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Buddy and Sue
This is all about Buddy and Sue. They own my son. They are brother and sister, and are your common grey tabbies.
Buddy is the quintessential SNAC (Sensitive New Age Cat) - he is huge! A gentle giant. Purrs loud enough to wake the dead, and honestly believes he is a computer expert. He sits on the desk, peering at the screen, and occasionally trying to catch the cursor when I am typing. Often, he "corrects" my spelling by walking on the keyboard, and if he thinks I am paying more attention to the computer than him, he sits on the keyboard - which is pretty effective - because I can't see it when he is sitting on it, he covers it completely.
He has an arch-enemy in the neighbour's black tom. I don't know this cat's name, but he is the local terrorist. He had Buddy bluffed for quite some time, until one day Buddy discovered that he was the bigger and stronger cat, and now he rules the neighbourhood. He has a few pieces of ears missing thanks to the terrorist cat, but would rather be inside any day, than outside (except when little girl cats come into season, of course).
If he isn't sitting on the desk, he sits on my feet - which is great in the winter time.
As for Sue - well, as I said, she is Buddy's sister. She has been speyed (as all my girls are), but I think she has frustrated maternal instincts, because she jumps on the back of our lounge chairs, and tries to lick our heads, grooming us and "keeping us clean" - she adores my son, and her favourite pastime is sitting on his knee whenever he is home.
She is also very proud of my scooter - she thinks she built it! At first she would parade around the place where-ever I went, checking to see if I was still coming, and acting like a guard escort. However, the other day, she decided to try sitting between my feet, so I drove across the lawn - she loved it! Now she wants to gad all round the yard with me - I reckon it won't be long and she will try to kick me off, and "drive" it herself.
Sue is a sweet little cat, and I love both her and Buddy dearly.
Copyright © Ellen Kearney-Ladgrove
October 2, 2002
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Many moons ago, our faithful narrator was living in a quaint duplex apartment. Once, while walking by a neighbor's house, he noticed a black cat emerging from within. "Goodbye, Tarmac!" the cat's pleasantly yuppified female owner said, from the doorway. Tarmac had the happiest look on his face, and appeared ready for his day's exploratory adventure. The narrator of this story took note of the cat's funny name: "Tarmac," he said to himself. "Isn't that the black substance they use to pave streets?"
Many days later, said narrator left his front door wide open. It was a hot day, and the cooler was running full blast. Who should walk by but Tarmac. "Hey, Tarmac!" The cat was extremely friendly. The narrator let him come in the house to hang out. Tarmac pushed his head into the narrator's hand repeatedly. The narrator petted Tarmac. Time passed. Ten minutes, twenty minutes, maybe more. Tarmac still demanded affection. The narrator became tired of petting Tarmac. But what could he do? Tarmac had chosen him. It was too late. And thus began a whirlwind affair with a neighbor's cat.
As the summer heat wore on, the relationship with Tarmac became more and more intense. Like clockwork, Tarmac would come over every day and demand affection. The narrator sometimes gave Tarmac strips of Buddig brand lunch meat. Mmm!
Then, one day, things went sour. At this point, the narrator was always leaving the door open for Tarmac. But the narrator of this story never saw Tarmac come in. So he went off for a walk, locking the door behind him. Two hours later, upon arriving home, the narrator was greeted with that sweet ammonia smell that could only mean one thing: Tarmac was in the house! And it was now "his territory"! Oh no!
This affair must stop. The door must be left closed. Or so this narrator believed. But Tarmac was determined. There were windows that were cracked for the evaporative cooler, and Tarmac would find the crack and meow through the screen. The narrator would close the window on Tarmac's face, but Tarmac was smart: he'd just find the other window that was cracked (there was always one), and meow into that. The emotional agony was palpable. Tarmac felt the pain of rejection.
Days went by. Dead lizards, or parts of dead lizards, were found left upon the doorstep. The narrator once found a lizard body that had no head or tail, and which had a line of ants marching through the body. This could only be the work of Tarmac. A restraining order was served upon The Little Black Cat Who Would Not Go Away. But that just made Tarmac more determined than ever. He would have heavy petting again by any means necessary!
Tarmac continued his campaign of strategic window meowing. One day, the narrator could resist no longer -- he let Tarmac back into the house! It was like a scene from Vertigo: narrator petted cat, cat pushed head into hand of narrator, and the emotions circled around them while the Wagnerian strings rose to the heights.
This is where the story gets weird: Tarmac started exploring the bedrooms. Tarmac would disappear for long periods of time. And then, the narrator would detect a urine smell. When this urine smell was followed, it always led to the bathroom. Yet, strangely, it would go away after a while. What was Tarmac doing?
One day, Tarmac disappeared, and the narrator decided to try to discover what Tarmac was doing. He waited a minute, and then went to find Tarmac. Approaching the bathroom door, the narrator was startled by an astounding sight: There was Tarmac, sitting on the toilet, peeing! Yes, Tarmac was taking a whiz in the pot. Flabbergasted, the narrator watched in awe as Tarmac turned around and attempted to push down the handle with its paw. The flush handle, however, was not as easy as Tarmac was used to, so his paw merely slid off. But he felt satisfied, and let out a proud "Meow!"
The narrator was so impressed with Tarmac's peeing prowess, he vowed to let Tarmac come over any time. Extra strips of Buddig lunch meat would be served. But this glowing acceptance left Tarmac disillusioned. There was no longer any challenge. So Tarmac unceremoniously ended the affair.
Crushed, the narrator accepted this rejection, eating Budding lunch meats alone and staring longingly at the toilet handle. Once, while walking around outside, the narrator could have sworn he saw Tarmac entering another neighbor's house. A new affair, a new challenge, for the Super-Peeing Wonder Cat. "What am I, chopped liver?" thought the narrator, sadly.
Many weeks went by, without further sign of Tarmac. The narrator's curiosity got the best of him, and one day, while walking by the house of Tarmac's owners, he saw them in the front yard pulling weeds. "Say, don't you have a cat named Tarmac?" he asked. The pretty woman got a little choked up and responded, "We did, but he's dead. He got hit by a car." Holding back his emotions -- for he did not want the owner to know the whirlwind affair he'd had with Tarmac -- the narrator replied, "Oh, that's terrible. I'm very sorry." And then he walked on.Copyright © Zak
July 24, 1998
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For Thanksgiving, a few friends and I went to a wonderful guest house in the redwoods for a few days. It's a place I visit every year, usually in the summer, but it's nice in winter, too. On Thursday the owners cooked up a fantastic, *complimentary* turkey dinner for the guests. Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, yams'n'marshmellows, onion-cheese casserole, green beans with garlic bread crumbs, a corn custard casserole, yummy rolls, and about 5 different kinds of pie for dessert. I've been going to this inn for 12 years, but this is the first time I've spent Thanksgiving up there. Won't be the last!!
The place has a resident cat named Pancho. He's a big (OK, enormous - 29 lbs), black beauty, and he's a total doll. There's a very large living room for the guests, containing several comfy couches and chairs and a fireplace. In the evenings, those who aren't out partying hang out and read (after a therapeutic dip in the hot tub out on the deck) - it's very quiet and restful. Anyway, Pancho can usually be found on someone's lap or at their feet, purring away. That someone is often me, especially after midnight when everyone else has gone to bed and I've got the living room and Pancho all to myself. He loves attention - all you have to do is come over and coo at him, and he starts purring. We spent a lot of time these past 3 days bonding. He even sat by the hot tub while I went in for one of my soaks.
During the big Thanksgiving dinner on Thursday, it was amusing to watch him beg for kitty treats from various guests. Somehow, his "poor, starving kitty" act was very effective. The guests love to spoil him with snacks as well as attention, which I'm sure is at least part of the reason he's such a flabulous creature. But I must say, it can't be too bad for his health, since he's 18 years old and going strong. At that age, though, no cat can be taken for granted, so when I arrive for each visit, I'm always happy and grateful to see that he is still there.
Copyright © Joyce W.
November 25, 2001
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Don't even think about suggesting that I would feed a stray cat.
Not unless he looks really skinny.
And is very polite.
And seems to have taken to my cats.
Not unless I remember that the person who was feeding him died three months ago, and that's why I remember seeing him around before, looking like he belonged somewhere. Do you suppose my cats told him about our place?
And don't think I'd name a stray cat either.
Unless I called him BadCat, or SandyCat, or other non-people names.
Or talk to him, while I'm putting out a bowl of food.
(Hey, wait a minute, what food?)
He really is a good-looking cat, with the same golden eyes as my Jona. He could even be her father.
By the way, his name is Romeo, because he sings under our window.
Copyright © Denise Owen
April 17, 2006
A few years back my elder son arrived home for the holidays (he was at university in Ballarat). It was wonderful to have him home again and the three of us (him, Puss and myself) had sat up into the wee hours of the morning chatting. It was early (about 6:30) and I was awakened by a frantic "miaow" and there was Micia (pronounced mecheea) scrabbling at the wardrobe door (she does this when she feels I need an extra wake-up call) and generally making a fuss. Assuming she was in "I want breakfast NOW" mode, but an hour early I told her it was too early for food and rolled over to have an extra few minutes repose. Micia, who is an elegantly beautiful seal-point lady Birman stalked out of the room as only an elegantly beautiful seal-point lady Birman can, to return a second or so later at a hundred miles an hour, coming to a screeching halt beside the bed. In cartoons when animals come to a sudden halt, dust etc, flies up from their paws. Well, this really happens so obviously at some stage a cartoonist has been confronted by an animal with an urgent message but back to the story. Micia came to a sudden halt, looks up at me, and miaows short deafening cries of urgency which mean "get your lazy butt out of that bed and come with me NOW!"
Being a well trained human I did as I was told and pulling on my robe I follow Micia out of my room and into the living area and there was Chris. The TV was on, he was sitting on a chair sideways with his legs dangling over the arm of it, puffing away on a cigarette. I couldn't help it, I burst out laughing and told him he'd been dobbed on. I picked up a now slightly indignant Micia and told her not to worry, he was ok. She adores Chris and had smelled the smoke and thought he was on fire and had gotten me out of bed to rescue him and from then on, he now goes outside the house and sits in the back garden whenever he feels the need to have a cigarette. Personally I don't smoke, but both my sons do and so too a couple of my friends and she never makes a fuss when anyone else lights up. But Chris gets special attention and to this day, (he's married now) she always comes to greet him whereas most other people she ignores, and he still goes out into the garden to have a cigarette!Copyright © Heather Bridge
February 2, 2002
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I just wanted to share the wonderful day I've had with my two little sweeties. I've been bonding with them a lot today, and I feel all soft and gooey about them right now.
