Tag: Honorable Guests from the Cat Colony

A gray cat, a stray cat, I am,  with a tapestry of light grey to black stripes with flecks of red and gold fur and don’t forget my alluring white tuxedo shirt and white-tipped paws.

In my mind, I have it all.  I ROCK!

Why is that, you ask?  Easy, I have the whole out doors to live in.  I am not tied to one location.  Like the old Blues song, ‘Wherever I throw my hat, is my home.’  I don’t really have a hat, but you know what I mean.

With that comes its own set of problems, like all those outlaw feral, that I swear have invisible leather vests, no moral code and a need to have a leader, associates, prospects and full-blooded members,  like a Feline Biker Gang and just about as violent. And they got tats, man – the scars of battles, lost and won. Their weapon of choice are those sharp incisor teeth and claw nails, like switch blade knives. Then there are those Forest Freaks made of who knows what spare parts from the Four Footed.  I am not Cat Trash, like they obviously are. I am a loner.  I see everything, hear everything, all the while hiding efficiently, moving around stealthily and always getting to my planned destination, without wear and tear to my holy temple, my God-given body. But if you want to fight, Bring It On.  The wild cat surfaces in me.  Be careful what you wish for…..I never lose.  Only the uninformed take me on.  I don’t have scars, I deliver scars.

Still, a little, nagging voice inside me keeps testing my fragile ego, telling me I am just not good enough to make the grade, to have a home, or a family that worries about me.  I know Momma cares.  She even named me, a rather strange name, but Clem it is.  I can live with that! She is delighted when I come to her door, even if I have been in a snit and not showed up for a month.  Wonder Boy likes me, too and he is a hard sell.  He does not put his heart out on a serving platter to be stabbed with tiny plastic tipped toothpicks.

I remember the time I disappeared for a month because I could not take BB and his non stop caterwauling, growling and hissing. I know, he had poor health, I should have had compassion.  I don’t do empathy. I did not want to hear about his pain and neurosis.  So we battled fiercely.  He always limped away, never learning.

One day it dawned on me, as I hid under the shrubs and peony bushes, I had not seen BB in a few days. Then a couple of weeks passed, still no BB.  There was Diva Calico Gen, oh, and that Andy-Long-Legs,  but no BB.  Apparently, (according to Momma), it was a month to the day I was last seen, when I returned, like  Houdini, actually better than Houdini, magically reappearing.  I walked up the steps to the front door, stood on the bench, leaned over to try to open the door handle with my paws, looking in the beveled glass pane and there was my Momma. We were eyeball to eyeball.    I could read the disbelief on her face. Nevertheless, I could have been the Prodigal Son, the way she feasted and feted me. If the other cats thought I needed to be taught a lesson for leaving home, (does it sound a little like the Prodigal Son’s brother???), I could adapt.  I let Kitty Club Med  enter the home first, skirting around Andy, giving him a wide berth and nose sniffing Gen. Piece a cake.

Momma really thought come the harsh True North Strong and Free Winter I would officially become an Indoor Outdoor Cat.  Not me.  I was born to wander.  I love warming up on the heat registers, found my own hide away under the claw footed bathtub but once I am fed and well rested, I insist that I got to go.

I love you, Momma and Wonder Boy but I got things to do, places to go. I take my job seriously.  I mean, who else is capable of 24 hour seven-day surveillance of the neighbor hood?  Trust me, I know  what everyone and everything has done or will do! On one hand I fancy myself a 007 James Bond Spy, on the other I am beloved by Momma and Wonder Boy, with  food to eat, comfy rugs to sleep on and lots of hands on stroking and scratching.  What’s not to love?

Don’t kid yourself.  I am not going anywhere soon, you betcha!

It is with great sadness that we tell you that on Sunday August 4, 2013 @6:30pm approximately Casey joined Cat Mao and Cat Mandu in Pet Heaven, where puppies do not snarl and kitties do not hiss.

Casey left behind his new Best Friend Forever Jakita (even though she nipped him when he was shooed from the table). How was a feral cat to know that was considered bad manners…tell me, how?

Casey will also miss his kitty family, new pal, Bad Boy Andy, his sometimes Ally, Beau depending on the day of the week it was, and Diva Calico Gen  who would even sleep on the same bed as him, and of course, all his Cat Colony friends, especially Seven.

