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Cat Stories Part Five
9 years ago

Source of Photograph.....

We have two cats, "Chairman Meow" and "Sir Lick a Lot". Sir Lick a Lot is the smarter of the two. I've been teaching him to play chess. Actually, he's not all THAT smart, as I can still beat him two games out of three.

Chairman Meow on the other hand, is NOT mensa material. You would think that a cat living around here would know about things like aerodynamics.

Apparently not!

Our bird feeder is aprox. 10 feet off the end of the back deck on a 4x4 post about even with the deck height of 8 feet. Yesterday, the Chairman was seen on the deck assiduously studying flight dynamics as he envisioned them applying to cats and bird feeders.

We watched him sit there quietly as he no doubt worked out the physics and mentally constructed the wanted trajectory against his aerodynamic profile.

I of course being the more "experienced" member of the family already knew that the Chairman's flight envelope bore a close resemblance to a brick. My lovely wife of 35 years however, was actually showing some signs of concern.

"Can he make it?" she said!

"Well", I said, looking at our over fed; over weight fur creature, "perhaps with a ladder, or if he has eaten those baked beans I left for him in his dish."

As I spoke, my wife let out a scream as it became instantly apparent that the Chairman had done the math. He twitched his tail and made his takeoff run. Unfortunately, his math was either very bad, or he had used the wrong base. He reached Cso [cat stall/paws and tail extended] and rotated at Cr [idiot cat liftoff speed]. All four paws came out as he serenely soared over the top rail. Somewhere between Vx and Vy he came to a complete understanding with Isaac Newton. Actually, Bernoulli was never even a factor. He came to an absolute stop in mid air for just an instant; I could swear that he looked back at me with a sort of stupid smile on his face. Then down he went, right into the rose hedge.

The problem with the Chairman is that he never actually learns anything. If he could shave, it wouldn't be with Ocam's Razor. In his mind I'm sure he feels that the gravity was especially bad yesterday.

He will no doubt re-study the problem and try again.

Copyright © Dudley Henriques

     Please stay tuned for the next installment.....

9 years ago
Our Three Bears

sandynursing.jpg - 17698 Bytes
Sandy with 3 of the 7 new kittens.
January 13, 2003

Our three bears leave here today. It is time for our three bears to go. What miracles they are since the day they came. First there was Rolly, then Little Bear, too. And don't forget Tiny - just a handful for you.

We were told their mama died. How sad it was to all, but God was watching over them and saw what needed to be done: "Don't worry," God said to the mama, "don't worry about my three bears. I will help you find another mama to feed your babies, to love them so divine. See, I have a dog named Annie, who will love them all the same. She is my angel in dog clothes. For she will hold them and love them like her own, and with the help of her family, she will raise this kitten family, so mama cat, rest in my arms. Don't worry or fret over your babies. It is all taken care of. Your babies are safe. They are in my arms."

And so now we have them, these precious babies so dear to God above. We watched them through all the pain. We saw them go down to death's door, so frail they were. We prayed for each one, so faithfully, "God guide us through this night, and if it be your will, let these little ones make it one more night in your care.

Yes there were a lot of sleepless nights-oh, I cannot count them-but we knew God was up, his eyes never closed. Rolly, Little Bear, Tiny-so precious to him and to me. Each wanted so bad to give in to death, but we took care of them faithfully. God said, "no,you must live to testify for me that God is there, and you must live. Your mama and me, we are watching you so faithfully. You won't die today. You will live for one more day." We prayed, oh, so hard for these, God's little critters. So tiny, so frail, and now God will be praised.

We watched as you fought to breathe, to hold your head up high. The struggle was so great but God was standing by. "See mama cat, I am in control. I am watching over your babies three. I will work through this dog named Annie and her family-. Just watch them now: oh, so very big and strong. My blessings are being poured out for them and you mama. Just watch, see this family is blessed as each new step is taken. See them praying and caring for them. Ohl, look at them today (as Annie produced milk and fed them), look at the strength come back. Look how my plan is coming together. Look how they are growing. Soon, mama, very soon they will be back with the people who relieved you of your suffering and pain. Oh, look, mama-see them grow!"

Now it is time for our three bears to leave, and I say thank you for your unselfish act of allowing us to raise them, and now, as your life begins with these kittens, take this little stuffed bear. Keep it up high as a reminder that God loves even his animals, and miracles still happen even today. You have three in front of you, and now as Annie raises 7 more to love just the same, see all is in God's plan. Annie, her gift of mothering kittens, and her new family.

If you ever feel down... When you do, look at the stuffed bear I am giving you. It is a reminder of God's precious miracles that he performs every day. We have a testimony of that in the three bears that we got that day.

I am sorry for your loss of the mama. Perhaps the kittens can somehow make it better. We worked so hard on them, but I give God all the credit. God's eyes really are on the sparrow or kittens. To think, just when my hope and faith were dim, God had Annie produce the milk needed to make them well. I was asked by someone, "well what happens if they die after you pray for them?" I told them, "God is still in control. He will give us the grace and strength to deal with that, too. I am sorry you have missed the little things about them, but I thank you for the blessing we got from going through the pain as they did. I remember sitting on the floor and saying, 'Ok God, I don't know what else to do. Please watch over them and guide us all. Your will be done.' I think that is when Annie started to produce milk. Wow, God answers prayers in the strangest of ways. They went from IV's and meds to being well enough to eat. To see them now, I cannot help but know God is real.

9 years ago

I remember Rolly Polly. He was soo weak and glassy-eyed. Amanda said, 'I told you, you are not going to die.' She really worked with them as much as I did. Yes, I had a lot of sleepless nights, but I would do it again-and I am now with the new kittens. See, my kids and me have been through so much in our life. We have very little money coming in, but one thing that has always stayed true, God never fails. When we turn it over to him... I always say, 'let go and let God steer, and hold on for the ride, no matter what the outcome.' God is there. He gives some very good bear hugs. Thank you soo much for the blessing of taking care of your kittens. Oh, you can change their names if you want to. It was just names we called them to not call them all kittens. Rolly opened his eyes and saw Amanda. It was love at first sight for them both. He now thinks Amanda is his mom. He runs up to her and sits on her shoulder. He is a handful now. Oh, he likes to get into the toilet if given a chance. Watch it, and climb on everything. Little Bear is the same. Tiny, well she is nothing but sweet, they all are that. They have mighty good motors. And Annie, she loves them all. She has already told them to get a life and is involved with her new litter. As long as she can tell them goodbye, she is okay. She loves to mother, a dog who knows she is a cat, strange but true. God really has a sense of humor, doesn't he, and he used Annie to save kittens everywhere. Who knew? You all take care. Your thoughts are always with us."

Copyright © Carole Rogers
February, 2003
9 years ago
Micia's New Year Resolutions


  1. Try to be nicer to the dog next door. HE can't help it if he's not as beautiful nor intelligent as oneself. Mummy says I should behave with grace and humility as becomes a lady of my standing. Grace I understand but what's humility?

  2. Try to do more for myself. Do I really HAVE to wake Mummy and Daddy at 3am for them to raise the bed covers so I can snuggle under the blankets with them? YES! Abandon new Year resolution 2)

  3. Learn to turn on the electric blanket myself. I know where the switches are but I just do not seem to be able to move them. Obviously this needs practice.

  4. Not to leave quite so many teethmarks in the margarine! On the rare occasion when somebody forgets to put the lid back on the container I just cannot resist the temptation to eat margarine. Of course I say it isn't me when Mummy says "Oh Micia, WHEN will you realise straight margarine isn't healthy for you?" but she never seems to believe me.

  5. This year I am going to face the Red Devil and kill it! It is not dignified to hide under the bed whenever it comes. Mummy says if I didn't shed quite so much fur she wouldn't need to bring it out as often. Personally I think floors and furniture look quite attractive with a touch of fur on them!

Copyright © Heather Bridge
January 2, 2002
9 years ago
How I Spent My Summer Vacation

Source of Photograph.....

I have just come back from visiting a niece in the state of Washington who lives on a large farm so the cats have plenty of space to play and roam. She has four cats. I have always lived with one cat at a time, so it was quite a different thing to live with four. I had forgotten how cuddly a cat in the night can be. They were so much fun and they each had their own foibles and personalities but they were united at breakfast. The first person downstairs had to feed the greedy little guys or they wrapped themselves around your feet and would not allow you to get your own breakfast. They all demanded "Us first, us first".

After breakfast each retired to his own napping space. But even sleeping their radar was working. Decide to go up to the garden or pick blackberries and there they were, following right behind like four gamboling puppies.

