Lessons In Stalking: Adjusting to Life With Cats (5 page)

-12-

Kitty Nightingales

One Thursday night I came down with a bad cold.

I knew I faced a long night of tossing and turning, so I spared my husband my misery and opted to sleep in our guest bedroom. Miserably I sank beneath the sheets, making sure my two boxes of tissue were close at hand. My head was stopped up, my ears clogged, and it hurt to swallow.

I heard rustling and felt a soft “plop” as the kitten leapt onto the bed. She walked around my feet, a gentle purr emanating from her.

How sweet, I thought. My baby senses I’m sick and she’s here to comfor…

I was stopped in mid-thought as my Nurse Nightingale kitten threw her body weight onto my foot, wrestling it under the covers and trying to bite through the comforter to subdue it.

“No, no!” I said, shooing her away. “Mommy’s sick. No play time tonight.”

I lay back and reached down to draw the covers up around my shoulders. Big mistake. The kitten leapt superman like in the air toward my extended arm.

“ROWR!” she announced with authority as she fell on it, battling it to submission.

“Hey, ow. Hey, stop that!” I said. “Go away. Go play with your sister.”

Surprisingly, the kitten heeded my advice and went off in search of the cat. As I drifted off into a medicated sleep I could hear them chasing each other up and down the hall.

WHUMP! A kitten landed squarely on my chest. Before I found my breath to say anything she was off and running.

But then, WHUMP! The older cat in hot pursuit (and a good ten pounds heavier than the kitten) also landed on my chest, knocking the wind out of me. They circled each other a few times on the bed while I gasped for air.

“Rowr, meow,” said the kitten.

“Mrow!” warned the older cat, moving closer.

“Both of you shut up and get out of here,” I wheezed.

The kitten went on the offensive and leapt over my thigh to swat at the cat. The cat saw it coming and jumped back, landing on my head. I shoved her off and she immediately darted for the kitten who meowed in delight and raced off the bed and back down the hall.

“I am going to throw you both out,” I muttered. “Just as soon as I can stand up without feeling faint.”

Eventually, after about three hours of wrestle-mania, both cats calmed down and decided they were ready for 73 sleep. The kitten, still young enough to want to snuggle at night, found her way into my sickroom and curled up on my left side.

This brought the cat sniffing around. Independent, she has never slept with us. But she has been very aware of late of the need to keep up appearances as being just as cute and sweet as the new kitten. Seeing the kitten happily snuggled beside me the older cat sighed and plopped herself down on my right side. I was now sandwiched between two cats both of whom I found to be unnecessarily grumpy whenever I decided I needed to turn or roll over.

But the game of “I can do whatever you can” didn’t end there. The kitten decided to give herself a bath, so the cat followed suit. Now I was surrounded, unable to move, by two animals making disgusting smacking and gulping noises in the dark. I tried to send mental telepathy to my husband to race in with the NyQuil
^®
and knock me out.

In the morning I stumbled bleary-eyed and rednosed into the kitchen. My husband was whistling as he fixed himself breakfast.

“There she is!” he said. “How are you feeling? All better after a good nights sleep?”

I glare at him with one bleary, bloodshot eye. “We-aregetting- a-DOG,” I said through clenched teeth.

He frowned. “Why would we do that?” he asked.

“Because I need one to help me take the cats out, that’s why,” I said, slamming my cereal box on the counter.

The cats glide into the room, purring and rubbing against my husband’s ankles. “Oh, whatta matter?” he asked, picking up the kitten. “Is Mommy in a bad mood?”

The kitten playfully batted his chin. The older cat looked on, beaming. My husband reached down to scratch her under her chin.

Kitty Nightingales 74

Lessons in Stalking “Is Mommy being fussy? Yes she is. But who’s a good girl? Who are daddy’s good girls?” The cats have halo’s glowing atop them.

My husband kissed me gently on the forehead. “You’re still just feeling a bit under the weather,” he said. “Don’t take it out on the cats.” He grabbed his briefcase and waved as he walked out the door.

I perched thoughtfully on the edge of the kitchen chair as I considered my options. I know what I have to do. It will have to be a really big dog.

I’m going to have to take my husband out too.