 

More importantly, Casey knows he left a tiny hole in Momma, and Wonder Boys’  hearts because Momma said, she did, that he was the most amazingly easy feral cat to become domesticated. He will always cherish having a home to claim as his own and feeling beloved, even if it only lasted two and a half months.

No flowers, but next time you give to the SPCA, think of Casey – he had 2.5 months of bliss. Your every little contributions and kind deeds help make stray cat lives, no matter how short, better.

FYI: Casey was fine Saturday,  even ventured outside twice. He refused to eat food Sunday morning, which totally baffled and worried Momma.  He would not leave the room.  By the afternoon, Casey heard Momma and Wonder Boy in the kitchen and inched himself forward on his belly, to be with them in the kitchen. Momma picked him up and took him wherever she went.  At suppertime, sensing Casey needed quiet, Momma shut him in his bedroom,  (away from curious, pesky Jakita), snuggling him in a clothes basket, lined with comfy towels. Like a lamp that dims as it runs out of oil, he left the earth realm.

 

 

Casey was greeted by fellow Angel kitties, Cat Mandu and Cat Mao at the Golden Gates. He has reached his eternal rest yet we believe he will still keep an eye out to see what we are up to down on earth.

So, if he can be of any help, just call him. He’s waiting………

Postscript from Momma:                                                                                                Poor precious, brave Casey.  Although only between two to three years old by  the time he was rescued, he had been too famished for too long and battled too  many diseases to be able to have a normal span of cat life.  Our vet warned us  not to get attached but the heart, like the wind, goes wherever it wants to go.

 

Momma is at it again – flirting with a stray cat that she promises me will be an Outside cat. Where did we hear that before – oh, yeah, Casey and it did not turn out well. He drove a little stake in Momma’s heart, creeping closer every day, until he reached the front door but even so, it was Momma (blame Momma) who actually carried him through that door to the horror of all the Indoor, Indoor / Outdoor Cats and me.

Oh why, oh why must this happen again?  Is there a sign up down at the Cat Colony, Homeless Shelter for Stray Ferals, with a picture of Momma and arrows pointing the way to our house?  Probably not.  It is just when Momma realized that we had non paying guests seeking shelter in our garage, in the sub-zero winter weather, she did what all good hostesses do. She put out food.  Now one of them for sure is a sibling to Casey, a luxurious striped tiger gray, wearing a white tuxedo shirt. But the stray who has the most staying power is a hard-headed tortoise shelled cat with tortitude, not willing to succumb an inch to the members of the Kitty Club Med.  Me, he ignores, as if I am invisible, in his cat-i-tude world.

Oh why, oh why can Stray Cats not be like Roman Catholic Secular priests and nuns used to be, wearing far-reaching habits that would cover their frost-bitten ears, their matted fur and starving bodies with bones sticking out. That way, only their eyes would be revealed to show their desperation. (Ok, don’t freak, I know very few Orders still dress that way today). You know how Momma can not abide suffering, even for the ugly old slugs in the basement.  I believe if Momma could not see what dire straights the strays were in, she would not go in to rescue mode.

Indoor, Indoor/Outdoor Cats, I promise we will do our best, trying to scare that stray back to the Colony but this one is clever and getting nervier – even with me barking annoyingly and Andy Cat hissing, snarling, and caterwauling, it is flipping its’ tail at us and standing his ground, like a Floridian we all heard about – showing up more often, waiting for his food and water bowl to be filled, biding his time while the glow from the pine, makes a fool out of me.  Next thing you know, Momma will be setting up a comfortable place for him to sleep with a pillow and a heating pad, in the garage.  Will she never learn?

PS: Andy Cat is so two-faced – I told you, I told you, dogs and cats are day and night. Here I am trying to run the stray off, using techniques  Border Security employs between the United States and Mexico, (though I don’t have guns and detention lock-ups), thinking I have full feline support on my side.  However, as Momma opened the door today to take me for my afternoon walk, there sat Andy Cat with the Stray Cat, like two steps from inside. There was no hissing, no snarling, just two cats, finding a patch of sun to snooze in.  

I will be conducting a full investigation and filing a complaint with the Federation of Worldwide Registered Canines and Felines.  We are not going to take it any more!