Jaspurr is the hunter, so practically every morning there was a dead present outside my bedroom door. Believe me, I came out with my eyes open and my feet stepping carefully. Jaspurr is also the bravest and moat curious. I have seen him go right up, nose to nose, with a deer and neither one showed any fear.

The cat door is on the second floor and Danny, the oldest cat was the self-appointed guardian of the door. He lay in front of it an would not allow any of the other three to come in or go out. Anyone who tried got his ears boxed. So my nephew put in another cat door on the first floor but didn't tell Danny which left Danny very puzzled as to where everybody went and how they were getting in and out of the house.

Unfortunately my visit came to and end but I won't forget my four furry friends.

Copyright © Ruth Harding
September 14, 2002
9 years ago
The King of the Cats

Source of Photograph.....

One evening and I sitting here, it was mortal cold, and the cat was curled sleeping and he on the fireflag. The wind was tearing at the thatch, and never a sound was in it if it was not the cry of the wild geese and them crossing the moon. Of a sudden he was on his feet, every hair on him standing stiff as a hackle, his back arched, his tail like a jug-handle. He stood listening. Then, with a hiss and a snarl, he was out of the door like running water. The wind died on the moment, and not one thing stirred bar the clock - the ticks of it would deafen you, like as if you had your ear to an anvil. Then the wind blew again, and a turf-sod shifted in the fire.

The next morning, with me mother and father - may God save them! - in the cart, I was driving to Mass, for it was a Sunday. We got as far as Spooner's below, when I seen something on the road that stopped me. The whole place was one living mass of cats. In the middle was a great buck-cat, lying with his paws drawn up under him, and him looking straight in front as if there was not a living thing near him.

Around him stood others and they never lifting an eye off of him. Some on the fence, and in the ditch lay more, but they were looking away from him. Here and there a small one sneaked from one lot to another, as if they were servants and they looking for orders.

"Go on", says my father, "or we will be late for Mass. They are only choosing their king."

by George A. Little
from "Malachi Horan Remembers"
9 years ago
Aerial Aviary Attack on B.T. Rowdy

Source of photograph.....

This last week, B.T. Rowdy, during broad daylight (of course: he never does this at night) spotted the open door and escaped at a gallop to his favorite forbidden outdoor spa, the backyard......after securing d-pet in front, I headed back into house to feed other cats, knowing Rowdy would not go far and could be retrieved fairly easily if approached on his blind side, as usual.

Loud howls and raucous squawking from backyard soon commenced, however, and I dropped the cat feeding project and headed out back. Rowdy was rolling to and fro partly under a large bush, while multiple mockingbirds, blue-jays, and a few robins (at least I think they were robins, their heads were red) dive-bombed him, in full attack mode, claws outspread, screaming fiercely, ripping and tearing small bits of fur from his blind side (left) (how did they know which was his blind side??!!) while he helplessly cried and tossed himself here and there. As you know, it's late spring on this side of equator, and all those birds, who've been singing loudly lately for weeks, have eggs and babies all over the place and Rowdy sure looked threatening to them, I guess.

They all scattered as I ran up, scooped up his delinquent self, and carried him, for once not kicking and biting, back into house. All the other cats had to get a sniff of him, but as badly injured dignity dictated, Rowdy was not about to put up with that, as he is the alpha cat. I hope he learned a lesson from this encounter.

May 21, 2001

9 years ago
A French Cat

Source of Photograph.....

Recently my husband Gene and I traveled throughout Europe. We rented a car as we always do and drove along the back roads, staying in quaint, out-of-the-way inns. The only thing that distracted me from the wonder of the trip was the terrible longing I felt for our cat Perry. I always miss him when we travel, but this time, because we were gone for more than three weeks, my need to touch his soft fur and to hold him close became more and more intense. With every cat we saw, the feeling deepened.

We were high in the mountains of France one morning, packing the car before resuming our trip, when an elderly couple walked up to the car parked next to ours. The woman was holding a large Siamese cat and speaking to him in French.

I stood watching them, unable to urn away. My yearning for Perry must have been written all over my face. The woman glanced at me, turned to speak to her husband and then spoke to her cat. Suddenly she walked right over to me and, without one word, held out her cat.

I immediately opened my arms to him. Cautious about the stranger holding him, he extended his claws, but only for a few seconds. Then he retracted them, settled into my embrace and began to purr. I buried my face in his soft fur while rocking him gently. Then, still wordless, I returned him to the woman.

I smiled at them in thanks, and tears filled my eyes. The woman had sensed my need to hold her cat, the cat had sensed that he could trust me, and both, in one of the greatest gifts of kindness I have ever received, had acted upon their feelings.

It's comforting to know the language of cat lovers - and cats - is the same the world over.

Copyright © Jean Brody
9 years ago
A Cat's Friendship

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
The "Newer" Couch and What It Sprouted
9 years ago

Source of Photograph.....

Using the word "newer" as in real estate agency descriptions: i.e. "maybe new as in the last 10 years or so", a relative delivered about a week ago a beautiful saddle-weathered effect leather couch since he got a brand new one...

It had no sooner settled on the floor than I promptly covered it completely with wool and acrylic "throws" and took the girls (Sylvie and Maluce; the only ones who still have claws) out in front to trim very closely; they have never shown any interest in sharpening as long as I am diligent with trimming.

It took about an hour or so before the couch had sprouted, indeed as I expected, 2 large and 1 smaller furry meatloaves, perched atop back and blatantly sprawled on seat cushions (B.T. Rowdy (Alpha Cat), Maluce, and little Oliver). Sylvie, of course, could not see giving up her much-sought-after (another real estate phrase - [snicker]) spot on my bed for the iffy attraction of a cow-smelling large piece of furniture.

My reaction to the meatloaves was, "so pleased to be able to afford Your Majesties with another nesting spot in the living room"....... the d-pet, after sniffing around for a *long* time trying to locate the actual cow, gave up and settled down beside our "newer" leather couch.

by a "Mysterious Contributor"
April 8, 2001
9 years ago
The King O' the Cats

Source of Photograph.....

One winter's evening the sexton's wife was sitting by the fireside with her big black cat, Old Tom, on the other side, both half asleep and waiting for the master to come home. They waited and they waited, but still he didn't come, till at last he came rushing in, calling out, "Who's Tommy Tildrum?" in such a wild way that both his wife and his cat stared at him to know what was the matter.

"Why, what's the matter?" said his wife. "And why do you want to know who Tommy Tildrum is?"

"Oh, I've had such an adventure. I was digging away at old Mr. Fordyce's grave when I suppose I must have dropped asleep, and only woke up by hearing a cat's meow."

"Meow!" said Old Tom in answer.

"Yes, just like that! So I looked over the edge of the grave, and what do you think I saw?"

"Now, how can I tell?" said the sexton's wife.

"Why, nine black cats all like our friend Tom here, all with a white spot on their chestesses. And what do you think they were carrying? Why, a small coffin covered with a black velvet pall, and on the pall was a small coronet all of gold, and at every third step they took they cried all together, 'Meow--'"

"Meow!" said Old Tom again.

"Yes, just like that!" said the sexton. "And as they came nearer and nearer to me I could see them more distinctly, because their eyes shone out with a sort of green light. Well, they all came towards me, eight of them carrying the coffin and the biggest cat of all walking in front for all the world like -- but look at our Tom, how he's looking at me. You'd think he knew all I was saying."

"Go on, go on," said his wife. "Never mind Old Tom."

"Well, as I was a-saying, they came towards me slowly and solemnly, and at every third step crying all together, 'Meow--'"

"Meow!" said Old Tom again.

"Yes, just like that, till they came and stood right opposite Mr. Fordyce's grave, where I was, when they all stood still and looked straight at me. I did feel queer, that I did! But look at Old Tom. He's looking at me just like they did."

"Go on, go on," said his wife. "Never mind Old Tom."

"Where was I? Oh, they all stood still looking at me, when the one that wasn't carrying the coffin came forward and, staring straight at me, said to me -- yes, I tell 'ee, said to me -- with a squeaky voice, 'Tell Tom Tildrum that Tim Toldrum's dead,' and that's why I asked you if you knew who Tom Tildrum was, for how can I tell Tom Tildrum Tim Toldrum's dead if I don't know who Tom Tildrum is?"

"Look at Old Tom! Look at Old Tom!" screamed his wife.