-13-

Dibbs!

Having two cats is like having two children where you must never, ever, bring something home for one without buying the exact same thing for the other. Unfortunately, our cats are a bit on the greedy side. So even when we bring home something that is not for them, but rather for us, the cats still claim ownership.

For example, we brought home a new throw rug for the kitchen floor. Nothing fancy, just a basic woven throw with tassels on the ends.

We laid it on the floor.

“What do you think?” I asked my husband.

“Looks good,” he said. “I–“

A rumbling, rushing sound filled the air as two cats careened around the corner. Eyes bulging, ears laid flat, feet racing, they were neck in neck in the home stretch. Then, in a surprise move, the kitten took a Herculean leap, passing the cat and was the first to land victoriously on the new rug.

“Mrrowr!”she screeched, spread-eagled across the fabric.

“Rowr-rrrr!” the cat yelped, looking to us as if for a judge’s call. She screeched to a halt at the edge of the rug as if an invisible barrier protected it.

The kitten smirked as she pranced around the perimeter of the new rug.

“Well, it was nice for the thirty seconds we could call it ours,” said my husband. “I’m going to watch TV.”

I glared at his retreating back. Yet again, I was left to single parent the situation. Fortunately, I had the deft touch.

“You share,” I told the kitten. “Be a good kitty. Share.”

The kitten’s idea of sharing was to settle into the middle of the rug and begin cleaning her private parts. I decided parenting was overrated and joined my husband in front of the TV.

The kitten made herself at home, not moving for the next two hours. Our entering the kitchen didn’t deter her in the least, and she went so far as to let us step over and around her as we fumbled through trying to cook and set the table.

My husband, however, made the mistake of standing on the rug as he stirred something at the stove.

A rumble emanated from deep in the kitten’s throat.

“I’d move if I were you,” I told him.

“Why?” he asked.

The kitten walked over and glared at the portion of his shoe on the mat.

“You’re on somebody’s turf,” I said.

He looked down at the scowling kitten. “I pay the mortgage,” he said. “If I want to stand on my new rug, in my kitchen, no eight pound cat is going to stop me.”

I shrugged and went back to rinsing off lettuce.

The kitten nudged his ankle with her head. When subtlety didn’t work, she went for an all out head-butt.

“Hey, cut that out,” said my husband.

The kitten whipped out her claws and targeted his sock, which unfortunately had his foot in it at the time.

“Ow. Hey. OW!” He hopped off the rug.

“Us, zero. Cats, 391,” I said. My husband glared at me.

The cat moped in the doorway, watching the kitten nap on the rug. But older and wiser, she bided her time.

Per routine, I fed the cats at five o’clock.

The cat sashayed over and planted herself in front of the kitten’s dish. The kitten sat up, alarmed. The cat smiled, and then sank her head deep into the kitten’s food.

“Rowr, rowr, psst!” yelled the kitten. My husband and I came into the kitchen. The kitten stared accusingly at the cat. “Mrow, mow, mow!”

“Well, go get your food then,” I said.

The cat hummed as she paroled the perimeter of the rug.

The kitten bit her lip and lay down on the mat.

The cat wasn’t through. She started splashing around in the water dish. Hear the water? When is the last time you went to the bathroom? Ho, hum. Splash, splash. I love playing in the runny water.

The kitten crossed her legs. She looked worried.

Splish-splash. Splish-splash. Oh, how I love the runny, full, wet, drippy water.

The kitten turned a deep shade of purple as she held her breath. Unable to bear it any longer, she tore off the rug toward the litter box. Doing her business in record time, she raced back to the mat, coming to a dismayed stop at the edge.

The cat squatted at the corner of the rug, flipping a tassel back and forth.

Do you mind? her expression said to the kitten. I’m getting ready for bed.

Me, I’m fed up. It’s impossible to be in the kitchen with territorial cats nipping at my heels and both cats toying alternatively with starvation and kidney implosion so as not to lose their claim on the rug to the other.

“We have to take action,” I tell my husband.

He sighs. “You’re right. We’ve spoiled them. But with hard work and commitment on our part, I’m sure we can teach them to do better.”

I stare at him. “What?”

