My name is Charlie, short for Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte, but nobody has called me that in a way long time – I mean, I am called Kitty, or Pussy-Cat-Pussy-Cat-Where-Have-You-Been but never Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte – if I gave a pop quiz, I bet you not one of our house guests and their hang-a-longs would remember when I used to have a name, fit for a Girlie Kitty, because I’d been to London to Visit the Queen. I have been told I am now called Pretty Little Miss Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte Cat but just call me Charlie, I will come…now-a-days…but it was not always that way….
You see, years ago, before I got all Amish, shunning Momma like she was the dreaded ‘English’, I had an amazingly contented life. But then Cat Mandu happened. It is no wonder Momma called me her ‘Phantom-of-the-Opera-Cat’, with my mental health issues that may have been learned or inherited. I skulked around downstairs, only coming up to the food dishes, hissing and snarling at every cat that dared to come near – even though there were 6 dishes and truth be told, I could only eat from one of them at a time. But I had seniority and let every cat wait till I got my fill of food & water (if I got my fill), that was my reasoning.
It was not always like that. I had been rescued from a manufacturing facility as a feral kitten along with my sister, Black and White Mao. Can I tell about her, please, please – no, she has to tell her own story, well, OK, I guess. We were dirty from crawling around lube laden bins and food dumpsters, scrounging for our next meal. In order for us to meet standards apparently in place for domesticated cats, Momma almost drowned us by bathing us in water and scrubbing us down with Dawn Dish Detergent (well, drowning might be harsh, Momma let us keep our heads above water, as our little legs and paws trod the water furiously). You should have seen us, we looked like a Tom & Jerry cartoon, fur flattened in gobs, our ears bent backwards – we were towel dried, that felt good but I had to shake my head forever to get the water out of my ears. Good news is we learned to self groom so never went through that indignity again.
Then we were set up in a room with a lot of cleanser smells, porcelain and gurgling water, like the Creek my Baby Momma took us to. The Shower Stall was set up with towels, a litter box, whhaaattt??? And food and water in shiny dishes you could see your face and whiskers in, once it was emptied, of course. We were no longer in Kansas, Toto.
In no time (what is time to a kitten, you ask?), our boundaries expanded, we moved to a larger bathroom, then we were allowed to roam in the bedroom and the bathroom so consistently hid under Momma’s bed. No one could find me, even poor Momma who got on her hands & knees with a flash light, could not find me – but as she left, she said to the room at large, ‘You will come out when you are hungry.” That is one astute Momma – but those were the days when formation of character was happening and somehow, I fell off the track……………..It started out fine, before Cat Mandu from the Moraine taught me her version of the George Orwell, Animal Farm philosophy – some 4 Footed, good, 2 Footed all bbbbaaaaaddddd!!!
Once we had the free range of our new home, I would creep in to my Momma’s room at night, jump on her bed, stretch my growing body against her legs, and nod off to never-never land where I won all the battles and had an endless supply of fresh food and water.
However during the day I am sorry to say I came under the influence of Cat Mandu (I know, I know the rules, she tells her own story). She was already living with Momma when Mao and I arrived. Like me, Mandu was a Calico Cat and maybe because of my coloring, she became my Baby Momma, through adoption. She had no time for a Black and White Cat so Mao was left out of our inner circle – sweet, small and curious Mao was the first casualty of my shunning. How could I have done that to my own sister? But one thing, I promise, I never hissed at her when she was at the food dish. She and Mandu both were on the “Do Not Hiss List” I created in my head. So I agree, I am a bit bipolar, but aren’t all calico cats?
Now, now that Cat Mandu is History, I heard Momma claim, like a Monarch caterpillar, I have morphed into a chrysalis and emerged as a multi-colored butterfly, (albeit with thick clumps of mattered furs) – that is why now she calls me Pretty Little Miss Calico Butterfly Charlie. We’ll catch up later – I have lots to say, these days.