I have had the week off work this week, which would usually mean nice long lie-ons, but of course not with Scampi around. I had set my alarm clock this morning for 8 am. It went off, and not wanting to wake up I pressed the snooze button, which has to be done with minimal movement as once Scampi knows that I am awake, she insists on petting and snuggling. The snooze goes off every five minutes and I think I got away with it a good few times without alerting her, until I woke all the way up and stretched my arms out. That was all the signal that she needed! Within seconds a soft little ball of white had burrowed under the duvet, nestled between my arms, revved up her motor and started bulldozer-ing me with her face. I really had to get up and get ready to start my day, but how can you ignore a purring cat? I ended up cuddling her for about 40 minutes! She was happy as a clam, which she shows by rolling onto her back and curling up her little feet.
Later, I was hanging some clothes on the line outside and Fussy was up on the ledge where I had my clothes pins, and she stole one and was batting it around on the wooden decking, and she was getting really into the game and sliding around after it. So I found a bit of wood and I was tossing it around for her. She would run for it, and then dive for it and slide along the wood and a couple of times she rolled over and over after it, which was just so funny to see! And then Scampi came outside and she wanted to play too, so I got a smaller block of wood for her, and they were both galloping around. Then we all came inside and had some fish!
It has been so good for them since it has been quite warm and rain free lately so they have the run of the place. Also Scampi has been allowed back outside again, I had to keep her in before she was spayed just in case!
It is so amazing how just having a bit of extra time with the cats can make such a difference. This would sound weird to non-cat people, but I know people here would know what I mean: I had been spending so much time at work and at night-classes that I didn't have enough time to physically play with them, and I could tell that Fussy was upset about that-she seemed distant with me, like she wouldn't sit on my lap and watch TV with me. But now she is back to her old self, energetic, full of life and wanting to play with me. I have made a late New Years resolution to spend more time with the cats!
Here's to everyone and their furry companions!
Copyright © Cait O'Connor
March 23, 2002
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Siamese cats are gifted with a wide range of vocalizations. The commentary about the breed says they like human interaction. What they don't tell you is that they especially like human interaction at interesting times and go out of their way to find and capitalize these times....
I have two Siamese. A regal blue point named Sophia, who is eldest and rules the house, and a seal point named Spike. Spike adopted another kitty, Moses, who grew into a large 15 lb orange and white striped kitty, while maintaining his delicate soprano meow. Spike, at a petite 6 -7 lbs., was one of those Siamese cats who could sound like he was the biggest baddest cat in the universe with his deep yowl. You were always stunned to see it was in fact tiny.
My three cats are all indoor kitties and have established a truce with the canines and come to terms with the fact that the child is not going to go away so must therefore be avoided at all times unless she is sleeping, in which case they like to cuddle up with her because babies are so warm...Cats are also opportunists, but then you already knew that.
My husband and I both work and our daughter goes to daycare during the week. Not much happens in my house that does not get reported to me by Spike. And as you can imagine, with a four year old, two large dogs, two other kitties, and a couple a fish, a lot happens in our house while we are there, away or otherwise unable to witness the goings on. Spike feels it is his duty to observe and report these events, word for word, blow by blow. I rather think he has a photographic mind. He rarely leaves out any detail.
I just wish Spike would choose a time to report that wasn't Dark:30, and - as I often cajole my four year old - if he would use his "inside voice." But then he wouldn't be a cat who by nature, make their own hours and rules.
So each night at Dark (this is sometime after your eyelids close and you take that deep deep breath of sleep and the house and household all get quiet and snuggly), I get a report of the day's activities. Starting somewhere in the house, Spike begins his broadcast in echoing yowls that rip you from the warm embrace of night time dreams to lie there blinking in the darkness and debating if there is enough energy in your body to go chase the cat down and tell him uselessly to shut up, or to merely raise the fingers to snap to let him know you are awake and will take the report now if he gets his hiney into the bedroom pronto. The snap takes less energy. It still may take 3-4 more yowls to arrive in the bedroom.
So I listen groggily as the yowls grow closer until with his usual Brrrp?, Spike has hopped up on the bed and thrust his head under my semi conscious hand, purring and reporting with little Meo, Yarr, Brrp, gru brps, purrrrr, thruuu Merus...
He has an extensive vocabulary. I imagine he's ratting on the dogs who managed to somehow enter the child's room and make off with a beloved baby doll, eviscerating the doll's bean bag body and strewing white plastic beads all over the house while consuming quantities of them in the process, or about the plant next to the fish tank that Moses knocked over getting a little to up close and friendly with the finned ones, or the neighbor's dog who sadly has been left alone too much and barks fearfully at everything. I hear the minutia of when he took a nap (several), when the other cats took their naps, where the best napping was had that day, if the food bowl needs topping off, if the dogs are passing gas and why on earth does the small 2 legged one keep thinking he wants to be petted by sticking fingers.
I "shush" and continue my mindless massage of his head. All that said, Spike polishes my chin (I bravely remain still and think that my Mary Kay lady has told me time and again that masking once a week is key to maintaining a smooth and youthful complexion and that this probably doesn't count - though I have not seen any fine lines on my chin!).
And then Spike creeps up on the pillow to purr loudly in my ear. It's our ritual. I know what's coming but like the Star Trek Borg say - resistance is futile. The sooner I get it over with, the sooner we can all go back to sleep. I let the purr lull me into near unconsciousness until, sensing my near state of nirvana, Spike reaches out to scrape off my eyelids with that 10-grit sandpaper tongue of his. He pats my cheek with a gentle paw as my eyes tear, and then hops off the bed to seek out a warm snuggly place to sleep while I peer in the darkness, my eyes watering with pain until unconsciousness quickly claims me.
One night he did not come and wake me. I woke up thinking I'd heard him, but the house was silent. And as deepening sense of how very wrong this was came over me, I found myself out of bed in the cold and dark Colorado winter night to search the house. My husband joined me. The other 2 cats followed us around, looking bored whenever we looked at them, but clearly interested in whatever dragged us out of bed. Eventually we had opened every closet door and called everywhere inside for Spike without any luck. He had to be inside, but it was not like him to miss a report. And he always came when he was called.
Hoping nothing had happened, yet imagining all the horrors of what could of happened, we gave up and headed back to bed. I checked the linen closet one more time, with the hall light on now because my husband and the 2 dogs had joined me in our search. There behind the clean towels in a warm nest of guest towels, Spike blinked up at me with sleep eyes.
What about my report, I asked, relieved and ticked at the same time because we had passed this closet half a dozen times calling his name.
Apparently the day was quite boring and not worth reporting (a first), because he looked at me, blinked one eye shut very slowly and oh so deliberately, and then yawned a tremendous yawn. The other eye slid shut slowly and he snuggled his chin down on the towels and wrapped his tail over his nose to keep it warm.
I left the closet door open and went back to bed.
So much for rituals.Copyright © Martha Cowley
March 9, 2003
Sherbert is our newest addition to the family. We call him Sherbert the Fairy Kitten because my nine year-old daughter and I are convinced that the Tooth Fairy sent him to us.
A few months ago I awoke to the sound of tapping on my front door. Tap, tap, tap. At first I tried to ignore it since it was only about 5 in the morning. I figured that if anyone was rude enough to try to wake me up at that horrible time of day then they were not someone I wished to have in my home. A few minutes later though, there it went again. Tap, tap, tap. Ugh I thought. Curiosity got to me by then so I peeked out the front window but no one was there. Hmmm came to mind at that point, maybe something interesting is going on out there so I peeked out the front door peek-hole but still I could see no one. So I did the only thing a now wide-awake curious person could do. I opened the door. Sitting at the stoop was a scraggly and dirty little orange kitten. He looked at me just long enough to say about time! marched straight to the kitchen, found Lamberts food dish and water bowl, helped himself then sauntered to my daughters bedroom where he jumped in bed with her and curled up into a bundle of blissful purrs.
Who was I to argue with a performance like that? My curiosity satisfied, I went back to sleep. My daughter Arin woke me up later holding a very content fuzzy prize in her arms. Mom! Mom! Look what woke me up! It was purring right next to my head so loud it woke me up! I am going to call him Sherbert! She was beaming. Arin had been wanting a kitten of her own for a long time. Lambert had been his Mommys boy for fourteen years and although he politely tolerated Arin, he was not hers and I had spent the last couple of years explaining to Arin that until we moved into a larger apartment there simply was not enough room for two cats. Sherbert had his own ideas though.
After a cup of coffee amidst Arins giggles, ohhhs and ahhhs, I proceeded to give Sherbert a good look-over. He appeared healthy and fairly well fed but was full of fleas, ear mites and reeked of automobile oil. Considering his friendliness and his seeming gratefulness to be inside a home amongst humans I concluded that he came from a home somewhere but apparently had been lost for quite some time. His fur was soiled so we washed him with a damp cloth until all but a couple of stubborn oil stains were left. Can we keep him Mom? Pleeeeease!? First I told her, we need to take him to the vet to make sure he is healthy, we dont want to take a chance of subjecting Lambert to any kitty diseases. Then we should find out if he belongs to someone.
Sherbert impressed the vet that very day with his health, vitality and good looks (despite the remaining oil stains). He got a couple of shots, had his ears cleaned out and we brought him, and his ear mite and de-worming medicines home. I was hesitant about posting a found kitten poster for two reasons, first because Arin had already fallen in love with him (so did I) and second because I thought that if he had been living with someone they certainly had not been taking care of him and it would break my heart to return him to a possible irresponsible home. So I announced to Arin that we would keep him UNLESS we saw a lost kitten poster for him.
That done, now there was only the matter of the mysterious knocking on the door the morning of his arrival. That mystery was solved the next morning when Arin searched under her pillow to see what the Tooth Fairy had left her in exchange for her tooth that came out the night before. In addition to the usual silver dollar that the Tooth Fairy always leaves Arin there was a tiny little note written in a tiny little flowery hand. It read:
I see that Sherbert found his way to you and that
he is as happy with you as I knew he would be!
Good job picking up on his name! Oh, and nice tooth!
Mimi the Tooth Fairy
PROLOGUE: There have been no posters around our neighborhood looking for Sherbert. He has become quite popular with my friends as the Fairy Kitten and is regularly being requested to send magic fairy dust to them to help their sick or injured pets (and themselves!)