And well he might look, for Tom was swelling, and Tom was staring, and at last Tom shrieked out, "What -- old Tim dead! Then I'm the King o' the Cats!" and rushed up the chimney and was never more seen.

by W. W. Jacobs, English version
9 years ago

Source of Photograph.....

Noname got in a race with a 60-mph bus. Noname lost.

It was a typical spring morning in Eastern Idaho. The sun was rapidly chasing the cool of the night away, but the air still offered the not unpleasant sensation of tiny pinpricks on the skin.

The 8 o'clock run of site buses was at its heaviest. The buses were carrying engineers and technicians west to the Atomic Energy Commission facility some 50 miles distance from Idaho Falls.

Dad had already been at work for an hour and a half. My dad was the proprietor and operator of a blacksmith and welding shop. He was a physically powerful man. Years of shoeing horses, sharpening plow shears, and the daily wrestling with heavy farm equipment kept Dad in top shape. His wrists were the size of most men's forearms. But even with his size, you could tell by looking at him that he was a gentle man.

I only describe Dad here so that the contrast between him and Noname can be appreciated.

Dad saw that the kitten was on a collision course with the bus. I guess calling it a race lends the wrong impression as to what actually occurred. The kitten was very small, most likely not even six weeks old yet. Its legs were very wobbly, Dad said, and it was certainly not capable of running. Dad didn't see the kitten enter the roadway. He just saw the little black and gray striped fur ball in the path of danger an instant before the bus went over the top of it. The kitten rolled about 30 feet as a result of the impact. The kitten was silent. Not so the traffic as the roar of the diesel engine headed away and there was the roar of more diesel engines approaching fast.

Miraculously, more than twenty more buses, cars and trucks had managed to avoid hitting the kitten as it lay perfectly still in the middle of the highway, only its fur being blown this way and that by the wind from the vehicles. Dad waited until the traffic cleared enough to safely remove the kitten's body and dispose of it properly. Dad told me later that when he picked the kitten up, it just didn't feel dead. It showed no signs of life, no visible wounds and no blood -- it just didn't feel dead.

Dad took the kitten into his office and placed him on a bed made up of the few clean shop rags he had left. Dad kept checking on the kitten throughout the day. He kept touching the kitten and the kitten "just didn't feel dead."

At about 5:30 p.m., a half an hour before quitting time, Dad detected the kitten's chest rising and falling ever so slightly. Dad brought the box with the shop rag bed and the kitten home with him for the night.

As we discussed the kitten and the occurrences of the day as we sat at the dinner table, I asked Dad what he named it. "No name," Dad said, "Don't know if it's going to live even, so, I'm giving it no name." That was when Dad, quite unknowingly, named the kitten Noname.

The next morning, Noname's eyes were open. He made no effort to move and Dad didn't force the issue. The kitten didn't mew. He just lay there. Dad managed somehow to get Noname to take drops of milk from his fingertip -- a fingertip that was easily half the size of Noname's head.

With Dad's care, Noname flourished. He stayed in the shop rag bed all of the time except to get up to do nature's necessities in the litter box right next to his bed. Dad was still uncertain of the extent of Noname's injuries, and taking him to a vet was, unfortunately, not an option. So Dad would not let anyone handle Noname until Noname ventured out into the world by himself. This turned out to be a very wise decision.

9 years ago

When Noname had been with Dad for about 8 weeks, he wandered out of his bed and into the shop area for the first time. He ventured into every dirty nook and cranny of the shop, exploring his domain curiously. Noname appeared to have recovered completely. Dad had long since resigned himself to the fact that he had indeed named the kitten Noname.

About a month later, it became evident that Noname had suffered a very serious injury in his encounter with the bus -- his back had been broken. Although Noname could walk with no discernible difficulty or impediment, when he tried to run, he ran in circles. He quickly learned to compensate for this and in no time was able to catch the mice in the weeds surrounding the shop. Upon close examination, you could see a definite kink in Noname's spinal column -- in relationship to his hind quarters, his front quarters veered off to the right a bit. The tracks left in the snow by Noname puzzled those not familiar with him.

Noname lived his eleven year life as "the shop cat" keeping the shop rag bed as his own personal property. He kept the mouse population under control at the blacksmith shop, thus pleasing Mom well. He never wandered too far off, and I never ever saw him cross the highway again or even look as if he wanted to. Whenever Dad was at his desk doing paperwork, Noname would be there patiently waiting to be petted and cuddled.

Noname had passed away one night while sleeping in his shop rag bed. Dad lost a good friend that night.

Copyright © Henry Christensen, 1998
9 years ago
Cats Find You

dally1b.jpg - 15940 Bytes

I've always been a dog lover, having lived with dogs my whole life.

My love of dogs and desire to help homeless animals brought me to my local shelter where I became a volunteer. After seeing firsthand all the animals who were awaiting loving homes, I decided I should open my home and my heart to a cat. I told the shelter manager that I was looking for a cat who liked dogs and would enjoy being a companion to my adopted 6 year old Akita mix, Rusty.

For months I teetered back and forth, as I contemplated all the problems a cat could cause. My life was so simple now -- my dog had finally gotten over his separation anxiety and had calmed down. There were no more accidents in the house, no chewing and no leash pulling. I wondered, would the cat use the litter box? Would he scratch my furniture? Would he spray? Would he try to run outside when I opened the door? I knew nothing about cats and wasn't sure I could handle any problems that might arise.

One day, the shelter manager informed me she had the perfect cat for me. Stephanie was 9 months old and loved dogs. I humored the manager and let her take Stephanie out of the cage. I held her, and she loved being in my arms. She was sweet and very beautiful with her long gray hair. The manager told me that Stephanie was to be spayed on Friday and that she'd be available Sunday. I agreed to come back with Rusty then, to see if they got along.

I went out and bought all the necessary supplies for my new cat, even though I still wasn't sure I was doing the right thing.

The evening before I was to adopt Stephanie, I went on a date. On the way home, I noticed a pair of eyes glaring out from some bushes near my condo. I asked my date to stop so I could investigate. The pair of eyes belonged to a cat.

I went home to get out the cat treats I kept on hand for my neighbor's cat and returned with them. As I lured the cat out of the bushes, I saw that he was very thin. He was very dirty and was missing clumps of hair. I felt sorry for him, so I brought him in and kept him in my spare room overnight. He immediately fell asleep.

The next morning, I packed Rusty in the car along with the stray cat. I knew he'd be safe because this is a reputable shelter. The manager brought Stephanie out and she immediately rubbed against Rusty. Success! Now, all I had to do was give them the stray cat and Stephanie was mine.

Instead, I was told that they were already overcrowded and didn't provide animal control for my town and couldn't take the cat. Discouraged, I went home sans Stephanie, but with this bedraggled cat who growled and hissed at Rusty constantly. I decided I would find a good home for him and go back to adopt Stephanie.

The stray cat did find a good home -- mine. He was neutered, treated for ear mites, vaccinated and bathed. Dallas has been with us for a year and absolutely adores Rusty. The cat with bald spots now has the most beautiful long hair. Never did I imagine that a cat could bring so much joy to my life. As a self-proclaimed "dog person", I never thought I could be so in love with a cat.

I think it's true what they say -- cats DO find you.

And yes, Stephanie found a good home as well.

Copyright © Shari Wexler
August 13, 2001

9 years ago
Cat Friday

Source of Photograph.....

A friend of mine is the mother of three young daughters. She is also the mum of a big, black cat named Cat Friday, who is a well fed, lazy, docile, cuddly children's playmate.

One day one of the little girls came running in, crying: "Ronnie hit me."

Mother, trying to train her girls to stand up for themselves, told her to go out and hit him back.
A little later the girl was back in, crying more earnestly: "He's bigger than me."

"All right, go back out and try and settle your differences."

Thirty seconds later, mother was chilled to the core by a really blood-curdling scream. She frantically rushed out, hoping and praying her daughter wasn't a case for the emergency trauma team.

Outside, little macho Ronnie was howling his head off. He had been attacked by Cat Friday.

PS: I'm happy to announce that no injuries worth mentioning were inflicted on any of the parties. The hitting was just young children's way of arguing, and Ronnie's screaming was due to the shock and surprise at being the target of a furry knight defending a damsel in distress.

Copyright © Magnhild Kvernmo
August 28, 2002
9 years ago
Gone was the Mousie!

Source of Photograph.....

I'd like to share a cute little (night-)story about Blacky, the tomcat.