 

I am a little concerned.  I heard Momma saying to Wonder Boy that I did not have a clue about the ‘concept of play’.  And that would be important…why???

Well, excuse me, but back at the Cat Colony there were no little plastic balls with a jingle bell inside, hanging on a pretty ribbon on the boughs of the trees and bushes.  No, more like dangling deer ticks and thistles, that were all out to get you and you, and oh, you too. I had to be a contortionist to remove them from  my coat. When I managed to expel them, I would  also pull out  a patch of fur,  which in turn formed scabs that became infected.

When Momma took me to the vet, because of my running sores, the gouge over my infected eyes and sprained leg, she learned……. too much information.  I was high risk, with Feline Leukemia.  If she wanted me indoors, I could not eat from the same dishes or use the same litter boxes as the other cats. I needed segregation, although I longed to be accepted, but not only by Jakita (who liked me from Day 1, sensing my brokeness both physically and mentally).

 

I can never forget the dreary, wet day, Momma took me inside, me, a wild cat, that had just recently met the Two Footed. I had no experience with dogs and had never entered an enclosed space without an escape route. Now surrounded by walls and ceilings and doors. I saw her put a comfortable cushion in the cat carrier, in the garage leaving the top off since cats always like a get-away.  Then like a farmer’s wife, collecting eggs from the hen’s nest, Momma kept checking for me to take the bait. I did.

After all, when we had gone to the vet together, Momma had cried because of my condition. I knew I had taken over her heart. I trusted this woman. So I dragged my weak body and useless leg on to the inviting cushion, out of the rain. She came out, threw a towel over my eyes to keep me from freaking out, picked up the cat carrier and took me inside, leaving me alone in a small room alone to chill out.  I inherently knew, Momma had my back, my belly, my very kitty being. I  hid under the claw footed bathtub and peaked out, perplexed about the gurgling toilet.

From time to time Momma would come in, get down on the floor, look at me, all the while talking softly, then leave me alone. As I grew braver, I slid between the end of the tub and the wall, inching closer so Momma could reach out to brush and stroke me. As time progressed and I was more at ease, Momma put ointment on my eyes and scabs, fed me antibiotics, food enrichment and tiny little vitamin packed treats. The truth be told, what I liked the most about my new life, was having a full dish of cold water. A fever can leave you devilishly thirsty.

There was no stopping Momma. Still, it was a dilemma for the Two Footed who are supposed to rationalize, rather than emotionalize,  facts and figures.

But that playing stuff, I mean I tried, domesticated cat rules, I used Momma’s scratching  pads for my claws, her litter box, ate and drank carefully to not have crumbs and dribbles on the carpet, always self groomed after every meal but…I didn’t do balls on strings, yet. Like, is that a problem?

I wanted to be PURRFECT for Momma and Wonder Boy. Then I learned (rather indignantly) although I probably should have felt proud, that I was going to be subjected to the on-line (of course) Cat Intelligence Test. I was only beaten by, you guessed it, Andy The Brainiac who of course bested me by his reaction over a piece string Momma teased us with. Logically, I had ignored the string, rather than becoming ‘engaged’. Heck, over at The Colony, it is like being in The Big House, you don’t ‘engage’ the unknown, you ignore it, and maybe, live to see another day.  And being as suspicious as I am, I wondered if maybe The Brainiac had been tested before and knew what the expectations were in order to qualify as  an Einstein Cat.

 

As you can understand, I am a textbook product of my scary, past environment. I probably need lots of years of cat psychology. But I do have a lot of love to give because well, all you need is love. If I have to ‘play’ to be a well-rounded cat for Momma, so be it. I am on it, as soon as I feel good enough to jump, run, and act like a frisky kitten.  After all, if the ten-year old  Diva Calico Gen, can  bat balls on  ribbons on door knobs, find treasures to push from table tops to the floor, or in the corners, I’ll  ‘just do it’ and make Momma’s day, even if it means that all the while I will be chased by a barking super-hyper Jakita, who can’t decide if she should join the fun or tattle on us and get us in trouble.

I am working on getting this ‘play concept’, honestly! Any suggestions?

Email: housekeeping@hotdogcoolcats.com

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