Christmas Surprise – Told by Puddles the Cat

Out in back of the house, in the sparsely lit snowy alley there was a gathering of sorts, a gathering of the feline persuasion.  Many had gathered to hear about the latest exploits of Puddles the cat.

“So you see boys, I was upstairs in the Mrs.’s bedroom.  I was minding my own business when all of a sudden I couldn’t resist the call of those pretty parcels, and let me tell you, those baskets made some noise...”  Puddles shifted on the garbage can and began telling the story again.

           

“All that shiny paper holding in all those goodies.  Those goodies not only could I smell, but when I came upon that transparent paper and actually saw the booty, whooeee...what else can I say?  I just couldn’t help myself.  You know how it is right?  Like when they leave the meat defrosting on the counter, or better yet they leave the turkey cooling in the kitchen before they cut it up.  You’re sitting on the warm linoleum giving the soulful eyes, to no avail.  What else is a cat to do?  Year after year it’s the same holiday torture show.”

           

“But Puddles, they always cook up the gizzards for us, and if we are really good we get gravy too.”

           

“Hello?  Who said that?  You down in front?”  Puddles pointed a fury paw to the tabby in the third row.  Heads turned.  “Boy...are you new?  Have you been listening to me?  Don’t you see the plight I am explaining to you?  Who brought this kid?  Ya, I know, no one is gonna fess up to that one.  Where was I?  Oh yeah, so I ask you what is a cat to do?  Here is the opportunity of a life time, am I wrong?  You’re all looking at me as though I am floating three feet above you ... would you have passed up the booty in those baskets?  I don’t think so ... and if you did you’re a traitor to the feline fur coat!  Need I go on?  All right then, let me tell you how it was.  Okay, I am perched upon the bed right, and I have one hell of a view of the cheese.  Yes, you heard me right there was cheese and Damn if it didn’t taste good.  Before I knew it I was in there like a shot ... I clawed my way through that red cellophane paper and I was seeing through rose colored glasses let---me---tell---you!!  Somehow, it all made sense.  All those years of holiday torture, wrapped up in that one moment...it was like irony...What?  Okay, what fool piped up with ebony?  I said IRONY not IVORY!! I heard that.  You might think I don’t know who you are, but I’ll be dealing with you after.  Don’t kid yourself, Ebony my Wiskas...”

Meditations with Tom Thumbs

For those of you who are not privy to who Tom Thumbs is, let me explain.  Tom is a caramel colored tabby who came into my life last winter as a stray.  Tom is the larger of the two cats who have decided, through the gentle coaxing with cat food no doubt, that life on the “streets” is harder than life within the compounds of our residence. 

Shy Tale, the small, dainty, grey tabby prefers the comforts of the insides of our dwelling while Tom is the defiant patio rebel.  Taking it upon himself to guard the flowerbeds and gardens from scaly and whiskered foe that dare to show themselves.  He lies out lion like, rolled over onto one shoulder and hip while surveying his domain, basking in the afternoon sun or in lazy crawling shadows of weeds that insist on emerging between the cobble stones. 

I look deep within his eyes which are flecked with a brilliant lime green and I wonder if he is somehow sending me Morse code messages through his slow winks and almost imperceptible nose twitches.  Perhaps this is some kind of feline alphabet that he shares with me through a silent knowing?  For it seems that through his lazy gaze he is also intent and focused on the slightest change I make with my own face turned upon him. I take it upon myself to try out this hypothesis on our seeming mediation and wait until I have his full attention.  When I do close one eye a little more than the other and then slowly and deliberately close both of them together, and repeat this again when I see that he is raptly focused upon my face and particularly my eyes.  I hope that if I am saying anything to him at all that it was not aggressive, the last thing I wanted was Tom’s claws in my calves.

I was somewhat surprised when Tom rose and came over to where I sat, he mewed once—almost as though he was letting me know he understood, but understood what if anything was yet to be determined—then he lay down over my feet and began a loud rumbling purr. 

I smiled to myself wondering what exactly I had said.  Did I give the signal that my toes were in need of toasting?  Or that I was feeling sleepy and wanted to cuddle?  Or was Tom secretly chuckling to himself at my frail attempt to bridge the language barrier?  Either way I enjoy my meditation time with Tom Thumbs and I am grateful for such a brave backyard warrior.

Cats (My attempts at Karl Pilkingtonisms)

Cats are great aren’t they?
I mean they don’t eat much,
they clean up after themselves,
and you don’t have to worry about them
barking at the neighbors.
Just give them a comfy spot
on top of the chesterfield
with a view of the street,
it’s a reality TV program for cats.
There are no leashes to buy,
no sub-sized doo’s in the backyard to search for,
and they will even rid the house of mice;
if you ask me it’s a no brainer.