On May 28th, just before I went to bed, I had a last look after our furry folks - at that time both busy outside. And look, Blacky stood in front of the patio door. He had a present with him - in his mouth he carried a respecable mouse. But - mouse is not for the house - neither dead or alive, thats a rule here. In spite of that I would have liked to give some praise to our big black kitty, but the patio door kept being closed for the moment.

Blacky looked at me - with the mouse still in his mouth - and requested: "Open that door!" I looked back: "Hey old fellow, I am sorry, but mouse is not for the house."

Now Blacky put that mouse very carefully down in front of his fore paws and looked at me again: "OK, is THAT all right?" I still was a little bit unsure but thought, the risk to open the door now would be acceptable. The mouse sat there, absolutely motionless.

When I opened the door the latch cracked quite loudly. Blacky had been watching my hand and was distracted. The mouse - just like Speedy Gonzales (you know - the fastest mouse of Mexico) - cannoned away across the patio into the darkness and the rain. Obviously she had not been hurt at all. Blacky absolutely did not realize, that his prey had literally vanished from under his paws.

As he grasped that his mouse had run, he faced me with such a very dumbfounded look that I could not keep from laughing. Totally upset he searched for the mouse and sniffed all across the patio. That was neither the time for some praise nor for the question, whether he would not prefer to come inside for the night. He was absolutely busy with the loss of his prey.

After about ten minutes of fruitless search he concluded to stay outside for the night. So I went to bed - but without my big black furrykid.

Copyright © Michael Micha
May 30, 2007
9 years ago

Source of Photograph.....

Kenzie, my well behaved calico sweetie doesn't seem to care for the toys I buy for her, but instead plays with the things she finds on the floor. I have a rule, which I do not believe she's ever broken: what's on the floor can be played with, but not what's on the bed, table, etc. (Actually, I don't think I've ever found any evidence she ever got up on a table or kitchen counter; she's a little angel.)

This morning, she found a small cardboard box set by the recycling area; it had had a new telephone inside. The box was about 5" wide by 3" tall by 8 or 9" long. She was having a great time peering into it for hidden treasure (I've been known to 'hide' little treats around, to give her something to do while I'm at work).

For some reason, she thought this box *had* to have a couple of potato chips in it, and she was determined to get them. She batted the box around, and investigated it from every angle; no opening except the one. This box was typical: it had the larger flap that closes the box, and the two smaller flaps inside.

Kenzie couldn't get her paw very far in the box because of the flaps. I was getting some breakfast when a meowing kitty came running *backwards* into the kitchen with her head stuck in the box! The smaller inner flaps had bent inwards enough to get her head in, but then acted like a one way butterfly valve, not allowing her head back out. I laughed so hard when she came running into the kitchen, I nearly had breakfast cereal coming out my nose.

Kenzie was careening about the kitchen at pretty high speed, backwards, trying to pull hear head out of the box. Like a little bumper car, each time she hit her rump on something, she changed directions. When I saw her headed towards the basement stairs, I barely had time to get to her before what could have been a nasty tumble down the steps.

I picked her up and gently removed her little head prison; she purred at me in her little combination purr and meow, that comes out like a series of little chirps. I gave he a good ear scritching and set her down on the floor. She was about 2 feet from the box; head and paws on the floor, and her rump waving from sized to side. She pounced on the box and gave it a big *whap*, sending it 10 feet across the floor. She went over to it and watched it for a few moments. It didn't move; it was now officially 'dead'. With head and tail held high, Kenzie left the room, convinced she had won the Battle Of The Box.

by a rec.pets.cats.anecdotes contributor
November 2, 2000
8 years ago

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
8 years ago
Moving On

Source of Photograph.....

It was a cold morning on December 14th last year. I awoke at 7:30am, shuffled out of bed, and glanced outside the patio doors to see how much snow had fallen during the night. I noticed two tiny black faces huddled together against the door for warmth.

Closer inspection revealed two long-haired male kittens -- one a smoky charcoal color, and the other an all black with several white points. They were probably about 6-8 weeks old.

Out in the countryside, where I live, this is sadly an all too common sight. City folks drop off their unwanted animals in the hope that they will "fend for themselves" in the wild. The reality is that either we take them into our homes or they become part of the food chain.

Already sharing my home with two cats, I couldn't leave these defenseless guys out in the cold. I opened the door, much to their delight, and was met with the squeaky little heart-melting meows that only kittens can make. Although young, there was an obvious difference in size between "Muscles" and "Skinny Minnie". Fortunately, they were eating well and I started to look for homes for them.

After a few days, it became apparent that there was something not quite right with Skinny Minnie. His belly had swelled enormously but he wasn't gaining size anywhere else. A trip to the vet confirmed every cat lovers worst fear -- Feline Infectious Peritonitis or FIP. A corona-virus, FIP turns the immune system against itself, thereby rendering most treatments ineffective. Any boosting of the immune system actually assists the virus on its destructive path. I was informed that there are some heavy-duty steroid treatments available but the prognosis is fatal in more than 95% of kittens under 16 weeks old. The vet wanted to euthanize him on the spot.

What should I do?

I didn't want the little guy to suffer but neither did I want to give up on him yet. He was so small, hadn't lived yet, was still eating well and appeared comfortable. It just seemed so unfair.

I decided to bring him home and give him the best care that I could, praying every day that he would pull through. I also decided it was time to stop calling him Skinny Minnie and find a real name. With the help of my regular veterinarian, who uses holistic as well as conventional medicine, I set about making life for Domino (as I decided to call him) as comfortable as possible.

When his appetite waned, I gave him milk thistle extract and baby foods. As his skin became yellowed and jaundiced we spent Christmas day (which is also my birthday) at the vet's office. I mixed a liver support herbal formula with water and syringe-fed this to him. At one point, I was hand-feeding him every 4 hours.

Then one morning he stopped eating. I came home that day for lunch to see if he would take any food. He raised his little body up in a welcoming gesture but fell over twice trying to walk towards me. My heart sank. The little guy was suffering now.

I wrapped him in his favorite lambswool sweater and we made the dreaded final trip to the vet's office. Making the decision to take the life of something so young is the hardest thing I have ever had to do. He hadn't even known what it was like to chase mice, scratch the furniture and get into the kinds of trouble that all kittens do. I stayed with him throughout, amazingly still purring at every touch, as the last life-breath left his tiny little body.

Once outside, the grief overwhelmed me. Wearing my sunglasses so people couldn't see this grown man falling apart, I cried the whole drive home. In fact I cried sporadically for days. The gifts he had brought me were enormous.

8 years ago

You see, this was my first Christmas since my mom had died.

In all the busyness of arranging her funeral, taking care of her possessions, and everything else that goes along with such a tragic experience, I hadn't had the chance to grieve my loss.

In allowing myself to grieve for Domino, I gave vent to all the feelings I had locked away months earlier. I am a firm believer in synchronicity and that everything happens for a reason.

As I look back now, I believe that Domino came into my life as a feline angel. In some fateful way, he gave up his own life to help me move on with mine.

Truly a Christmas gift.

Copyright © Chris Jarman
December, 2002
8 years ago
It happened tonight...

Source of Photograph.....

My wife (the Motherthing) was chatting on the box tonight, eating the cereal I had fetched for her. The cats, of course are accustomed to getting the leftover milk from (non-chocolate) cereal.

Jack (short for Black Jack Pershing), our oldest Ghod-in-residence, felt she was not eating at a properly cat-reverent speed, and that she should eat faster and scratch him, as well. Initial ploy was to sit on the table next to the 'puter chair (the mousing surface).

I told her: "Step away from the milk, and no one gets hurt."

She, of course, laughed and continued to chat and eat.

Next ploy was to sit on the desk, next to the keyboard, which is in front of the lower left part of the monitor. Needless to say, this is where her chat window was...

I told her: "Step away from the milk, and no one gets hurt."

She, of course, laughed (harder) and continued to chat and eat.

Ploy 3 was to stand over ther mouse and cheek-scrub her shoulder. She said "Ja-a-ack!", and placed him on the floor.

I told her: "Step away from the milk, and no one gets hurt."

She, of course, laughed (harder) and continued to chat and eat.

The story goes on, however, and Ploy 4 comes into play. Walking across the desk, while taking care to step on as many keys as possible.

Naturally, I told her: "Step away from the milk, and no one gets hurt."

In between giggles, she finished her cereal (while cussing the cat). And Horror of horrors, there's only a trace of milk left in the bowl.

[sigh] Daddy put more milk in the bowl, so it all came out well in the end, right?

Copyright © Rusty the Bookman
March 17, 2002
8 years ago
Gidget... she's all cat
Source of Photograph.....

