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Tempting Timothy

Tempting Timothy

“I really don’t like your cats,” Timothy announced that afternoon, adjusting the French cuffs on his tailor-made dress shirt. “I’ve never had a cat and simply do not understand why you fancy them so much. They eat all the time, mess and make so much work for you. It’s not like they protect you or contribute to their upkeep; it’s as if you had full-time babies. They get under foot and trip you every time you turn around and I’ve seen the scratches on your hands and legs. Those animals cost you a fortune.

“I just don’t know why you do it. My parents wouldn’t let me have an animal; they never even wanted to have more than one child. And neither of my former wives would have kept a pet covered in so much fur,” he remarked.

“Any other complaints?” I absently queried while preparing iced tea, taking great care not to wax sarcastic about the mink coats both of his exes remove from storage as soon as the temperature outside drops below 60 degrees.

“They smell”

Now THAT caught my attention. Ever conscientious about the odor potential of my feline family, I was appalled, grabbed a box of baking soda, snatched up the pooper scooper and performed a complete circuit around the house, carefully checking and sniffing each litter box. Nothing unusual awaited me; no poorly aimed piles, no sodden spots. Tucked away from the omni-curious critters, reed diffusers tinged the air with a vague scent of sandalwood and patchouli. No, it was all per usual.

“I don’t mean your house smells bad,” he corrected, trailing behind. “It’s the cats themselves that smell funny.”

“Funny how?” I asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. Just different.”

I still didn’t understand my old friend. He was generous and helpful in keeping a cabinet filled with cat food and could be called on when an animal required unusually costly medical care. But during all the time we’d been acquainted, he’d never so much as touched a cat, much less gotten close enough to inhale an animal’s scent. We’d argued religion and politics, but my passion for felines was an unspoken given. “And you are telling me this now because…?” I prompted, wondering if he could be any more vague.

“That kitten, the little plain one. It’s rubbing against my leg and leaving hair on my pants,” he complained. “Now I’m going to smell like a cat all day. And it won’t quit; can’t you do something?”

“What do you have in mind?” I countered.

“Oh, c’mon, Janet, just pick it up, put it somewhere, anywhere. Just not on the floor next to me,” he demanded, lowering himself onto a convenient chair.

“Uh, Tim, you might not want…” I started to say, grimacing as his expensively clad bottom settled onto the rocker where moments earlier the aforementioned kitten had been sleeping. Too late, I shrugged, pausing for an instant to glance at the door knob where I kept a roll of duct tape to de-fuzz visitors before they left. “So what’s your real problem with cats?”

Tim didn’t reply, his eyes glued on the tiny bundle of fur kneading the butter soft leather of his loafers. “Why is he doing that?” he mused. “Can’t he tell I don’t like him?”

Well-known for my “too-many-rock-concerts” (but less advertised “selective”) hearing loss, I pretended not to listen, turning away instead to sweeten the cold drinks. “Hey, you…little guy…get offa’ me,” I heard Timothy hiss. “Shoo…Move…Get outta’ here.”

The object of his displeasure meowed in reply, continuing to march in insistent measure. Timothy leaned down, hand poised to brush his mewling nemesis aside. I turned toward the duo prepared to intervene, then stood still to watch the interplay: As if to shake Tim’s hand, the kitten stretched one paw out and tap-tap-tapped a well-manicured finger, then resumed marching in place. “Wow, that was different,” my friend marveled. “Will he do it again?”

“Wiggle your fingers,” I suggested, “Just relax and play; she’s only a baby.”

As expected, Timothy wiggled, the kitten played along, and before the ice in our tea had melted, the two were locked in mock mortal combat over rights to a catnip-infused felt mouse. The kitten snatched the toy and scurried away, briefly glancing behind to see if she was being pursued; Tim followed on her heels, laughing in childlike delight over mindless, simple, uncomplicated play. At that moment, it was easy to see the little boy that lingered inside the elegant, older gentleman…a child who might have battled the loneliness of being an “only” if he’d had a small, furry companion…a man who’d known wealth and wives, but had never owned a cat or been owned by one.

Slightly disheveled and a bit out of breath, Tim sat down and swallowed a mouthful of tea, fingers dampened by his sweating glass. Then he let his hand slip toward the kitten. Her miniature pink tongue, still infant silky, lapped the droplet of moisture that lingered. “I think she likes you,” I said. “Here, let me show you how to hold a kitten.”

Timothy proved to be an apt pupil. By day’s end he had held, cuddled and made completely undignified schmoochie noises to the tiny tabby. He wrinkled his nose, but neither gagged nor groaned when asked to escort her to the litter box where she promptly, appropriately, relieved herself.

“That wasn’t too bad,” he admitted after disposing of her pooplet, “not bad at all.”

Standing in the doorway, waving as Timothy drove away, my hand brushed the untouched duct tape, and I scolded myself for not removing the cat hair attached to my friend’s clothing. In the flurry of farewells, Timothy paid no attention to the condition of his shirt and trousers; he was preoccupied with attaching a seatbelt to the carrier I’d loaned him in which to transport his new-found companion. “It’s a good match,” I nodded, “and this one came with a fur coat as original equipment!”