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Never think cats don't have VERY firm musical preferences!
A commercial was just on in the show I was watching. My little kitty girl HATES the music for this commercial. When it comes on she just stares at it with a look of HIGH OFFENSE on her face and then looks at me like "WHY don't you turn that damn thing off?" and so then I fast forwarded through it. In case you are wondering what it is, it is the commercial for Betty Crocker desserts - Specifically "Warm Delights - Molten Caramel Cake" and the music in the background of the commercial is rather nasally Patsy Cline-ish sounding. Oh she HATES this type of music!
She has her preferences as to what she likes to listen to also - We took a trip a few months ago and for oh close to five hours, I HAD to listen to David Byrne. If I put in any other CD during that drive she would start with VERY upset meowing and for some, even clawing at the sides of the carrier. So I'd put David Byrne back in. You could almost see her smiling! Never mind that I made several audio book CDs for that drive. Nope. It was David Byrne all the way.
We also have a special little kitty song that has rather evolved over the years. I will NOT sing it for you but lets just say it evolved from Mommy (that would be me) singing along with the radio while in the shower. She often seemed to enjoy some of it and would want me to keep going as I got out of the shower and turned the radio down. So as a good cat slave, of course I would continue. Well, I would make up kitty things as I went along and I started tossing in a line inviting her to sing along. Well whattaya know? She did! She does not sing along to Just Any Song mind you. Nope, its the line where she gets invited to sing along. And she contributes her lovely "meeeow" quite often - right at that point in the song.
I suppose its not JUST limited to what we would call music though - My other cat was so fascinated with the cluck cluck sounds that our Tivo makes that each and every time I would be using it - *PLOP!* right in front of the remote - Or rather between the remote and the Tivo. No, those signals simply do not transmit through the substance of -CAT-. So using the Tivo would then entail picking him up and moving him. However, this would be quite repetitive because as soon as I would start using it again (programming shows or what-have-you) *PLOP!* He'd be right back again. Eventually I found that at least with the new Tivos, you CAN turn off those sounds! I think he still misses them though. They were like music to his little ears.
Copyright © Susan F.
October 16, 2005
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One morning a few days after Christmas, my sister was in the kitchen getting her family's day started. She heard a noise at the back door and initially ignored it, but was surprised to hear a "meow." She opened the door and in ran a long-haired cat with tabby markings, meowing reproachfully.
Becca's first thought was, "Oh my God, it's Javier!" Javier, her 14-year-old Maine Coon, had died a year before and had been buried in the family's back yard. This kitty wasn't Javier, but she was his spitting image.
My sister could tell that this cat had been outside for some time. Her beautiful fur was matted in several places. At the vet's office, my sister was told that this little lady was an older cat, at least 8, spayed and declawed. She tested negative for FIV and feline leukemia, and was vaccinated and treated for worms. She was terribly thin and weak, but was otherwise okay. Becca took her home and initially set her up in their finished basement with a litter box and food. "Girlfriend" (my 2-year-old nephew's name for her) began to integrate herself into a household of two adults, two kids, two dogs and another cat.
Becca set about trying to find Girlfriend's home. She called the local SPCA but was told that their "lost cat" notices were discarded after a month. Although she repeatedly told the SPCA workers who took her "found cat" report that this cat was a female, she started getting hopeful calls from owners of missing male cats.
Becca also posted a notice on the community bulletin board at the local supermarket. Finally she received a call from a woman who described the family's cat, "Blackie", who had gone missing five months ago. It sounded promising -- the missing cat was shy, and Becca had noticed that Girlfriend was hesitant about coming up from the basement to join her kids when they played or watched videos. The caller and her daughter, who lived only three blocks away, came over straightaway to look at Girlfriend.
Initially the woman couldn't be sure that this skinny cat, now partially shaved, was their beloved Blackie. Blackie and her brother had been cherished members of this family for 15 years and she had gone missing after workmen had been in the house. They had searched high and low for her, and the 4-year-old son who had named her -- who now a sophomore in college -- had been inconsolable.
But the daughter who accompanied her mother recognized Blackie right away, and the family was joyously reunited with their missing cat. They took her home, to the relief of my brother-in-law, who sighed, "There IS a God!" (Carl claims the back door has an invisible welcome mat which only stray animals can see.) A thank-you note with an update on Blackie and a check for the vet's bills arrived in my sister's mailbox the following day.
I asked my sister if I could post a write-up of this story, because I have read so many notes here posted by folks who have lost -- and found -- cats. This grand old lady did make it home to her family after having been outside in the cold Minnesota weather for five months. I like to think that she was guided there by the spirit of another Maine Coon kitty who once lived in that house, and who knew that Blackie would find a safe harbor and a way back to her family.
Copyright © Robin Merica
January 26, 2002
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I'm a volunteer with the nearby Anne Arundel County SPCA. Our SPCA has a Mobile Adoption Unit, a customized RV that is outfitted with built-in cages and a veterinary operating room, a gift from a generous donor. Several times a month, SPCA staff and volunteers load up the mobile unit with shelter animals, and visit shopping malls and other events in the county to spend a few hours showing available pets, with the hopes of generating adoption applications.
Early on Saturday morning, April 24th, I and other volunteers were loading up the mobile unit with cats in preparation for an Earth Day event at nearby Quiet Waters Park. Cuddles, a gray tabby, needed a little coaxing to go into her cage. She would have none of it. Suddenly she bolted out of my arms and out the door of the mobile unit, which had come open.
I tried to grab her, but she was scared by the barking dogs nearby, and she slipped into the woods surrounding the shelter. A humane trap was set out for her by shelter staff, who told me this happened occasionally. They reassured me she probably would turn up.
The trap managed to capture a few strays, but Cuddles remained missing. Every time I would go over to the shelter on volunteer business, I would ask if Cuddles had come back. The shelter employees were always upbeat and optimistic, but invariably had to give me the news Cuddles was still on the loose. I felt terrible. I have cats of my own, and know all too well the feeling of having one missing. Even though they have returned quickly, I agonize while they're gone.
Tuesday night, June 29th, my doorbell rang. My neighbor, Ramona, wanted to know if this little cat she saw lying on my front step belonged to me. (Neighbors ringing my bell about a wandering cat are nothing new. Its all part of my job as the neighborhoods designated cat lady.
I wasn't missing a cat, but I looked at the gray tabby in the fading light. She wasn't one of my SPCA foster cats. But I remembered the little cat that had bolted from the SPCA adoption van two months earlier.
This cat wasn't going to give up her freedom very easily. She took me on a short walking tour of my subdivision before allowing herself to be caught. Once she was in my arms, I got a better look at the red collar around her neck.
There on the plastic collar was a shelter ID number and the name Cuddles.
I've heard my share of lost cat stories. You've heard them too: a cat becomes separated from its family who has moved to a new neighborhood. Months later, kitty shows up at the familys old home, having managed to find it despite a distance of hundreds of miles.
Well, this lost cat story wouldn't be much of a story if Cuddles showed back at the shelter, even several months after she went missing. But I've never heard of a cat managing to track down a person the person who last held her before she bolted off into the woods. Cuddles had never set eyes on me before the day she got away from me, and had certainly never been to my home, over a mile away from the shelter. And yet here she was at my front door.
I called Christina, the SPCA volunteer coordinator, at home that night and told her the story of Cuddles showing up on my front step. Like me, she could scarcely believe it. We agreed that this kitty would return to the shelter for adoption, but first would be tested for any diseases she may have picked up during her time as a stray. Christina told me she'd come by Wednesday morning to pick up the wanderer.
Cuddles was installed in my bedroom Tuesday evening. I had to keep her separated from my pet cats and fosters and had no other place to put her. By nature, cats will usually hide in unfamiliar surroundings. But instead of hiding under my bed like I had expected, this kitty made herself at home on top of it, doing her yoga stretches, grooming herself and looking for all the world like she belonged right there. I went to bed later that night with a contented and purring Cuddles sharing my pillow.
Cuddles is back at the shelter now. Christina picked her up this morning. She called the shelter director and shelter manager last night to tell them the Amazing Lost Cat Story. For my part, I called the local paper early this morning because I thought it was a cute story and one that, if printed, would perhaps generate some local interest in the shelter.
I know there are people reading this who will point out that I live only a mile away from the shelter and that Cuddles probably showed up at a lot of front doors during her two months of wandering. She was thin when she was found, but not starving. She had almost certainly been fed. But there are hundreds if not a thousand or more homes within a one-mile radius of the shelter -- she showed up at mine. Her collar clearly identified her as a SPCA cat, but nobody who may have seen her returned her to the shelter. Cuddles was wandering for two months and probably crossed the paths of many. But her last stop was at the house of the person who lost her. Any skeptic could find a way to discount the facts and dismiss the story. But I'm inclined to focus on the mystery and the magic of this lost cat tale, as cat lovers are wont to do. The only one who knows the real story of this Amazing Lost Cat isn't saying much.Copyright © Robin Merica
July 1, 2004
Source of Photograph.....
One night, Cleo was thinking over in his mind how much he would love to explore the countryside. 'Oh what it must be like meeting other animals! It must be really exciting!' The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to go out there. He felt he was missing out on life as he was getting on in years and had not seen the world. He mentioned what was on his mind to his companions the following day. They all cocked up their ears to hear every detail that their leader Cleo, had to say. It all sounded ever so exciting! Silvo was a little apprehensive at first, but soon he was taken in with Cleo. Frazen and Sassy were not so sure. 'What will we do for shelter and what if it rains or snows? Where will we sleep and what about food, Cleo?' said Sassy. 'Don't back off now, we will find somewhere, don't worry'. 'Oh stop!' says another. 'We can't all go together, because our human friend will miss us.' Silvo then interrupts by saying' 'Ah.. we will be back before she realises that we have gone. It will be her that will miss us from around the house because if she hadn't had us she wouldn't see anybody from morning till night. We tell her all the news and gossip!' 'Oh boy! How she will miss that!" says "Frazen. Then Sassy chirped up and says, "When will we go?"