Garden Girl

Yellowed eyes
peek out from beneath
un-tutored blackberry brambles
she, my whiskered rambler
sliced with shadow smudges
lays with gaze lit upon
bruised blue-black
feathered fiend
perched worrisome
upon wired house tether
it rocks back and forth
with exerted beak warnings

All talon feathered friends

aware of her golden grassy bunker
amongst pink petals and thorn
potential feathers stolen
from her splayed claw
and chattering jaws

The Cat Who Loved to Fetch

This winter when the neighbors moved out I was surprised that they had abandoned their kittens. 

I guess I should not have been.  She seemed to be the type of person to collect men kids and tattoos; cats seemed the logical progression.  I had to give her credit though she named the black and white critter quite well; his legs were covered with white patches from foot to chest and all the way up his hindquarters, while the rest of him was black as a moonless night sky—thus she called him Moon-boots.    Not the typical “Socks”, “Sooty”, “Shadow” nor “Smudge”.  No, she named him Moon-boots, and it suited him perfectly, an unusual name for an unusual cat.  

Blissful Moon-boots who ran up to you mewing his greeting, wanting nothing more than love in the sunlight while I was gardening, or to jump into my lap when I was writing on the patio.  Moon-boots who was the only cat I knew who loved to play fetch with my eight year old son, his fishing rod and a catnip filled toy at the end of the fishing line.

What was not so surprising was that she had decided to take Moon-boots with her, to the disappointment of my son and I, while leaving three cats in his wake--a huge ginger tabby and two twin grey and black tabbies.   I made the discovery when I was walking up the driveway one day and saw the cats emerging from under the market next door.  Perhaps I should explain.  There is a local grocery market next door to us and it has a residence in the back of it.  They are together in one building but separate, and it was from under this that they emerged.  I was saddened.  Not only were they abandoned but now they were left to find shelter under the old market.  It wasn’t right. 

I re-traced my steps back to the market to find out if I could get any more information from the teenage employees working that night.  I found out that the renters were indeed gone, and they had left the cats.  (I thought perhaps there was a chance that they could not find the cats on moving day and would be back to collect them, but alas this was not the case.)  I asked the girl what she thought about it.  She said that she wanted to take the cats herself but couldn’t because she already had three of her own.  I asked her what the owners thought about the situation and she told me that she hoped that they didn’t know about it because they would call the pound and have them rounded up.

There was a foot and a half of snow on the ground and I wondered when the cats had eaten last.  I asked her when the tenants had left, three days ago she told me.  That was it; I grabbed some cat food and asked her if they had any plastic containers I could use.  I couldn’t have the cats in my house because of allergies but there was no way I could let them starve. 

I paid for the cat food, went up my driveway again and then I lined up all three containers, filled them with food and then came back with a bigger container full of  water.  Then I went into the house to see what would happen and how long it would take until I saw some movement.

It wasn’t long at all before I saw a pink nose quivering just shy of the shadowy darkness, it hovered there for a moment, then back it went, only to reappear a moment later with some whiskers this time too.  I could tell it was one of the little twins.   So timid it was, coming out slowly, eyes wide with caution, little pink nose never letting go of the promise of food.  Then it was eating with gulps so big I thought it would choke!  Eventually I trained them to come to the back patio for the food and water so that the rain and snow would not make it swell. 

It was supposed to be a temporary thing, this adoption of these three furry orphans.  Just to give them a fighting chance over the winter.  But it seems that my heart has come to enjoy their presence and their routine.  They are still quite flighty and will run at the sound of the back door opening, but I hope that will change. 

I am not quite sure what to do about the crows and other birds that come to steal their food.  At first I took to the patio every time I heard them cawing to their counterparts, I must have looked like a mad woman flailing my arms in an attempt to scare off the black feathered jackals.  But even if I did, it didn’t seem to faze them, they would just come flying and hopping back again as soon as I left or closed the door.  It would make me so angry thinking of them stealing the cats food!  It infuriated me to think that they would take from these little souls who had so little. 

Then as I thought about the problem more deeply I found that it wasn’t a problem at all.  It was just that I was looking at it all wrong.  I originally wanted to help the cats and alleviate their suffering, but the crows and the birds had just as much right to the food didn’t they?  They too were sentient beings.  Why should I put the cats over the birds?  Weren’t they just acting in the way of their nature?  Opportunities arise and we are provided for, it is no different in the animal world.  Besides the crows keep the eagles out of the yard, and I would really hate to see one of my kittens flying away.

So now when I hear the call of the crows, I don’t worry as much.  It will be what it will be and it will be perfect as it is.  And hopefully in the summer, we will have 3 more cats who love to play Fetch.