Two years later: Tim and Miss Tabitha are happily cohabitating; they elected to increase their family last month by adopting young Felicity, an orphaned calico beauty. Both ladies have been spayed, live indoors at all times and possess an elaborate kitty condo for their leisure. Regardless of their wealth, the two most prefer a romp and cuddle with their boy, Timmy.

Janet Garey is a professional journalist, environmental educator, cat-lover and “AARParrothead” devoted to a variety of community-based projects which she either developed or supports. Janet, daughter Amanda, and granddaughter Alexandra rescue and find homes for hundreds of stray or abandoned cats, simply for the joy and love they receive from their feline friends. Born in New York City and raised in Miami, Janet lives in Nashville TN.

Read more: Cats, Humor & Inspiration, Kitten Smitten, Pets, , ,

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43 comments

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2:20AM PST on Jan 27, 2010

I love the photo - thanks!

8:45AM PST on Nov 9, 2009

As always Miss janet; I enjoyed your article... My wife learned earlt on in our relationship that I prone to dragging home hungry little waifs (both feline & canine). I am not able to have too many animals because of space restrictions, & budget; but do my best to foster at least one waif a year.

5:51PM PDT on Sep 17, 2009

Thank you for a charming and endearing article about one member of the cleanest, sweetest, most elegant, agile, beautiful, intelligent and sweetest-smelling species on the planet -- I speak, of course, of the CAT.

10:50AM PDT on Sep 17, 2009

As on old family friend, Dr. Tim has always been the sort of person who cannot bear to be near dirt, dander and other such particulates and, as such, was continually hesitant - at least in my recollections - to even enter our Cat House, let alone make himself comfortable enough in it to truly meet with and interact with its furry occupants. As such, that fateful day that you and the babies worked your "magic" on him and turned him to the purring side was truly a momentous occasion. To see his story here - detailed in such a way that a person can't help but fall in love with Tabitha as Dr. Tim himself does so - not only further reaffirms your brilliance in writing but also the immeasurable love with which you treat each animal you encounter, be they four-legged or the human kind.
You're a hell of a woman and an extraordinary mother. Who will next be the recipient of your benevolence? Or perhaps I should ask, is there anyone around who WON'T receive the love and joy you embody and freely share?

4:10PM PDT on Sep 9, 2009

LOVE this story - sent it to people right away who will appreciate it. Currently I cant have pets where I live, and it's not easy!! So stories like this are good medicine for me. THANK YOU.

1:25PM PDT on Sep 6, 2009

darling story! my hubby was not a cat lover when i lived with him. needless to say i wouldn't have married him if a stray tommy cat we named rumbley hadn't mojoed him into becoming one! we have been married 5 years and have 8 cats!lol thanks for sharing the story, it was wonderful

6:36PM PDT on Sep 5, 2009

dear prevailing -- wish i had thought to do that with my first hubby. the cats and the birds all hated him. :::::sigh:::::

7:43AM PDT on Sep 5, 2009

Daisy, catnip is a member of the mint family - humans cannot get high from it. And, yes, some cats are immune to its intoxicating effects.

When I lived in Miami, we'd have "pot parties" on the front porch. Ostensibly, the 'nip was there for Topsy to enjoy, but ALL the neighborhood cats came over and had a grand time.

When all the catnip was gone, Topsy would climb onto the counter, the fridge and then the top of the cupboard and sleep it off, high in more than one sense of the word.

Another good use for catnip: entertaining the baby. Put the baby down on a blanket on the floor. A few feet away, in front of the baby, put some catnip. Let the kitty and her catnippy antics entertain the baby while you go do something else.

As for non-cat people vs. kitties, I've always used my cat(s) as a "Boyfriend Barometer" - if the cat runs from him, I should run, too.

7:32PM PDT on Sep 4, 2009

i LOVE diatomacous earth. we use it here in washington but that still doesn't take care of the flea problems. for some reason fleas are really active here in wa this year. a friend has fleas all through her house and she doesn't even have animals!!!

daisy -- YOU are pretty awesome yourself. thank you for being you. :::::smile:::::

9:05AM PDT on Sep 4, 2009

Hi Janet, I was wondering what happened with your inside catnip garden? I dried the clippings you gave me & Peanut went crazy when I sprinkled them on his bed, but Sweetie Pie ate her portion & slept for hours. Do different cats react in different way to catnip? And my grandson told me that people can get high if they smoke it. Is that true? I know you have catnip growing outside in your kitty playground and I saw you put the cats in there to play, but were they so frisky because of the catnip or because you were sitting on the ground & rough housing with them? It looked like they were more interested in the pink cast on your arm - did you rub catnip on it? lol Could you write another article about diotomaceous earth? It is so great that you never have fleas when they are everywhere in Tennessee. And do you ever get sick after a cat scratches or bites you? OK, that's enough questions for now. I really just wanted to tell you how much I love the way you tell your stories. You make me feel like I am right there with you when you describe what happened. Somtimes I LOL and sometimes I say "Awww"! Thank you for being such an artist with words. I bet your old wrting teachers are very proud of you. And if your cats don't tell you enough, I bet they are so happy to have you as their human Mommy. I am old enough to be your Mom, but I learn so much from you all the time. You are a very special woman and I love you. Thank you for giving me my two beautiful kitties! Hugs from

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