Amid all the discussions they all agreed to go ahead and explore the big wide-open countryside, but Frazen felt a little uneasy about the whole adventure. 'I am very small and not so able to run as fast as the others. Anyway, I just went along with the plan.' Cleo chirped up, 'We will show our human friend that we are well able to survive on our own, out there in the wild as she calls it. She is always reminding us: "that we are so lucky to be with her". We will show her what it is like to talk to us in that manner!!' Sassy asked, 'When will we go?' It was then put to a vote, for next Friday week. They were so eagerly looking forward to their big adventure! Can you imagine our human out searching for us? We will have great fun chasing one another in the big open fields and playing hide and seek in the hedges and meeting new acquaintances. We might even make new friends! Oh the thought of it! Frazen could hardy sleep a wink, as I was so looking forward to next Friday. In the meantime Sassy and Frazen were imagining all sorts of activities that they were going to encounter upon their journey and it was soon approaching.
We all went to sleep early the night before to be well rested for our adventure. Finally, Friday eventually came and they were up at the crack of dawn. They had a great, hearty breakfast and were soon as full as ticks. Our human friend even gave us hot milk! It was such a cold morning and you would swear that she knew we were going on a journey. We were hardly able to talk with the excitement. One by one they left their familiar surroundings and began their journey of adventure. It began with such a beautiful crisp morning, the sun was splitting the stones and we were crossing fields and hedges, talking to loads of different animals, some that we never lay eyes on before! Especially cows, calves and sheep. We took a rest here on a big hill. The climb was sore on our paws because the ground was quite hard. A few hours later it began to pour rain. 'Oh, my poor fur is getting wet and my paws are aching,' said the poor little black kitten known as Frazen. She didn't really want to go, but the others persuaded her to. Here we were out in the wild all right, but at this moment in time, she would prefer to have been back home in her human's house, eating her favourite cat food, and drinking milk. Then she could play or either lay by the open heart fire or lie on her favourite cushion on the big arm chair. Her eyes were so sad thinking about the wonderful life that she left behind. I was beginning to feel miserable. It was too late to turn back now. How could I have been so stupid? Cleo was in charge. Then, out of the blue we heard him say,' Run quickly for your life! There is big looking dog running after us!' Silvo and I were very shaken. I was hardly able to run that fast as I am getting old but I knew I had to because I didn't want to get eaten. When I turned round I realised that it just wasn't any kind of Dog that I saw before, but it was a Big, Bad Wolf! How we all ran with aching paws and wet fur! Just then at the edge of a field was a big tree that saved all our lives. We stayed up there until it was safe to come down.We were starting to miss our meals, and we were imaging our human calling us. Sassy was beginning to feel lonely and I was sorry for her because she is so good to us. Every time when she goes shopping, she always brings us back some thing nice for us. Our favourite dish, which is chicken, liver, milk, and even Round Steak mince, (if we behaved ourselves or leave a present for her at the door). If we return she mightn't want us back and what would we do then? That never occurred to us before we set out on this wild journey. Adventure they said. 'It's to late to be talking like that now,' says Cleo, who is our leader. Along the way we met some other cats, just like us, out hunting for prey. Then we got chatting and they were anxious to know where we lived and how we all knew one another. Of course, Cleo began to tell them the story. They were astonished to hear that we decided to leave all those nice treats and comforts behind, for this trip in the wild. 'Ye must be mad', they say. I realised that we made a huge mistake. We were all very hungry, exhausted from tiredness and we had nothing nice and soft to lie on. We missed the big open fire and we really missed the little window that she would leave open for us, at nighttime. It was great especially in the bad weather, if we wanted to go in and out, and we were even allowed to sleep on her bed! Not many cats could do that. We got special care and attention and we didn't realise it until now that was so kind of her. All those things we took for granted, that was enough to make up our minds that we should leave the wild and make our way home. This was after our third day and we all had enough of this life. As they say: Curiosity kills the cat and information makes him fat", Oh, but we were getting thinner and we had seen enough, maybe too much. The other cats said, "It well for ye that ye have a home to go back to. We don't know any other way of living. Only fending for our selves out here, and as you know, it can be quite daunting and scary. They were very interested in hearing all about our human friend. I don't think they believed us, especially when Cleo told them that she even gives us chicken, if we catch rodents, as they don't get any rewards. We felt so sorry for them, as they have no home to go to and here we are, having a home, and leaving it for this and most importantly our human friend Fionnuala, who is the best in the world. We will make it up to her when we get home. We will catch big rats that she has never seen before and we will behave ourselves and be good around the house.
On our forth day of this adventure, as you call it, Cleo, (I call it misery), we all had enough of this rough life. Frazen was complaining about her paws been sore, Silvo and Sassy was saying that they were so tired that they would sleep on a clothesline. Really, Cleo was feeling miserable too, but didn't want to complain, as he was the one that came up with the idea. He was feeling bad for suggesting such a trip. What would our dear feline friend think of us now? Would she accept us after running of like that, and not telling her? Our human friend was out all the time looking up and down roads for us. All the trouble we put her through! She even made lovely posters of us, putting them up all around the neighbourhood and into shops, in case any one saw her beloved pets. She went to bed, not knowing whether her furry friends were alive or dead. That thought nearly killed her. She could understand one cat going for a stroll, but not all four! Well! That was suspicious! I will give them a week to return, if not then I will have to live with the fact that they must have got killed, by wild animals. I have seen foxes and badgers around. Oh, I shouldn't be thinking like this, I know, but it's so hard not to. Every day, she would say, 'Maybe tomorrow I will see them', but then another day would pass, and she was very anxious and worried about them, especially Frazen because he was only a kitten. And she knows all the wild animals that are lurking out there. Sassy keeps asking are we near home yet? Is it far way now? We were all getting ratty, as we hadn't slept property or eaten much for the past few days. 'Some adventure!' says Frazen. 'I'm so looking forward to going home, especially seeing our human friend and all her nice things for us.
Later in the week, the owner of the house was going out for a stroll. I thought I heard cats meowing in the distance but when I didn't see any thing, I was resigned to the fact that I was only imagining things. But then suddenly I saw Cleo, followed by Silvo, Sassy and Frazen. I could scarcely believe what I was seeing! I ran out to greet them and we were all hugging one another for ages. It felt like hours and we were all so delighted to be together again, like one big happy family. I was so thrilled to see them. Got the best meat in the house and heated the milk. They were so cold and hungry and they got very thin and with glary looking eyes. They were so sorry for going off like that without telling me. They were too anxious to tell me what antics they got up to. I told them to wait until after they had eaten and have warmed up a bit. I never saw my cats eat so fast before; they were so hungry and thirsty! It beats me what possessed them to have gone in the first place, I suppose they were curious as to what the real world was really like. Now they know for sure and between you and me I don't think they will be going on such a trip again. Their lovely fur was matted and their paws appeared very sore. I am so happy to have them back as I thought I would never see them again and that goes without saying. Now they were all feeling much better than the previous few days. 'It feels like weeks since we have been here,' I heard Silvo saying. 'We missed our human so much.' They were very excited as they had so much to tell me, especially when they thought that they were going to be eaten for the wolf's dinner! Oh what a thought! I felt so sorry for them, the poor things. I felt so sorry for Frazen. He was so brave to go along with them, as he was only six months old. After telling me their drama, they fell asleep almost immediately purring to their hearts content beside the big open log fire.Months later I would still hear them going on about that trip. They really appreciate their human friend even more now. I think that will be there first and last adventure, don't you?
Copyright © Fionnuala Farrell
February 27, 2004
Beth (left), Baby Guinea Pig, & Annie (Right)
I thought this was cute. See, it is not kitten season, and Annie was getting so depressed and crying, so we out of desperation got Annie a baby guinea pig. And it worked! We told Annie it was a baby kitten, and until she gets more baby kittens to love, I guess the baby guinea pig will have to do. The other dog in the picture is Annie's mom, Beth.
Copyright © Carole Rogers
February 27, 2003
Source of Photograph.....
My sweet Mama, bless her precious heart, decided that it was time for me to have a bedroom that looked like a grown woman's, and not that of a college student. So off we went in search of my dream bedding.
I finally found what I wanted (I'm partial to red... blood red), and Mama went all out. She not only bought me bedding, but curtains and a ton of pillows. Needless to say, I'm so ecstatic I could spit.
Well, Matumbo usually sleeps on the pillow right beside me (he thinks half the bed is his... or I think half the bed is mine, depending on who you're talking to), and Sir Simba usually sleeps in one of the comfy kitty beds in the room. Sometimes he enjoys a good snooze on the stairs. Or... at least he did.
It took only a couple of nights to get Matumbo out of the habit of camping on Mommy's sheets, and NEVER touch Mom's new, thick, fluffy bedspread. He's such a good sugarboy. Sir Simba, on the other hand, is another story. And isn't he always?
I've never SEEN a cat want to be on a bedspread so much. Most nights, he lets me sleep about forty to fifty minutes, then bombs my feet and starts the curling up process. We spend about ten minutes arguing back and forth, and he winds up on the floor in a heap. He'll stomp away, tail high in the air, and pretend it's over. Forty or fifty minutes later, I'm awaked by yet another foot bombing.
Copyright © Victoria Calvillo
March 6, 2002
Source of Photograph.....
We recently went to France for a long weekend, and arranged for the girls to go to the local cattery for the duration of our absence.
The cats like the cattery. They don't mind going in the car, and when they are in their carry boxes they just settle down for the journey.
So, you'd imagine that there could be no problem in rounding up the cats, putting them in their boxes, and getting them to the cattery.
Wrong. Fudge and Meg vanish. We've learned to shut the bathroom door (to stop them squeezing through the seemingly too small gap to get under the bath), and the spare room door (to stop them disappearing to the far corner under the bed) before starting to try and collect them, so by the time they realise what's happening, their favourite bolt-holes are unavailable.
The carry boxes had been sat out in the kitchen for a few days, and there were no obvious signs of our going away. I arrived home from work to find that Fudge knew - she was already stationed in the unreachable far corner under the bed defying me to try and get her out.
Meg was sat by the back door, scrunched up hoping I wouldn't notice her, and that I'd open the back door before I saw her, thus allowing her to make a break for freedom. Scooping her up I discovered that she had developed about 26 legs as she tried desperately to leap out of my arms.
Into the box - not too bad so far. My black top is now coated in ginger hair, and have a few new scratches, but at least Meg has been caught. 1 down 2 to go.
Caramel is always very good. She doesn't hide, but instead curls up on the bed and hopes you will let her stay there. So quick scooping up of Caramel, and into the box.
This is all going well, plenty of time left, and 2 cats caught - just Fudge to get.
Fudge is still sat in the far corner under the bed in the spare room.