A herd of elephants is what it sounded like, but turns out, it was just Gidget and an empty paper grocery sack on the kitchen floor. She likes to get a good running start, fly into the sack, making it sli-i-i-i-i-i-i-ide as far as it can, come out of the bag in reverse, then run around to the back of it, and ATTACK the bag making as much noise as possible. Then, the game starts all over again, lasting until the bag is flattened out, or up against the refrigerator or wall, at which point, it becomes my turn.

Another fun game is one you all know about........the square shaped empty tissue box with object inside game. It's more fun for the humans though if you leave the perforated plastic that stretches across the box opening in place. That way, when little miss Gidget being the determined feline that she is sticks her entire head into the box to retrieve that object of which the survival of all life on this planet depends, then we get to watch her go in reverse around the living room with the box stuck over her head for a few seconds, until a human runs to her aid.

But for Gidget, there is no game more fun than Blue Jays in the summer. Last summer, one afternoon, we heard a bunch of commotion out front, so we all went out just in time to see Gidget in the yard across the street rolling and tumbling with a large Blue Jay, who was mysteriously missing all of his tail feathers. The bird who could only fly about as well as a chicken can, was staying a step ahead of Gidget though. Some more of the neighbors came out of their houses to watch the performance, which was making it's way towards the street, and 2 or 3 of our other cats also became part of the onlookers. That Blue Jay was doing some fine cussing at Gidget as they made their way into the middle of the street, or maybe he was sending out an SOS, because all of a sudden, the Blue Jay team grew to three. And those two new Jays didn't waste any time going to work on Gidget. So picture this.....a small, but extremely solid short haired all gray cat rolling, tumbling, and leaping into the air with a tailless, cussing Blue Jay, while two more Jays are cordially taking turns dive bombing the cat, and actually making contact, as I could see here and there little tufts of fur on her back starting to stand up each time one of the bombers scored a point. It was nothing short of amazing, and I remember thinking to myself "Dang, that Gidget is a hellion".

But Gidget seemed oblivious to the bomb attack, giving the tailless bird her full attention, with her ears pointing straight forward, her eyes as big and round and dark as I've ever seen, and her little cheeks where her whiskers come out of all poofed out, and she was breathing real hard. It must have been a scary sight to that bird on the ground with her. Then Bob ruined it all. No, not that one, I'm talking about our Manx, Bob. Because I spotted him about 20ft. or so away from where I was standing, and he was crouched down real close to the ground, running on his little toes and looking quite invisible (NOT) and headed for the street where all the business was going down. So, I decided 'game over', and recruited some of the human onlookers to help me herd those cats away from the whole scenario. Probably a good thing too, because that tailless Jay was looking pretty pooped out. He hopped into a hedge, and we lost sight of him, but we could still hear him cussing. He probably stayed mad for a good long time, and rightly so, because if Gidget had been a fraction of a second quicker that afternoon, she'd have made supper of that Jay.

Copyright © Bonnie
March 3, 2001
8 years ago
Fine Print

Source of Photograph.....

Last Friday the guy came out to service the air conditioning unit. We were in the middle of that heat wave with 95 plus degree days. Anyway... I'm sitting at my computer when he writes up the bill on one of those big metal things they use. Jessie is laying in bed about two feet to my left. Gandalf, the computer cat, is just about standing on Jessie's head trying to see what me and the strange man were doing. I get done signing and tell the guy that Gandalf wants to see the bill. I then tell Gandalf to read the fine print. The guy shoves the metal bill thingy into Gandalf's face expecting him to run away. But... Gandalf finds the bottom of the bill with the fine print and begins to read... you know... scanning with his eyes from left to right. The poor guy doesn't know what to think. Then I tell him that Gandalf uses the computers too and does email. I think the guy sort of backed out of here!

Copyright © Jessie Cook
July 7, 2001
8 years ago
Squirt's Story

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 Glover
October 29, 2002
8 years ago
Sherbert the Fairy Kitten

sherbert.jpg - 42407 Bytes

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 Lambert’s food dish and water bowl, helped himself then sauntered to my daughter’s 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 ‘Mommy’s’ 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 Arin’s 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 don’t 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

8 years ago

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!). 

Copyright © D. Rene Creasy

8 years ago
Shyly's Problem

Source of Photograph.....

Shyly is a huge one year old tabby, as gentle as a lamb and about as big as a poodle. With his wide golden eyes, long silver and black fur, and delicate peach face markings he just looks like the big softy he is. He is almost completely deaf, but that isn't his problem. Shyly's problem is much more serious than that (not making light of the big guys disability here.) He is very shy, and hides from any visitor and most of the other adult cats, but his real problem is more serious than that.

Shyly wants to be a Mom. Each new litter of kittens brings out the thwarted mom in him... he guards them like a hawk (even standing over them while they eat) and has been known to move whole litters where he can care for them quietly. When kittens are newborn he will take turns laying down with them to give Mamma a break, and even pull out belly fur to help with "nursing". At first this made us nervous, what if he moved a newborn litter somewhere (he hides kittens very well!)? But in three litters every kitten he has cared for has come through marvelously... and all share his deep buzzing purr.

Hmmm... maybe he is a mom after all! Or at least a male cat who really cares about protecting kittens.....

Copyright © Jacquie Bates
July 12, 2002
8 years ago
The Woodpecker and the Chimney

Source of Photograph.....

We have four indoor cats. This morning, My husband (Chris) walked past the fireplace and saw Bannor (one of our cats -- mostly black with white socks and stomach/ruff, and yes, this is relevant) asleep in front of the fireplace. When he returned five minutes later he discovered the entire ground in front of the fireplace covered in black soot. Following the sooty paw prints, he discovered both Bannor and Elena (black/orange/brown with white socks and stomach/ruff) rolling around on the floor, completely covered in soot (Elena looked like a piece of charcoal with eyes, and Bannor was completely Black). The floor and the white cushions of the wicker furniture were black too.

Throwing B & E into the bathroom we then discovered Loric (who is colored like a holstein -- black and white, but mostly white on his legs, stomach, feet, and chest. Oh, and face) emerging from the fireplace. You can imagine what he looked like.

We began to bathe the cats (with help from my sister Carlyn and her new husband Brian) which is a story unto itself (suffice it to say that Chris, Carlyn, and sara soon became the same color as the cats). Brian left for a towel and the camera and returned with the news that a large bird was flying around the inside of the house. Sure enough, a woodpecker had been in the fireplace and the remaining unsullied cat was chasing it around the house. After watching the bird fly face first into the glass door several times we opened the door and it flew out of the house, carrying a tale of terror and woe to all his friends.

At that point the unsullied cat, with white feet, walked through the heart of the soot. Into the tub with him too.

No amount of soap has gotten Loric clean - he even has soot all over his face. He will spend the rest of his days as a grey and black cat. All four of them look like disheveled grey rats. The floor tile is now a uniform shade of grey (mopping served mostly to evenly distribute the soot) interspersed with black foot prints (Carlyn's and mine). The furniture looks like a dalmation molted onto it. Two of the cats are lying on a white throw rug. I assume a large grey wet spot will be there when they decide to move. I am seriously considering dragging a hose into the house and hosing off the walls, floor, and ceiling where the soot covered bird was sitting.

... and people ask us if we really think we are ready to have kids... [insane laughter]

Copyright © Sara Riley
8 years ago
A Partridge In a Pear Tree?

Source of Photograph.....

I just have to tell you what happened here yesterday. It was a fairly nice day here in Dallas so I had the sliding glass patio door opened so my two furballs, Psycho and Mouse could come and go as they pleased. I'm up on the third floor so when they go "outside" that is it.

I was working on the computer and I hear what sounds like a 747 coming into my living room from the patio. Then I hear Mouse screaming and meowing at the top of her lungs. Now Mouse is a Holy terror on 4 legs mind you. So not knowing what was wrong I ran to the living room. And what to my wondering eyes do appear but a grey tabby furball going berserk trying to climb the Christmas tree. She was biting everything she could and all four paws going in different directions all at once. Christmas balls flying everywhere. Now my two cats never ever have bothered the tree so I knew something had happened. This cat was determined to get to the top of that tree. Then I saw it. There was this small grey bird huddling on a branch towards the top of the tree. Apparently Mouse had scared this poor bird inside from the patio and it was trying to hide in the tree. Ever see a cat determined to get at something? Of course you have.

