. It started off with my lightly touching each of the pads on his four paws until he got pretty pissed off and grabbed me. At the moment of the grab, I would toss him up in the air until he did a complete somersault. He learned to enhance the thrill by going totally limp as soon as I grabbed him, so as to make it more graceful. This went on for many years, until I buried him last year. Cried like a baby.

Two of the surviving three (yes, three), seem to have wanted to train as his replacement, so I now have double the pleasure of being followed and pestered incessantly, and, yes, they are eager to learn the mattress games. The third, who is the youngest and fattest, seems incapable of thinking about anything other than food.

More cat trouble

just outside my bedroom door
that little beggar waits
it’s finished all the bowls of food
and licked the empty plates

it’s pigeon-toed and cross-eyed
a ghastly sight to see
belly drags upon the floor
and a gaze that’s fixed on me

I think it has a pocket watch
(it always knows the time)
and sidles to my bedroom door
upon the stroke of nine

anticipation’s in its eye
(the left one, so I think)
the right one sends the signals out
and neither one will blink

and so I rise, attempting to
ignore its nagging yip
I walk on past, it catches up
and tries to make me trip

every day I lose the fight
the wife, she thinks it’s funny
I think I’ll help it pack its bags
and give it bus fare money

she says we can’t have company
no more, ’cause it’s no use
if someone sees it, we’ll be charged
with animal abuse.