I unbolt and unlock the backdoor loudly. I hear the sound of cat paws on the stairs and Fudge trots into the kitchen. I go to grab her, and she turns tail and flees back up the stairs, and back under the bed, into the far corner.
I try rattling biscuits - no response. I try the door ploy again - no response. So I head upstairs to the spare room and start moving stuff around under the bed to try and reach Fudge. She moves to the other corner.
I sit back, and manage to spear my hand on a brand new pencil that has managed to poke itself point upwards through a bag on the floor. Ow....
So, now I'm there, blood pouring out of my hand, reaching under the bed, trying desperately to get Fudge to come out. She sits at the back, out of reach glaring at me.
I resort to waving a roll of cross-stitch fabric under the bed in an attempt to encourage her to vacate. She ignores it, and then lies on it.
My stress levels are rising, my parents who are going away with us are due to arrive in 30 minutes, and I still need to run around with the vacuum. The cattery is expecting us imminently, and my hand is very painful and bleeding. And Fudge is still under the bed out of reach.
Eventually the waving of the roll of cross-stitch fabric works, and Fudge bolts out of the room and downstairs.
I follow, closing the spare room door behind me...
In the kitchen there is no sign, until I check on the seat of the chairs tucked under the table. There is Fudge curled up pretending not to see me. I reach towards her, and she hisses!
I grab her, and pop her in her carry box with Caramel. She immediately lies down happily, and denies having been a pain to catch.
My black top now has clumps of white hair all over it in addition to the ginger hairs - Fudge seems to moult clumps for added hair coverage.
I load the cats, their beds, scratching post and toys into the car, just as my parents arrive. Oh well, vacuuming will have to wait.
I let my parents in, point them to the kettle, and soft drinks, and take the cats off to the cattery.
They all sit quietly in the car, and when they arrive at the cattery happily go and explore their pen. They like it there as the lady who runs it plays with them, and gives them lots of cuddles and attention.
I head back to the house, and we made it in time for our ferry to France.
We had a very good weekend, and when I collected them on Tuesday morning, Fudge had a token Gandhi-style protest by going completely limp, but once in the box didn't try to get out, even when the door was opened to put Caramel in.
It seems Fudge doesn't like being put into the box, once in she's happy, she doesn't mind travelling, and she likes the various places we take her (cattery, my parents, Scott's mums), well except the vet. Of course, when the boxes are sat there with the doors open, and we're not going anywhere she will go in and out by herself!Copyright © Kate Morris
September 20, 2002
Source of Photograph.....
Several years ago hubby and I bought the house I grew up in. In 1970 I got a cat named Miss Kitty who slept with me until she passed on. I grew up, moved away, and got married.
When my hubby and I moved into the house we knew we wanted pets, so we adopted two cats, Samson and Cleo, about a year after we moved into the house. They slept in another room for a long time. When we rescued a third cat (kitten named Trouble) about four years ago, we started letting one of the older cats sleep with us.
A month or so later, we were in bed and thought a cat had jumped on the bed to be near us, but there was no cat in the room. It was obvious we both felt it because we both sat up a little and looked in the same spot on the bed. We talked about it long enough to know we had both had that same thing happen several times over the past weeks and just hadn't said anything about it before. Sometimes we are sure a cat is laying on one of our legs, but when we look there is no cat and no reason for the extra weight on our legs can be seen either. Sometimes the "invisible cat" just jumps onto the bed, sometimes she lays on our feet or legs, and other times she walks across the bed. I am pretty sure it is Miss Kitty (Rainbow Bridge) making sure no other cat usurps her place in the house or my heart.
One night, feeling slightly silly while I did it, I told her that she didn't need to worry because I'd never forgotten her and the other kitties could never take her place because she was the first kitty to live in the house. The times when she comes seems to be less often now, but she still comes. Our invisible cat.
Miss Kitty went to the Rainbow Bridge in the early 1980s, after a long and happy life, but she still occasionally visits my bedroom.
Copyright © Debra Reed
July 19, 2005
Source of Photograph.....
We've had many cats over the years, and our numbers have dwindled to just one now, although at one stage we had five. All but one have been strays which have been unwanted, or just wandered into our backyard, or have been given to us by the local vet etc. They really are wonderful pets and somehow our lives are just the poorer without them.
Our current cat is a female moggie named "Chanel". Yesterday, a very funny incident occurred. The night before, our elder daughter had been out to a work function and had kicked on from there. My wife grew quite worried and began to pace the floor as it got later and later.. and later.
Finally, the daughter arrived home at 8:00AM with just enough time to get ready for work and get to there. But of course, her explanation to her Mum had to come first - as to her whereabouts the night before. All was explained and OK, and everyone ended up smiling. That was, except for Chanel, who had been kept awake all night by my wife incessantly moaning and pacing the floor - so she leant over and politely bit my daughter quite sternly on her big toe! We laughed - I don't think we've ever seen anything quite so funny!!
Copyright © Don Casey
October 12, 2002
Source of Photograph.....
To gain the friendship of a cat is not an easy thing. It is a philosophic, well-regulated, tranquil animal, a creature of habit and a lover of order and cleanliness. It does not give its affections indiscriminately. It will consent to be your friend if you are worthy of the honour, but it will not be your slave. With all its affection, it preserves its freedom of judgment, and it will not do anything for you which it considers unreasonable; but once it has given its love, what absolute confidence, what fidelity of affection! It will make itself the companion of your hours of work, of loneliness, or of sadness. It will lie the whole evening on your knee, purring and happy in your society, and leaving the company of creatures of its own kind to be with you. In vain the sound of caterwauling reverberates from the house-tops, inviting it to one of those cats' evening parties where essence of red-herring takes the place of tea. It will not be tempted, but continues to keep its vigil with you. If you put it down it climbs up again quickly, with a sort of crooning noise, which is like a gentle reproach. Sometimes, when seated in front of you, it gazes at you with such soft, melting eyes, such a human and caressing look, that you are almost awed, for it seems impossible that reason can be absent from it.
Theophile Gautier [1811-72]
from "The White and Black Dynasties"
in La Menagier Intime
translated by Lady Chance
Source of Photograph.....
Potato chips (potato crisps, for those overseas) are Kenzie's all time favorite treat. Her previous humans told me about this (fortunately), as she doesn't give a second look (or smell) to Pounce, or other cat treats. Despite this advice, I bought sever kinds of cat treats, which Kenzie completely ignores. (Silly cat....)
For the Fourth of July, I bought a small piece of beef to barbecue, and a bag of potato chips. I love potato chips myself, but since I have very high cholesterol and serum lipids, and potato chips are not exactly a very good food for me, I don't buy them very often. (I do buy the very small 'lunch size' bags of potato chips for Kenzie, when I see them, as she enjoys them so very much).
Anyway, I barbecued my piece of beef, and upon opening the bag of potato chips, Kenzie did her usual trick of exceeding the speed of light in arriving just before I actually made any of the distinctive noise of opening the bag of chips. I dutifully gave Kenzie her fill of potato chips, which she ever so delicately takes from my fingers, one at a time, and carries over to her food bowl to eat, (so she can get the crumbs). She's such a little lady!
Well I made the mistake of leaving the bag of potato chips on a chair, instead of the kitchen counter, as I should have last night.
Kenzie will not jump up on the kitchen counter, or any table, etc. even to get her beloved potato chips; but any chair in the house is a favorite napping spot.
So this afternoon, I found that Kenzie had had a little potato chip orgy at some point, tearing into the bag and eating many potato chips. She then proceeded to take a nap curled up on the almost empty potato chip bag. Ther were potato chip crumbs all over the (thankfully dark) chair seat, (but almost none on the floor).
The sight of Kenzie curled up sleeping on an almost empty bag of potato chips had me laughing almost to tears.
She woke at the sound of my laughter, with that 'what's wrong with you look' on her face, and proceeded to *eat what potato chips were left*!
All in all, I think Kenzie has had a better 4th of July celebration than I did!
Copyright © Thomas Cunningham
July 6, 2004
Angel Baby is a very special little girl.
My hubby works a lot out of town. There is an old restaurant that he goes to when he works in this one little town. There are a lot of kitties that hang out around there. Most are abandoned and very scared of people. My dear hubby is a cat lover just as I am, so he would save some of his lunch and take it out with him and try to make friends. One day, this little Tabby kitty come up to him, very shy at first and takes what he has to offer. That's when he noticed that she is injured. She has an open eye socket. She would not let him touch her.
Every day for a week he would bring her little morsels from his lunch. She would sit out by his work van waiting for him never letting him touch her but always taking from his hand the goodies. When he comes home his work is complete, every night telling me about this little one. Then about a month later Halloween day he has to do a service call at the job site he stops to eat lunch at the same little place. Who do you suppose is waiting for him at the van? Yep, the little tabby! This time she rubs herself all over him and lets him pick her up. After a pat on the head he puts her down opens the door and she jumps in he can't get her out. He call me and tells me to meet him at our vet.
When I arrived at the vet he asks me if we can keep her. You see we have three other kitties and a dog and all of the have been foundlings too. Well, what is one more little one, right?
We have named her Angel because the angels truly were protecting her and brought her to us. She likes to be called "baby", soooooo that is how she got her name. Angel had surgery on her face and now she looks like she is winking at ya!
It has been two years since, and she has had two breasts removed due to cancer. The vet says she is now doing fine.Copyright © Geri
November 18, 2002
Source of Photograph.....
China is a twelve week old calico Norwegian Forest Cat with long silky fur, gentle disposition, and the compulsion to re-check the level of her food dish CONSTANTLY. No joke, she already weighs about four pounds. She is daddy's baby, as true a love as you have ever seen.
This morning I woke up at 4:00AM and decided to make a latte and read (Waking the Moon by Elizabeth Hand today). While sitting at my desk reading I realised China was in the kitchen making a strange chittering hunting sound. The sound rose to a wail of panic. I decided it was time to see what had her scared and followed the sound.
Poor kitty was cornered in the kitchen by a big.....vicious........mandible clanking.....CARPENTER ANT. It stood in front of her, antennae waving imperiously. China was backed up against the wall. I grabbed a book (The Hand I think) and pushed the ant aside. China scooted past. Not one to give up a fight (she battled the milk ring for three days before the battered plastic ring waved a white flag and admitted defeat... and no shoe will ever defeat her) China pounced again. Ant retaliated, biting her on the nose. Her wail of panic was heartfelt this time poor kitty. The carpenter ant took a chunk out of her nose. Mom stepped in again and flatted the combatative ant.