Anyway, after a few minutes I was able to shoo the bird back out of the tree and back outside. But this happened so fast that Mouse never saw the bird leave. That cat howled and climbed that tree for 2 hours before I had to hold her and show her every branch so she could see that her dinner guest had left. What an experience. If I hadn't seen the whole thing myself I'd have never believed it. So I just wanted to share this with you.

Copyright © Bob M.
December 21, 2000

8 years ago
Insect Disposal

Source of Photograph.....

A play in one act

Dramatis personae:
Kate (age 30, art historian)
Jutta (age 32, botanist)
Sasha (age 6, glamour cat)
Robin (age 5, mama's boy)

and in various cameos:
One spider
One water bug
One housefly

-Scene 1-

Sasha: zzzzzz...

Robin: Hm, there's something moving over there. Unfortunately it is not moving fast enough to interest me.

Jutta: Look, there is a spider on the kalanchoe. I will take it outdoors and let it go.

Kate: Works for me.

-Scene 2-

Sasha: (gazing intently at base of kitchen bookshelf) There is something under there.

Robin: (fishing underneath with one paw) CAT TOY!

Jutta: AAARGH! I hate those darn water bugs! [N.B. for U.S. Southern readers -- palmetto bugs; for the rest of the world -- large flying roaches]

Kate: I will now fulfill my part of the roommately bargain. (Smacks bug with heel of penny loafer)

Jutta: As will I. (Cleans up resultant mess, then goes off to identify by genus and species everything growing in the refrigerator)

-Scene 3-

Robin: Lemme at it! Lemme at it! Please, please? (Jumping four feet into the air)

Sasha: What a nut case.

Kate: Can I get rid of it without squashing it?

Jutta: Just ignore it.

The Fly: I'm sure one half of this window is open, if I could only figure out which half.

Robin: Crunch, crunch crunch.

Copyright © Kate Alexandra Lingley
June 20, 2000

8 years ago
I met a flabulous cat tonight!

Source of Photograph.....

I went to a party this evening and saw a flabulous cat. Note that this is "flabulous" with a small f - Dusty is still **Flabulous** with a capital F.

Actually, there were two cats there - one was a tortie and the other one, the generously proportioned one, was a brown tabby. Both were girls. And both were total lovers. Some cats, upon seeing a crowd of humans descend on their territory, run for the hills. Not these two. They sprawled on their backs and showed their bellies to anyone willing to look and touch. They sat on everyone's lap and purred. When the tabby cat (name: "Big Cat" - and yes, the tortie's name is "Little Cat") sat on my lap, she kept alternately licking and nipping my fingers. Cute! (One of the hostesses of the party told me that, in addition to Big Cat and Little Cat, they had another kitty who had been feral and was still pretty shy, so was hiding. She's even smaller than the other two, and her name is "Mini Cat.")

Anyway, at one point, the hostesses put on some salsa music. I was standing in the hallway, and I saw Big Cat run down the hallway toward me. Her belly was swinging back and forth in time to the music as she trotted down the hall. Fabulous Big Cat! (Oops, I mean *flabulous* Big Cat. smiley.gif )

Copyright © Joyce W.
November 12, 2001
8 years ago
I'm Soo Good, Yeah, Right!

#36 Rescued Cat - Peekover

Number 36 Rescued Cat is a handsome orange stripy guy. He's a little on the shy side. We found him living under a bungalow at school when he was about a year old.

When we brought him home he quickly acquired the nickname Peekover because he was always peeking over and around things to watch us. He always wanted to be near but still too afraid to approach us.

Being that Number 36 was so shy we weren't aggressively trying to find him a home quite yet. We knew it would take a little time.

Three months ago Peekover started showed signs indicating his mouth was bothering him. When the vet looked at him he discovered a growth in Peeker's mouth. The growth was removed but grew back in a few weeks. The vet started treating The Peekerman with shots to lessen the swelling in his mouth.

As the treatment continued a secondary problem arose. Apparently the shots Peeky was getting also increased his appetite to the point that he was gorging himself. This overeating led to a secondary problem... the food was going in but nothing was coming out.

Peekover had to spend an entire week at the vet's getting a series of cat enemas. He was one sad cat.

When we were finally able to bring him home we were all relieved... especially Peekover.

However, the problem wasn't totally resolved. Peekover had to stay in the cattery on a special diet and had to take a small pill twice a day. Well, if you've ever had to give a cat a pill you know what an experience that can be. Much humor has been written on the subject. Being fairly experienced in these matters I took the chore on with an "it just has to be done" kind of attitude. To my surprise and relief giving Peekover his twice daily pill was a snap.

Each morning and evening I would put Peekover's allowed portion of cat food in a dish and go into the cattery with the food in one hand and a small pill in the other.

Peekover was quite friendly and enjoyed the attention. I would put the dish of food down and sit next to him. Next, I would give him a good ear scratching then gently hold his head with one hand and slip the pill in his mouth with the other hand. Once the pill was in his mouth I would hold Peeker's muzzle closed and stroke his throat. Peekover would quickly swallow. Once I let him go Peekers would walk over to his food dish and wolf down the food.

Being quite proud of myself I told my niece how easy I found it to be. Giving The Peekerman his pill was easy.

This treatment went on for almost a week but poor Peekover was still having problems eliminating what he was consuming.

On the sixth day I followed the same routine. I entered the cattery with the dish of food in one hand and a small pill in the other hand. I put the food in its usual place. I started to sit down next to Peekover. As I was sitting down I moved the blanket that was half in his bed and half draped on the floor. When I moved the blanket, much to my surprise, there were 6 or 7 tiny pills neatly hidden underneath the blanket. I turned around to look at Peekover. Peekover was looking straight ahead. His eyes glanced over at me without turning his head.

His gaze matched my expression of surprise with his expression of, "What?".

As I gave him a good ear scratch I said, "You aren't the Peekerman, you are the Sneakerman!".

Peekover looked at me as if to say, "Yeah, and you are soo good at giving a cat a pill!"

PS: Peekover went back to the vet for another kitty evacuation treatment and I now let my niece give him his pill.

Copyright © Cleo
January 26, 2003
8 years ago
New Friend

Some ask how I can remember all my cats names... it's not too hard.

Let's see, Twinner (the Mamma). Her kittens: Cow, Spazz, Shyly, Runt, Hisser (who is Twinner's step brother but when five weeks old decided she was his mom, they are inseparable) Wide Diamond, Squirrel, Pauline, Cheeto (named after the food, my son thinks those calico markings are delicious), Trouble and Tribble the Tabby Twins (how alliterate!) who much like the television tribble always seem to wind up in your arms purrrrrrring. Ugly (poor fellow) and Stripe. Then there is Wish... Twinner's mom and her two sons Tux (the cell phone addict) and Bear. All are related, without line breeding... calicos, tabbies, Norwegian forest cats... a big happy family. We love cats... or couldn't you tell?

Obviously NOT big enough the cats decided.

Recently my significant other, our three year old son and I went on an eight day road trip. We left a good friend in charge of the cats. His mission? Feed, water, count heads and pet. Luckily he isn't allergic, this is a gregarious, chatty and quite affectionate crew. (Ever slept with this many cats? Neither have I, they take over the bed... I get the throw pillows in front of the computer.) We called him on the third day, worried about our furry family.

"How are the cats?" Significant other asks.

"Good good." Was the blase reply....

"All accounted for?"

"Yep I did a head count this morning on the porch." (We built the cats a two story kitty condo right in front of the front window, they LOVE it).

"They were all there?"


We waited.

"They were all asleep when I got there. On the porch. So I stood on the porch and did a head count. Kitty kitty kitty kitty possum kitty kitty...Huh? Kitty kitty kitty kitty possum kitty kitty...what the....and there it was. About the size of Cow (who is around 12 pounds and growing), a possum, curled up and sleeping with the cats!"

We burst into gales of laughter. Concerned, I asked about the youngest kittens (seven weeks old). They were among the crew sleeping with the frozen petrified possum. Obviously they were taking care of the critter!

We haven't seen our cats new possum pal yet, but we know he's there!!