He stares back. “Weren’t you going to lecture me that we need to find new ways of reward and discipline, so as to create a more fair, harmonious environment where we all learn a lesson about love and sharing?”

“Uh, no. I was going to suggest we go buy two small, crappy rugs for the hall and let them duke it out there.”

He thought for a moment. “Okay, that’s good too.”

Too bad we don’t have kids. We’d make great parents.

-14-

El Toro Gato

I am envious of other people and their cats. Oftentimes it’s their close relationship and sometimes it’s just that their cats seem so…normal.

I was at a friend’s home the other day when a fluffy black and white cat with a jingling ball tied around its collar presented itself.

“Oh, how cute,” I said. “I have a tuxedo kitty too.”

“Watch this,” said my friend. She got down on all fours and the jingling kitty bounced over to her and they gently bumped heads.

“We used to just rub noses but now she likes to head butt me,” said my friend. She beamed at the El Toro cat.

“Isn’t that sweet?”

This got me thinking. Why doesn’t my cat perform cute tricks like that? She barely deems to let me touch her. As I drove home, I became more indignant. What was going on here? I pay for the food. I scoop up the kitty litter. I replace my sofa cushions monthly. I, too, deserve a head-butt.

The cat knew something was up the minute I walked in the door. This may or may not have had something to do with me immediately throwing my briefcase and purse on the table and dropping to the floor in front of her, arms splayed across the hall to prevent her untimely escape.

“Hi baby,” I said, easing my head down toward her.

“Nice kitty…”

My ophthalmologist tells me I am healing nicely and should be able to remove the eye patch within the month.

There’s a woman who writes a gardening column for the small town papers in our area. It’s the type of column I usually avoid reading as it involves things I know nothing about (dirt, nature, and enjoying dirt and nature), and never covers items I am interested in (how to air condition outside air or if it’s socially acceptable to plant fake flowers outside and try to pass them off as real).

In a recent column, this writer wrote about tales of animal heroism…three ants that worked to dislodge a splinter from the body of a fourth; mother dolphins that stayed with their babies trapped in fishermen’s nets, singing to them until both mother and infant drowned; and a group of sparrows that picked up a wounded sparrow and flew it off a busy street and into a city park. Anyone reading her article would come away with the understanding that animals are much more caring and compassionate then their human counterparts.

This woman needs to be introduced to my cats.

If I was lying stranded and bleeding in a net or on a busy street, the only reason my cats might be bothered to notice is if my mortal injuries delayed their feeding time.

Then they might nose me a bit in the hopes of encouraging me to get up and open the canister that contains their food before I expired.

But this implies my cats go outside, which they don’t.

They’ve gotten so prissy they don’t even try to hide the wrinkling of their nose, indicating distaste for my non-pleasing odor when I come in after a run. They are aghast that my parent’s dog will not only come near me but lick me when I am in this state. I see their stares of horror and try to explain it to them.

“She likes the salt,” I explain as the dog works her way up my arm.

The cats aren’t buying it. They walk away, tails in the air. I can hear their unspoken thoughts. That is just so uncouth and frankly, unsanitary. When is the last time that beast had her shots?

I hope they are referring to the dog and not to me.

Another friend walks her cat on a leash. “He loves it,” she brags. “He sits still whenever I get the harness out.”

I passed this information on to my husband.

“NO,” he said.

“No what?” I asked.

“No, we are not harnessing the cats,” he answered.

“I didn’t say I wanted to,” I said. “I was just telling you…”

“And you can’t make me,” he said crossing his arms.

“What? I never…”

“You can’t make me and I will leave you if you try to make me,” he said. “I’m a person too and I have rights and one of my rights is to not knowingly place myself in harms way.”

I rolled my eyes. “For heaven’s sake, I didn’t mean…”

He held his hand up, palm facing me. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That’s my final word.”

I sighed. “Well, okay, if you feel that strong, I guess you win. We won’t harness the cats.”

“Really? I won? I never win. Wow. I won. That’s great.”

A smile broke over his face and he wandered off toward the kitchen.

Well, what the heck. It just gives me more bargaining power for our next discussion. Which I happen to know centers around an agonizing amount of back work for him and a new garden for me.

Harness, indeed.