Was China relieved? Hell no! She had to thrash two pairs of shoes, a musical ferris wheel (Devons) and a pair of innocent socks to repair her dignity and assert her fighting ability.
Copyright © Jacquie Bates
January 30, 2003
I have been saying for years, I was going to get a harness for Shadow, because he wanted to go outside so bad.
A little history here. Shadow is kind of retarded, he doesn't do a lot of what other cats do naturally. He can't climb a tree, he doesn't know what catnip is, and he likes to play like a dog. We can't pet him like a kitty either, but he loves his head scratched. His feet have never touched the ground here until recently.
I bought a small dog harness, finally found one small enough, and came home and put it on him. He was so funny, he sat there and looked at me like I had knocked the wind out of him, then he just fell over to the side. He wouldn't move!
So I picked him up and put him on his feet, and he started high stepping backwards, with his back all humped up. If looks could kill, I probably wouldn't be here today.
After backing up to the coffee table and not being able to back anymore, he started trying to walk forward. He was HIGH stepping, trying to step out of that harness.
Actually, he took it much better than I thought he would, so I decided to go ahead and take him out for a walk.
He loved it and he walked all over the yard. I have a dog named Keisha and you should have seen us. At one point, Keisha was in the front, with Shadow behind her and me with the leash behind Shadow. Then Keisha fell in behind me as Shadow was leading the way. He found a patch of grass he liked and just rolled and rolled. Then with Shadow on his own, we made our way back to the door. All in all it was a good experience and a good day. Now when I pick up the harness and ask him if he wants to go outside, he's all for it!!! My other cat Miss Dula, is another story!Copyright © Darlene Reed
February 21, 2003
Source of Photograph.....
Some years ago I was having a nice lazy start to the day, when there came a knock at the door. I got up and opened it to find two Jehovah's Witnesses (and their kids) on the doorstep. "Good morning" they chorused "Isn't it a lovely day!" "It was" I muttered somewhat uncharitably (I hate being disturbed when I'm reading in bed!) - and began to think about getting rid of them. The sun was at an angle so it just reached the screen door but the hallway behind me was very dark. Suddenly there came a blood-curdling growl - and Spook, my fabulous black cat came hurtling down the hallway and flung himself at the screen door, landing about human face height and rattling it ferociously! Hiss! Spit! Grr! (Most unlike him - he was usually friendly to a fault!).
They took a leap backwards and stood there uncertainly. "Now come on Spook" I said - they shivered at the name (but he was named from the Wizard of Id - our other cat of the time was King aka the Fink!) - and stared agog as I tried to prise his paws off the door. As fast as I got one paw off and started on the next he'd wrenched the first one back out of my hands and was attaching it to the screen door and growling again! "I think we'd better go now!" - and they beat a hasty retreat.
We never had another visit from the JW's the whole time we were in that house - we'd see them doing the street but they never knocked on our door again. Don't know if they have a "no go" register (we looked for secret signs on the fence!) - but we were quite grateful to the cat. As a Christian myself, I have a problem with door to door evangelism - though I'm happy to talk with those who want to hear. It was the only time in his life that I saw the aggressive side of Spook's personality - quite amazing. Maybe he didn't like having his snuggly time with me disturbed - after all, he was sharing the bed!
Copyright © Jenny Donovan
September 20, 1998
When we first found Peppurr she was a small, fluffy grey ball that was being tossed around the yard by a couple of Magpies. From a distance I assumed it was a part of someone's car seat cover.
My daughter investigated and screamed "Mum! it's a kitten!" I raced over, feeling guilty that I hadn't had my glasses on and that I didn't check first off.
Here was this pathetic looking kitten, with eyes shut due to infection and what appeared to be puss running out of the nostrils and it's fur was crawling with fleas.
We hurried off to the Vet, The Vet stated that he had little hope that this tiny kitten would live out the next 24 hours. I said well, is there possibly any chance I could at least try to prevent this little thing from the inevitable. He gave her a needle with antibiotics, he also suggested that I use Saline solution to clean her eyes and upon further inspection he found she had ear-mites (which my then 5 year old pronounced Termites) and cat flu and to make matters worse, Ringworm.. which we later had endured all over our arms and the itching drove us crazy.
It was touch and go and the only way to sustain her was to give her some Acidopholous yoghurt. She would not take to anything else.
I spent that whole week like a Zombie as I had very little sleep, giving the ear drops, cleaning the eyes regularly and ensuring that the medication the Vet provided us was given ever hour. Her comfort was suckling on my ear-lobe I learnt to tolerate the ear aches from the loud purring.
After one month, she was much stronger. and her coat was shiny.
It turned out that giving the yoghurt helped fight the bacteria that was in her body in conjunction with antibiotics and her vision fortunately was not effected due to the eye infection she had. Her breathing though was due to the Cat flu..
We had her de-sexed after her breathing had stabilized.
And the Vet announced she was a miracle to live past that first day.
Even now, she rules the roost and has been the most wonderful addition to our family. The timing too, was a miracle.. 10 months earlier my eldest daughter passed away from Leukemia.
Caring for this kitten took our minds off our grieving and filled that emptiness we felt inside.
Peppurr has provided us with laughter again and sometimes, she looks at me and as though she knows what we endured those 10 months before we found her, she meows and reaches a paw out to my hand.. I really think this little darling believes that she is a human. I say to people, she is not our cat .. she is our Angel.
Copyright © Kaz Sommershttp://www.flippyscatpage.com/peppurr.html
January 16, 2003
Floyd and Candy here, reporting on life in Sheffield UK. We are seven-month-old brother and sister and have been housebound for over a week due to various nasty vet things! It's not fun when you are used to going out and terrorising the neighbourhood and when you have a mission to rid the whole of Sheffield of sparrows, mice and frogs! It's not that we don't like them you know, it's just that Daddy Charlie and Mummy Loz are not much good at hunting unless it's stuff in cans and we have to keep bringing in live offerings for their own good or they will never learn!
Daddy Charlie came up with a brilliant brand new game though to keep us occupied. Mummy says he likes his gadgets and has lots of useless ones, but this particular gadget is a thing on his key ring, which has a little red laser light.
He gets this little light to chase all over the floor and up the walls and although we should have caught on to the fact that we can't ever catch it, we still live in hope that one day we will. It's great in the dark too, you get lots of snaky red lines to chase.
Mummy and Daddy think we are a bit dim to fall for this game time after time, but we know what is going on really. You should see the look on their faces, bless them. Mummy and Daddy get so little fun in their lives and they really enjoy this game and besides, they need the exercise!
Copyright © Lorraine Scorahhttp://www.flippyscatpage.com/floydcandy.html
November 10, 2004
Source of Photograph.....
Several days ago, I left the chair pulled out, and I started to notice that Kenzie would jump up on it when I came into the kitchen, and trill for some scritches, which she always got , of course.
Later in the day, she was running ahead of me to get to The Chair, before I got to the kitchen, so she could get more scritches.
My kitchen is in the middle of my little house, but has three doors, so I pass through it pretty often. It's also very small, so I had to walk around The Chair.
This evening, when Kenzie was out of the kitchen, without thinking, I pushed The Chair back where it normally belongs.
I just went into the kitchen, to find a mournful Kenzie on the floor, looking from me to The Chair, and making her sweet little sad meows.
Obviously, The Chair was *not* where it belonged.
At least Kenzie had the good manners to just look happy, instead of smug, when I pulled The Chair out for her to jump up on, so she could get some scritches.
*Sigh*, it looks like I'm going to walking around that chair for some time to come, as I haven't the heart to push it in again....
Copyright © Thomas Cunningham
July 14, 2004
Source of photograph.....
This is the story of my beautiful Mouse.
Mouse's mum went into labour at 7:00AM on 3rd December, 1996. She gave birth to a little daughter with her "calico" colouring, and a short while, she gave birth to her second kitten, black with a white tummy, tux and socks. She immediately started giving birth to her third kitten and didn't have time to clean up the second one, so I did it for her, gently wiping the mucus from the little kitten's face. At first I thought this one was dead, then I heard a faint, almost far-away, "squeak" - and the little black and white body stirred in my hand. This was Mouse's beginning - the faint squeak is what gave her her name. Her grey and white sister was born, followed quite quickly by another calico sister, and then almost an hour after the fourth little girl, came the one and only ginger boy.
We found homes for all the kittens except for Mouse, so we decided to keep her. She was the funniest little kitten - she had then, and still has a constant surprised look on her little black face - and she has a passion for carrying around plastic shopping bags, and getting into anything she can, literally - I have photos of her sitting in boxes, bags, suitcases, the dog's bed, washing baskets, and one of the funniest was when she got into my wastepaper basket, which is quite small. She is a big cat now, and when she got in, she couldn't get out. I had to pull quite hard to get her out, much to her disgust. When we finally got her free, she sat with her back to us, and began to groom herself with an air of "I meant for that to happen"!
Then she decided to be a jockey - I believe that if I had a video camera, I would have won first prize at the Funniest Home Video for this one - the dog is actually smaller than Mouse, and being a Jack Russell, very excitable. One day, when we were all outside, he went crazy, tearing around the yard in circles, then he ran straight for Mouse, she saw him coming, "stood up" on her hind legs, and he ran under her, and off down the driveway they went, Brutus the "horse" and Mouse, hanging on for dear life, the "jockey" - I have never seen anything so funny in my life. When they reached the gate, the dog stopped, and Mouse jumped over the gate into the front yard - once again with the regal air of "I meant for that to happen". (Brutus was hilarious - he couldn't work out where Mouse had gone, and was running around looking for her with the most puzzled look on his face - like "I know that cat was on my back, but where on earth did she go?")
She has done many other things over the past five years, but the sweetest things are when I have been ill - each time I was taken to hospital, she was there with a concerned look on her face and a questioning "Mew?" as if to say "Are you okay Mummy?" - then each time I returned and was confined to bed for weeks, she was my constant companion, leaving my bed only for meals, toilet and when the nurse came to change my dressings. Her purring soothed me when the pain was bad, and lulled me to sleep when it eased. Her little soft body cuddled against mine even now, soothes and comforts me. Her manner is so gentle, she is so "good" (she has never been rough like some kittens (e.g. her mum Mowie), she is quiet, her meow is still a faint squeak. I sometimes call her Sister Mary Mouse (no offence to any nuns) because she is so loving and kind. Mouse is my kid now that my real kids are grown up, and I love her dearly. She has even wormed her way into the hardened heart of my husband who is not a cat lover, though he would never be cruel to one. Even tonight he said he thought Mouse was prettier than our son's two grey pussies (although I adore them too, Mouse IS my favourite).