Copyright © Jacquie Bates
January 10, 2002

8 years ago
Sadie & Mr Baby

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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 © Nadine
January 29, 2003
8 years ago

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
8 years ago
Ramacus the Catherd

I was out taking photos in the yard today when Ramacus
ran up for his poses, as he always does. So, I said to him,
"Smile for the camera, Ramacus!" And he did!
A lot of animals have come and gone in my long life, most of them cats. Many of the cats in my life have been orphan kittens, who only stuck around until they found a new home. My Pixel, the tuxedo and most senior of the cats came to live with me when I snatched her from her owner who was taking her to be put down because “we just have too many cats” (they had two more, Pixel's mother and brother). At the time we had also Dog, Horse and Chook. The four of them got along nicely, with many adventures to tell. But along the way Horse, Chook and then Dog went to play along the Rainbow Bridge, and there was a new Dog (White Cloud, now living in Queensland with the grandkids) and Houdini, our white (former) Tom. Houdini came to stay after he had been found abandoned and wandering the streets at about 3 weeks of age and raised with two rottie-pit bull cross dogs. He was then called Rawhide, because he was a voluntary pup chew toy.

Houdini can hold his own with any dog. When he crosses yards, rotties go to their kennels. He is also the biggest smoozer in town. He is an on your lap and up your nose smoozer, who leaves you covered in white hair. He is basically an out door cat, but can be counted on to make an appearance if there are guests. Especially if that guest is wearing black.

Since those two came into my life, there has been a procession of orphans. Ruby, our joey who thought she was a cat and even used the litter box, was a joy. Watching her play football with the kittens brought innumerable smiles to my face. But eventually she had to move on to a wild life refuge, and her playmate kittens, Tigger and Rascal, found new homes with people who love them very much.

The latest additions to the zoo are Gizmo and Kiwi, sisters born just after their mother was dumped in the bush. The mother, though in labour, found her way to a friend’s plantation and was rescued and given a home in a shed. I took them at age 6 weeks. They are part of the sunshine in my life.

It took a while for Houdini and Pixel to accept the kittens, and spent most of their indoor time next door at their “other home”, but finally the ice was broken with a large bowl of kitty milk and things began to purr along. Pixel began to teach the natural hunter of the two, Kiwi (named so because she is All Black), how to catch mice. She has so far not had the opportunity to teach her how to kill deadly snakes, but after observing little miss Kiwi in action with the 3 inch flying cockroaches, I have no doubt that she will prove to be part Mongoose.

The newest addition to the family has so far proved to be something of a character. Although an orphan, this one will not be going to a refuge or a new owner as a pet. There is no call for his kind except for meat, milk and leather, and being male, the milk is out. His fate is sealed. But while he is still young, he is a delight!

Ramacus is a Dalmah sheep, or to be more specific, a lamb. He is a sheep with hair rather than wool, and when found next to his road kill mum with the cord still moist on his little belly, everyone thought he was a feral goat. However, two days after he arrived, four real goats arrived to clean the yards, and they would have nothing to do with him, nor he with them. Being a serious herd animal, however, he needed a herd of his very own.

So he learned to herd cats.

Where ever you see Ramacus, you will see cats. Never less than one, never more than four, as that is all there are in his herd. But they are always nearby, often lolling in the shade of the nearest bush or tree or fence to where Ramacus is busily keeping the weeds under control. More often you will find them beneath his belly, wandering in and out between his legs and play fighting with each other, or tackling the ever-growing job of washing the fellows face or cleaning out his ears. This last part is often done in spite of his objection.

8 years ago

Just as often they will be running the length of the east paddock, otherwise known as the back yard next door, which is about 27 metres long and 7 metres wide and has a nice hill in one back corner built of slowly composting yard cuttings. Here they will play king of the mountain, with the little ram usually the winner, having head butted any and all down the hill in quick order. There is also an obstacle course of sorts consisting of an old brick barbecue upon which is stacked lengthwise a number of 8-10cm by 3 metre tree trunks and a small quantity of lumber topped by a coil of intertwined passion fruit “trunks”, an old dilapidated shade cloth shed with no doors at either end, a dead washing machine and a hills hoist. The herd will tear through this course, first cats in pursuit of lamb and then back the other way lamb galloping after cats in the manner in which lambs “gallop”, all four feet tucked up between bounces, until one or more of the cats will jump up on the before mentioned barbecue and scramble into the coil of passion fruit trunks where Ramacus can no longer see them.

He will screech to a halt and gaze around him, searching for them, and then will spot the one who remains on the ground, as there is always at least one. He will then look around himself one more time for the others. The cat remaining on the ground, most often Pixel as she is a bit to fat to fit into the coil, becomes the opposition in a bit of head butting. This is not really Pixel's idea of fun, so she will usually take it reluctantly 2 or 3 times, but rather quickly the paw will go up, the teeth are shown, and a loud hiss is heard. This, of course, does nothing more than make Ramacus look at her like she is a bit off. At this point Pixel will turn and stroll off, tail high in air as if to say, “I have much to much dignity to give this nonsense any more of my time.” And will wander off to the front yard, where she usually plants herself on top of the fence. Here she will sit, surveying the world outside and wait for some unsuspecting passer by to notice and pay her homage, until she becomes bored.

In the meantime, Ramacus will begin to call for the others. Quietly at first, but each bleat a bit louder as the cats take a cat nap until they are forced to show themselves by leaping to the ground and running like a 4th leg marathoner to beat him to the top of the hill. While they often beat him to the top, their heads are just not up to the task of retaining their positions, so they run back towards the front of the yard and the whole thing begins again.

In the late afternoon, when the sun has moved to the west and the front yard is in shade, Ramacus is usually moved there where he can continue his job of weed control and grass clipping. Because of low fencing and rose bushes, he must be kept on a lead. The length of the lead and the location of the tie down is adjusted to keep him from becoming tangled around and to keep him just nose away from said roses. Roses are his 3rd favourite snack, just behind frangipani and pumpkin blossom. This fact was learned the hard way, unfortunately.

When Ramacus is thus tied, it limits how much running he can do with Kiwi and Gizmo, they being the only 2 of the cats who will be seen as an active and participatory in these games with a sheep in public. Houdini will plant himself under a bush and watch the show, while Pixel stands guard on her fence, keeping an eye out for passers by who might see catdom as somehow diminished by a public display of such intimacy between species. I also suspects she is hoping to convince one of those same passers by to adopt a kitten. She has, on occasion, tried to lure one or both kittens towards the open ground between the fence and the street. I am yet not sure if she hopes to encourage then to go walkabout or to get hit by a car. Either is well within her capabilities, I think.

Back to the rope. The one with which Ramacus is constrained in the yard outside of his paddock. Over the past week it has had to be replaced 4 times. This is a 6mm nylon rope, new. Each time it was found to have been bitten through. The 3rd time he was found just finishing off a snack of pumpkin blossoms, the new ones that had grown, finally, to replace the ones he ate the last time he was found in the pumpkin patch. How it had come to break was a mystery. It was the forth rope that exposed the truth of the matter.

On this day Ramacus was staked where he could be seen him from the office window. As usual, Kiwi and Gizmo were in attendance. Ramacus was too busy with offerings in the lawn to want to play, and it was a rather warm day, so the kittens retired to the porch and had a catnap in the camp chair. Ramacus went on grazing without noticing they had gone for about half an hour, until he needed a drink of water. He took a few sips and then looked around for his herd. He soon spotted them on the porch, and went bouncing over the join them, but they were a bit outside the limit of his rope. He pulled a couple of times just to be sure before he began to call them.

8 years ago

They didn’t even look up, although their ears twitched a tiny bit. He continued to call, waiting as much as 30 seconds between bleats to see if they would respond. Each bleat got a little more insistent, and he pulled at the rope with each one until finally both cats raised their head to look. The tone of the bleating now changed. It was loud! It was determined! The two cats looked at each other, and then Kiwi shrugged, stretched, and hopped down off the chair. The bleating got louder. Kiwi strolled over to Ramacus and began washing his face. Ramacus settled down and went back to grazing. Kiwi continued to wash his face for a minute or two more, then he laid down in the grass and went back to sleep. Or tried to. Ramacus decided that the grass where Kiwi was now quite comfortable settled was the best in the yard, and he butted Kiwi off. Kiwi promptly returned to the porch, setting off another wave of bleats and rope pulling.

It was at this point that Gizmo joined the party. They both went to wash lamb face and ears until he settled down to grazing again, and then they moved about one-third of the way down the rope and began chewing through it. They chewed with determination until at last they jumped up and ran full gallop towards the porch, prompting the lamb to bound after them. This time when he reached the end of his rope he kept going. The cats, both now safely back in their chair, turned and looked towards the open window with quite smug looks on their faces and then proceeded to wash the lamb head now resting on the chair with them, the rest of the lamb standing nicely in the shade of the porch, where he promptly peed.

Ramacus has trained his Catherd very well. He is also the proud, but frustrated owner of a brand new 3-metre chain.

PS: Ramacus will NOT end up in the freezer. He is now a full on pet.