Unfortunately my beautiful Mowie has gone, I think she was bitten by a snake - but she lives on in Mouse, and I believe that if anything happens to Mouse, it will be quite a while before I could love another kitten quite as much.
Copyright © Ellen Kearney-Ladgrove
September 6, 2002
Source of Photograph.....
My mother loves to tell the story of Bella - the black cat - and how everyone told her "Keep that cat away from the baby! It will suffocate her!"
Well, Bella decided to investigate one day when mum put me in the sun to sleep (before the days of child napping and skin cancer). She put two tentative paws into my pram towards my feet and sniffed, then moved her paws forward to my head and sniffed, then moved her paws again and sniffed (my feet were a fascination for her) and promptly hopped into my pram and curled up around my feet. (They were in booties and in England in August - need I say more?)
Every day from there on in, when it was fine, Mum would put me out on the front stoop to nap, and Bella would invariably jump into my pram, and curl up around my feet (she never went near my head again) and would sleep until my nap time was over.
Bella is long gone, but to this day, I find it difficult to sleep unless a cat is holding my feet in her comforting body curl. No wonder I am a cat person... Bella chose for me to be one.
Copyright © Gaynor Bowden
March 26, 2006
It's been more than three years since we welcomed Bruce into our home and we wouldn't swap him for the world.
Kittens might be cute but we didn't want a kitten. A big, smart, older cat was our request and, boy, did we get one!
There was a cat there who fitted the bill. 'Lucien' had been brought in just before Christmas 2000 and, being nearly Easter, he was on death row. If we couldn't take him, then it was highly unlikely that anyone else would. We agreed to foster Lucien. He was a gorgeous, glossy, black and white fellow - and he was huge.
Within hours of joining us, it was obvious that the name 'Lucien' didn't fit. To us, Lucien was a name for a slight, delicate creature. Maybe an interior designer. This cat had more of a 'tradesman' look to him. We called our big, tough, new family member Bruce.
Bruce had attitude. Not hissing, snarling, scratching attitude, that would be too ordinary. He stomped around that first couple of days during his 'settling in' period and made everyone nervous. He wasn't overwhelming in his gratitude for his eleventh-hour rescue either. His disdain for us was evident.
The breakthrough came a few days after his arrival when I was woken from a deep sleep at 3:00AM with our big, new friend jumping on my chest and sniffing my eye - not too delicately, I might add. Put a cat's nose in your startled, wide open eye and see how you want to react. I couldn't yell out or push him away because I knew that this was a special moment in our relationship and I didn't want to ruin it - or lose an eye! I lay there while he sniffed my now-closed eyes and then, very slowly and wetly, he groomed my eyebrows. Then he walked back down the bed managing to stomp extra hard on my tummy and bladder on the way, settled down at the end of the bed and promptly went to sleep. My eyebrows have never been the same since.
Bruce is not what you'd call nimble... or particularly broad in his food choices. This is cat who hardly eats anything. Fillet steak? Won't eat it. Fresh fish? No thanks. How about every single brand of tinned food: mince, casserole, loaf style? Not likely. Dry cat food? What sort, he asks. Serve up Go Cat from the blue box and he's there. Heaven help us all if they ever take it off the market. Yet despite this limited diet, Bruce would be a good candidate for a feline version of Gutbusters. When he runs, his tummy swings from side to side like a saddlebag.
He also has a disconcerting way of collapsing on his side and kicking with his back legs. 'Must have been a kangaroo in a past life,' was the dry comment from my husband, Rob, who sat patiently, albeit nervously, while Bruce held Rob's ankle in his front paws and kicked the sole of his shoe for ten minutes without stopping. No claws or damage, just a workout and another insight into Bruce's complex character: that's right, our big, tough, bloke-cat has a shoe fetish and likes nothing better than to stand with his front paws in my shoes; then he'll step out and put his face in; then he'll flop onto his side and hug the pair close for a rapturous embrace. Imelda Marcos was a rank amateur: no-one loves shoes like Bruce.
Bruce is the most wonderful friend and has earned the deep and abiding respect of all the other people, two and four-legged, in the house. We couldn't imagine our lives without him, and although it was us who saved him from death row, we are the ones who are grateful for our big, boisterous cat, Bruce.
Copyright © Anna-Mariehttp://www.flippyscatpage.com/brucefoster.html
February 16, 2005
This post was modified from its original form on 07 Dec, 18:23
Oh the drama involved in cats and people's lives...
This is my dog Sadie who's a Jack Russell and Beagle mix, and my youngest cat Mr. Baby. We found Mr Baby in the yard in October, in the middle of a thunder storm. He was 2 weeks old and nasty and muddy and smelly, so we brought him in. My other cats freaked out and ran upstairs, and the only one who wanted anything to do with him was Sadie. She licked him and cleaned him, and Mr. Baby immediately took that as "so this is my Mommy.. good, I'm hungry. I'll get some milk," and tried nursing on Sadie. She's a fixed dog so there is no nurse coming out of her nursies but she doesn't care, she's just laying there with this baby cat sucking all over her belly.
Mr Baby is now about 3 months old and he still sucks on Sadie's belly and neck - and she loves it! They do wrestle a lot - although it is actually Mr. Baby who's wrestling Sadie. Sadie mostly lays there and takes the abuse. I wonder if they'll have the same relationship when he's 10 and she's 11...
Copyright © Nadinehttp://www.flippyscatpage.com/sadie.html
January 29, 2003
We have had that storm here the last few days. Well tonight our sirens went off for a tornado. After last year's tornado killing eight high school students and taking up a good part of town, they don't mess around much anymore.
The siren blasts so I go to turn on the radio and look on the computer so I know what is going on. I grab my digital camera and go outside to see if I can catch anything. My neighbor, Alvin, aged 69, jumps in his truck, speeds off like a madman. I am thinking, "Gee, he must know something I don't know..." I told my husband, and his idea was maybe his daughter lives near where the tornado is or something. About 15 min later he comes back and I see his cat, Fred, riding on the dash. He said that Fred howls every night to go for a ride and it just happened to coincide with the sirens tonight.
This was the man who swore he would not take him in. But five years ago I worked on him really hard... and one day he did. Someone had shot Fred with a BB gun so Alvin said "No more" and took him in. He then built a 12 foot high enclosure (a fortress) in his back yard so Fred could "go out - since he was an outside type of guy."
Now is that a sweet man or what? Anyway I just had to share with someone who would appreciate a man driving off in a tornado to take his cat for a spin.
This is how Alvin takes Fred out to the truck.
Buddies in a truck.
This is the two of them side by side in the truck.
Alvin said that Fred was an outside kind of guy...
So he had three men out build a fence so that Fred could go out in the mornings to take a walk.
Copyright © Tracy Jordan
August 26, 2008
Source of Photograph.....
OK, anyone who *isn't* owned by a cat would look around my great-room and think me quite eccentric. There are at least nine empty boxes lying around on the floor - the box from the new coffee maker we just bought, several shoe boxes, the box from the CD I just received from eBay, etc., etc., etc. Whenever we bring something home that comes in a box, the box gets put on the great-room floor until it falls to pieces. Most of the boxes are placed on their sides so that the openings face forward with the box flap serving as either an "awning" or a "porch" (depending on which side is down) to the cats' cardboard playhouse. The boxes range in size from Jessie petite to Sammy humongous. Sammy will eye Jessie jealously when Jessie sits her teeninsy iddle bum in a teeninsy iddle box, and tries to fit her far-from-teeninsy-iddle self into it after Jessie vacates the box. This is the cause of most of the boxes falling to pieces!
Last night Jessie decided to take up residence in the largest box in the room. Sammy took offense at this, thinking that the Sammy humongous boxes should be reserved for Sammy the humongous, so she jumped on top of the box to lean over and glare into the opening at Jessie. This caused said box to bow alarmingly under the weight of Samazon, and you could see Jessie thinking, "OHMYGAWD, I'm going to be crushed to death in a cave-in, erm, box-in!". Jessie hurriedly squeezed out of the diminished opening and set about teaching Sammy a lesson. The two rolled across the living room floor sending boxes, cat toys, and fur flying in all directions.
Now you would think that being roughly 2.5 times bigger than Jessie, that Sammy would walk away from such a tussle victorious. However, Sammy has never realized that she has grown bigger than the 1 pound kitten she was when we first got her and Jessie loomed over her like a giant. Sammy "gives" almost immediately in any contest that does not involve food. However, beating the sh*t out of Sammy proved to be thirsty work, so after the main event ringside Jessie took a side trip into the kitchen to get a drink of water. Imagine her surprise when, returning to the spoils of her victory, she saw Sammy crouched inside the box looking out at Jessie a touch defiantly. Hmmph!
First, Jessie tried jumping on top of the box the same way Sammy had... not even the minute-est dent was to be seen in the box. Then Jessie tried jumping off and then back onto the box several times... again, not the slightest curve could be seen in the box under her wee tiny arse. Sammy watched Jessie's attempts to cave the box in on top of her and snickered and smirked. Well, this was just too much insult for Jessie to bear, so she jumped down, reached inside, and started smacking Sammy about the face and jowls until Sammy beat a hasty retreat to Mommy's lap! Then Jessie gave Sammy the ultimate cat insult - she walked away from the box without even going inside the now empty playhouse!
Copyright © Lori Crews
February 23, 2007
Source of Photograph.....
During the summer of 2000, in June, I think it was, my neighbor, whom I did not know at the time was carrying a little baby kitten to some of the neighbors looking for a home for it. She never came to my door. My cat Liebchen had died in September 1995 and I had not taken in another cat. Liebchen was 13 years old when he died. I was heartbroken. He had been with me since he was seven weeks old.
Anyway, I didn't think any more about the little kitty that she was carrying around the neighborhood. Till one day I was looking out the window over my kitchen sink and there was a little ball of grey fur out there. I did my best to ignore her/him. Three adult cats were with her. Well, they all came the next day and the next and on and on. Until finally I broke down and took out some food and did so every day after that. The little ball of grey fur wouldn't let me get any where near her/him. Of course at this point in time I didn't know its gender.
Every day the three adults cats would come with Little Grey as that is what I called her at that time. The months rolled by, July, Sept, Oct, Nov. and it was cold weather time.
Oh yes, I had told God that I wouldn't get another cat unless HE put it on my doorstep after my Liebchen had died, and this is an important point in this story.
I was getting quite concerned because soon freezing temperatures would arrive and I just knew in my heart that Little Grey wouldn't survive the Winter. So, I told God that if YOU want me to have this cat then you will have to put it on my door step.
Needless to say I had some time before purchased a littler box, litter and a carrying case and had them waiting, just in case. Well, on June 12, 2000 it had gotten dark and I hadn't seen Little Grey all day. I had just put the harness on my dog Sasha and was going to take her out to do her duty when I heard my son and my young granddaughter outside talking to Little Grey. So knowing that she hadn't had any food that day and seeing an opportunity, considering that she had never come up to the back door and the three adult cats weren't anywhere in sight and had never come when it was dark, I guess you could say that I took this as a sign and I had better act on it, and so I did.
I asked my son to take Sasha out the front door for a walk while I tried to get Little Grey in the house. So he did.
Little Grey was starved and overcame her fear and came up on the step and I kept moving the dish closer and closer to the door, which I had left open, and finally put the dish on the doorstep and when she went to get the food I gently pushed her and into the kitchen she went. She flew up against the stove and meowed like crazy and then dashed down the hall and I didn't know where she went. I didn't go looking for her figuring I would let her calm down a little.
When my son returned with Sasha he looked for her and found her hiding behind the toilet bowl. She "flew" out of the bathroom and into my room and hid. So we left her alone.
I had had the litter box set up for sometime and it was in the front bedroom that I didn't use and that's where I wanted her to go, but of course, she didn't.
Finally, I had to go to bed, not knowing exactly where Little Grey was. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning I heard awoke to loud noises and figured that she had gone into the front bedroom because I heard the gate that I put across the door to keep Sasha out bang.
When I got up later on there she was nicely ensconced just where I wanted her.
Every day I would put her food and water in the room. She hid behind a bureau and would only come out after I had left. Sasha was having a fit every day, making it quite clear to me that she didn't want this kitty in the house. Sasha is another rescued animal story.
Well, after days passed , MANY of them, Little Grey would come out of hiding and that is when I saw that her legs shone like silver and that is when I changed her name to Little Silver Grey. Believe it or not, she stayed in that room till the very end of April! At that point in time apparently, she decided on her very own to come out of the front room and has since that day claimed many a spot where she makes her quite at home. Sasha tolerates her, but they have never become buddies, however I keep hoping.
Little Silver Grey is still quite feral, but is so lovable. God has certainly blessed me with a very lovable gift.
The three adult cats came a few more times into the back yard after I had gotten Little Silver Grey into the house and then they stopped coming. I just know that God wanted me to have her, because there are many other yards in my neighborhood that they could have taken her.
We have foxes and coyotes in our area so she is a house cat only. And that's the story of my Little Silver Grey.
Copyright © Lucy Jenner
January 10, 2005
Source of Photograph.....
A kitten is so flexible that she is almost double; the hind parts are equivalent to another kitten with which the fore part plays. She does not discover that her tail belongs to her till you tread upon it.
How eloquent she can be with her tail! Its sudden swellings and vibrations! She jumps into a chair and then stands on her hind legs to look out the window; looks steadily at objects far and near, first turning her gaze to this side then to that, for she loves to look out a window as much as any gossip. Ever and anon she bends back her ears to hear what is going on within the room, and all the while her eloquent tail is reporting the progress and success of her survey by speaking gestures which betray her interest in what she sees.
Then what a delicate hint she can give with her tail! passing perhaps underneath, as you sit at table, and letting the tip of her tail just touch your legs, as much as to say, I am here and ready for that milk or meat, though she may not be so forward as to look round at you when she emerges.
H.D. Thoreau [1817-62]
from Journal, 15 February 1861
Source of Photograph.....
Meanwhile, I am sitting in the front room reading a book and out of the corner of my eye I see a black streak shoot up the stairs to the second floor. Immediately I went up the stairs to see what that cat was up to. Apparently, he hopped up on the counter, grabbed the baster and dragged it up the stairs from room to room and finally to the middle of a bed. There he was, licking the baster clean of turkey juice in the middle of my bed!
Lesson: First, DO NOT leave the baster where the cat can get to it. And second, don't think they can't drag anything too far, because they will find a way to do it.
Copyright © Katherine Marie Castlehttp://www.flippyscatpage.com/londonturkey.html
January 8, 2007
Our cats are very thoughtful. This morning they woke us at 5:30, just to make sure we were not late for work. There was quite a bit of weird activity and movement around the room. When I got up, I almost stepped right on the reason for the excitement. Someone managed to catch a meadow vole. It either squeezed through the mesh of the cattery, or got in when we had the basement door open.
Very thoughtful. Tim brings me tea every morning, but I haven't yet trained him to bring breakfast. Perhaps the cats were setting a good example.
I offered to share the vole with Tim, but he declined. Jealousy is not a pretty thing.
- Cat Mom
Here is a picture of Jennifer (orange tabby) and her boyfriend Sherman (as in Tank - a big boy at 23 pounds). Every day Jenny and Shermy curl up together in their favorite papasan chair for a nap. Shermy is Jenny's favourite boyfriend and a bit of a fuzzbucket. He washes Jenny's face and cleans out her ears. We have dozens of pictures of these two.
Copyright © Leslie MacDonaldhttp://www.flippyscatpage.com/breakfastinbed.html
June 14, 2004
Source of Photograph.....
Cali had been an "only child" for three years.
Rescued from the Humane Society, she had been afraid of her own shadow. Suspecting she had been abused, my husband and I (plus our extended family) lavished love and attention on her every minute. She has grown to be a confident and secure cat.
Life was perfect for her... until "he" came along.
We had just moved into a bigger house, and we decided we had room in our home and our hearts for another orphan. Contrary to the docile being of his predecessor, Vinnie came bounding into our lives at eight weeks old.
Unlike Cali's ride home when she sat meekly in the corner, Vinnie tried to chew a hole through the cardboard carrying case. When this didn't work, he barked.
Vinnie is a cat. Barking?
We knew from that moment we would have our hands full.
Cali tried heartily to adapt to him. She took on the role of mommy, including bathing him. She would curl up around him when he slept and wait for him to eat. Despite this, Vinnie did not conform to her mild demeanor.
He had come from a home of five wild and crazy brothers. In his mind, if you are awake, it's time to play. Vinnie would try (unsuccessfully) to convince Cali of this. He even resorted to trying to throw her off the kitty condo or drag her out of their house. He would sneak up behind her and fling himself at her. On most occasions she would duck, and he would fly right over her back.
One day, Vinnie finally caught her off guard.
As usual, Wednesday is bubble bath night in our house. Cali likes to sit on the edge of the tub and play with the bubbles. Vinnie saw this as his opportunity to play. When she wasn't looking, Vinnie ran up from behind. In a move straight out of wrestling, he speared her and sent her flying into the tub with me.
My first thought was, "Oh, no, [she has claws]". Being the little Princess that she is, she didn't scratch or scramble. She slowly stood up, climbed back out and waited for my husband to come and wrap her in a towel.
Vinnie, in the meantime, was rolling on the ground, quite happy with himself.
A week later, Cali stayed clear of the tub ledge. Instead, she sat in the corner of the bathroom watching. Vinnie took this time to gloat. He walked back and forth along the ledge as if to say "Haha. I got your spot". On one of his little parades, he slipped. You guessed it. Once again, I had a wet cat on my lap. Instead of being dainty like Cali, he howled, hissed, and clawed everything he could get his paws on... namely me. He finally secured his footing and in a wet thump, he landed on the rug.
And what did she do? Cali stood up and walked slowly out of the bathroom with a smile that would rival any Cheshire cat.
Copyright © Kristi Brandenburg
January 19, 2001
Source of Photograph.....
I was reading in my recliner this evening, and I feel asleep.
Anyway, I dreamed that I was sitting in my recliner, watching TV, and I called for Lucky to keep me company. As she ALWAYS did, before she went to the Bridge on 6/9/1999, she came running into the living room, and jumped up on my chest, so she could lick my face.
Lucky used to LOVE to lick my face, or any other part of me not covered by clothing.
Like I always did, I blew on Lucky's nose, until she stopped licking my face, and she lay on my chest, with one paw on each side of my neck, kneading slowly.
Lucky had her nearly inaudible purr going, of course.
It was hard to hear Lucky purr; if you got really close, you could hear her purr as she exhaled. Of course, if you were holding her, you could feel her purring away.
After a little while, Lucky stopped kneading my neck, tucked her head under my chin (with a few more licks on my chin, just for good measure), and went to sleep, as she usually did.
And then I woke up, and looked at the clock, and saw I was asleep for only about 10 minutes. And just as I did that, I felt Lucky jump off my chest, just like she always used to.
Was I still dreaming when I felt Lucky leaving? I don't think so. I think Lucky came from the Bridge to visit me for a few precious minutes, to help remind me that she misses me, just as much as I miss her.
I don't need reminding, of course. I miss Lucky terribly, each and every day.
But is was nice to see Lucky again; if only in a dream.
Copyright © Thomas Cunningham
August 26, 2008
Waiting at the Hairdresser's
Walked by the bedroom a little while ago and had to laugh. Bunter and Emily were both on the bed, each sitting in the meatloaf position with his and her favorite brushes, respectively, in front of them. They looked like they were waiting for appointments with their stylists!
PS: Yes, of course I brushed them both - after I'd stopped laughing...
Copyright © Brenda Watkins
January 19, 2003
Pinkus and Squirt are now best buds!
Photo Copyright © Paul Idleman
A week or so ago, my sister and brother-in-law (Sue & Paul) were out hiking when they approached a bridge which goes over a river. Out from the bushes stumbled a tiny kitten, about 8 weeks old, with a terribly mangled front leg and a degloving injury to the face. They nursed her over the weekend, and took her to a vet on Monday. The vet had to remove her front leg, including the scapula, and had to reconstruct her face, by sewing a button into the flesh under her chin, to allow it to heal. He surmised that she was thrown from a moving vehicle onto the pavement, by someone "dumping animals in the country".
Paul & Sue decided to keep her, and named her Squirt. She has since healed up pretty well, doesn't seem to miss her leg, and is right at home with the resident Big Orange Cat.
Copyright © Lyn Gloverhttp://www.flippyscatpage.com/squirt.html
October 29, 2002