Copyright © Katherine Juestel
January 28, 2006
8 years ago
Bek's Random Cat Tail #1

Source of Photograph.....

It was 8:00AM on a Saturday morning, not the time for anyone sane (or anyone who had hit the sack at 2:00AM) to be up. Someone in the house was up however, as noted by some kid's program (and those hideous flying barbie ads) on TV permeated the entire house.

Sanguine (nicknamed Gweeni-beanie-buggeth much to his chagrin - or that's what I'm guessing the look on his regal little face is), the cat of the house, was doing his usual rounds, Bek' room, corridor, kitchen, laundry, grab bite to eat in laundry, kitchen, corridor, Bek's room. Graymalkin (just Malki for short) was sleeping on the end of the bed. Bek, lazy as ever, was only just beginning to rise from the depths of sleep and bordering on consciousness.

A weird scratching sound broke in on Bek's half dreamy state. A kind of blurred "what the hell is that" briefly crossed her mind. Being the epitome of all laziness she didn't perform the very simple action of rolling over to investigate and continued doing what she did best.

It wasn't too much longer before a scritching at her shoulder attracted her attention. Rolling fully onto her back, Bek looked down into two blue eyes in a round fluffy face. The pudgy little kitten she'd nicknamed Darkness stared right back at her and exclaimed "MEW!" Bek blinked as her left eardrum tweaked but didn't really think about it (until her ear started hurting for the rest of the day). Her extremely slow reaction time was kicking into 'shocked'. "Wow," she murmured at the kitten, who stretched a little longer than her hand if you didn't count its tail (that's about 12cm I think with the tail but I don't have a measuring device and my estimations suck), "you made it up onto the bed."

Darkness trotted towards the end of the bed. Bek followed with her eyes and noticed the runt of the litter (who has actually caught up with his middle sister in size and is the first to eat solid food), an interestingly marked little critter called Ittibitty the Kitty - or just Itti - was already at the foot of the bed. A light spring later and Gweeni had joined the party.

Darkness was exploring the bed when she realised what the gap between the wall and the mattress was. Her mad scrambling to get back up attracted the attention of Uncle Gweeni. The large black cat sauntered over and immediately began playing "kill the mole" and biting her head. Bek glared at him.

"Gweeni be gentle." Gweeni glared back at Bek and sauntered off. Darkness meanwhile successfully scrambled up and went on another rove around the bed. Bek in the meantime, got up, pulled her laptop over and started reading newsgroups. In bed of course. A sciiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitch thud later Darkness was back on the floor. Bek smirked. Had to get down somehow right? smiley.gif

Copyright © Bek Grifyn
November 18, 2001
8 years ago
Waiting at the Hairdresser's

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Emmy bunterbrush1.jpg

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

8 years ago
War of the Water

Source of Photograph.....

Cats are so dramatic.

During the holidays, when my mother and her pets came to stay with me, I moved Matumbo's and Sir SImba's food and water bowls up to my room, where they'd be cloistered until Mom left, so that they wouldn't terrorize Mom's poor doggie. When Mom and her babies left, I took the food and water back downstairs to the kitchen. I noticed that, while they're eating pattern was pretty normal, the water dispenser was still pretty full. I thought to myself, hmm... maybe they liked it upstairs. So I bought a second one to put upstairs, thinking it'd be great for them to have double access to water.

Lordy, I'm a sucker.

They loved having a water dispenser upstairs, and I have become somewhat accustomed to hearing the gurgle of the dispenser dispensing more water into the bowl in the middle of the night since it was visited so frequently. I did not, however, become accustomed to walking past it and squishing through water they'd pawed over the side in some sort of Marco Polo kitty game. I thought to myself, hmmm... I'd better just go ahead and take it downstairs, and let them get used to it in the kitchen again.

What kind of fool am I?

That was Wednesday night. Matumbo reluctantly drank some water from the kitchen, but was obviously not pleased. Sir Simba, the drama king that he is, was quite another matter. Do you know that fool spent all of Wednesday night and yesterday morning rolling around in the spot where the water was upstairs, yowling and coughing? When that didn't work, he resorted to abstaining. He refused to drink water, and immediately his skin became dry and chapped, and his meows became pitiful.

Last night was worthy of an Academy Award. I saw him listlessly sprawled out in the water spot as I breezed by on my way to bed. He raised a paw up to me weakly, as if to say, "Please, lady...don't you see I'm dying?" Matumbo didn't help. He came over and gave Sir Simba's head a couple of licks, working that supporting role for all he was worth. I thought to myself, "I'm queen of this castle! I don't have to do what they say... they're not the boss of me."

I shoulda known better.

At approximately 2:O0AM, Sir Simba began coughing and wheezing from his sleeping spot on the stairs. Yanked out of my sleep, I stumbled over to him, nearly flying headfirst down the stairs. I carried him, hugging and kissing him, to the kitchen and dropped him in front of the water bowl. He glared at it then up at me as I made my way back to bed, the house no longer wracked with the sound of coughing.

At 3:45AM, I was once again yanked out of my sleep by a loud crash, followed by the unmistakable sound of plastic and paper rustling about. I rushed downstairs to the kitchen, righted the trashcan, put everything back in it, and mopped the floor. Sir Simba sat in the doorway, all but smiling.

At 5:40AM, yeowling and meowing as I'd never heard before echoed through my home. It was the sound of a cat in the biggest depression of his life. The sound echoed with the force of a sonic boom through the condo and through my brain. Instead of rushing downstairs to him, I rushed into the kitchen, grabbed the water dispenser, filled it up, and put back in the water spot upstairs.

I've not heard a peep since. [sigh]

Copyright © Victoria Calvillo
February 9, 2002
8 years ago
Gram to the Rescue

Source of Photograph.....

Andy is my grandson. When he was about 8 or 9 he had this pretty orange kitten named Sunkist. One day he and his kitty were out playing in the yard when Sunkist, frisky as kittens are, went flying across the yard and straight up the trunk of a very tall tree.

When he got as high as his momentum would take him, he came to his senses. There he was, way, way up in a tree and suddenly too frightened to come down.

Everyone said that eventually he would climb down on his own but three days later Sunkist was still high in the tree emitting a constant piteous meow. Andy was beside himself and spent nearly every waking moment beneath the tree looking up and calling to poor Sunkist.

On that third day Andy called the Police and Fire Departments, but they told him they no longer rescued cats. One person callously told him the cat would come down because nobody had yet found cat bones in a tree.

So what did Andy do next? He called me, Gram, of course.

In his eyes I was Gram, Doer of the Impossible, Accomplisher of the Miraculous.

I drove over to his house and as soon as I got there, he looked up at me with big sad eyes and said ever so trustingly, "Gram, you have to DO something."

So I went off to scope out the situation and sure enough, way, way high in the tree sat Sunkist meowing weakly from his tall prison.

I went into the house and thought and thought, wondering who I could find that could get his beloved kitty down. Finally I asked myself the right question, "Who climbs trees?"

Well, tree surgeons, of course! I opened the phone book and turned to Tree Surgeons in the yellow pages and started calling down the list.

I wasn't too successful at first. Nobody was interested in rescuing a cat in a tree, but finally I reached a sympathetic lady.

With worried Andy next to me, I filled her in on our situation. I told her in great detail about my very sad grandson who had been sitting vigil under the tree for three days now and his tiny, scared kitten trapped at the top of the tree.

I said I couldn't bear to hear Sunkist's pitiful little mews and that my grandson was depending on me to reunite him with his kitten. I told her I'd gladly pay for someone to rescue this kitty.

She agreed to check with the men when they came back to the office and said she'd call me if one of them would do it.

A little while later she called back with the news that a rescuer was on his way!

Back to the tree went Andy, me and a whole tribe of neighborhood kids. The tree climber pulled up to the house, but he didn't come alone -- he brought his wife and children so they could watch Daddy rescue the cat.

In front of the awed neighborhood kids and the tree climber's family, the brave man clipped big tree climbing spikes to his boots, clumped over to the tree, studied it for a moment and then and up, up, up he went.

Just a few minutes later down he came with scared little Sunkist clinging to him. When he reached the bottom, he handed Sunkist to a very relieved Andy. Andy rewarded the tree climbing hero with a huge smile and everyone cheered.

8 years ago

I took out my wallet and paid the tree climber $35 without a second's hesitation. The look of gratitude and love Andy gave me was worth every penny!

Copyright © Ruth Harding
August 5, 2003

     Please stay tuned for Part Six.....
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