My mom was less-than-satisfied with my last entry, and I’m compelled to agree with her (contrary to popular belief, I have no problem accepting viable criticism from anyone, even my mother). The story really was a little lame, although, of course, it was science fiction. Because of my current state of health (and the lack of hits on my site…I doubt that there is anyone out there waiting for this stuff, and I sometimes wonder why I even bother), I haven’t had the energy or the desire to move forward since then, but I’m going to attempt to now, anyhow. The problem is that there is far too much stuff swimming around in my head, along with the swarm of bees in there, and I need to get rid of some of it. If I include all of the other voices that inhabit my cranial cavity, as well, things are getting really crowded. Besides, I did take a poll. As it turns out, somebody out there is reading this crap. All I can say is, “My condolences.”
In light of my earlier statement, I was going to write something that would contain a lot of subject matter that my mother could relate to, but I was unable to come up with a story that contained an iguana, a lawyer, an AK-47, a crazy, psychopathic redneck, and a decent bottled beer. Goddess knows I tried, but even I couldn’t carve a path through that brand of weirdness without compromising my one remaining strand of sanity. I’d really hate to write her biography. Consequently, I’m just going to write about one of my cats, instead. At least then I can rely on the fact that there won’t be much dialogue.
Yeah, I know about all of the LOLcats on the web, and I know that almost everyone has something to say about cats, and that they are literally everywhere on the Interwebz (and people keep posting about them, which is kind of inspiring, actually), but this is just a little bit different. Before I go on, though, I should probably make it known that, while Kitty is going to be the main focus of this story, in actuality ALL of the animals in my house have been looking at me strangely, lately…even the rabbit. I have to admit that it’s more than just a little disturbing.
Most people aren’t aware of this, or they don’t believe it (which is just fine), but cats, like many other animals, are Otherworld creatures. They’re travelers. They can slip in and out of the astral planes at will, and they make excellent guides, especially if you are looking for something in particular. They appear to sleep an awful lot, with the exception of those psychotic periods when they’re bouncing off of the walls (which are quite natural), but that doesn’t mean that they aren’t busy. Watch them closely, and you’ll see what I mean (or you won’t, if you don’t want to). They are also fiercely protective, and have no qualms about using their fighting skills, yet they are consummate escape artists, as well. They know when to hit the bricks, which is more than I can say for a lot of people who are or were just a little too proud.
The Ancient Egyptians had a thing for cats, going so far even as to mummify them, and they also believed that cats helped escort the souls of the dead to their appropriate place in the Underworld. Cats DO have an obvious air of mystery, which is one of the things that makes them so interesting, and one of the reasons they have been subject to worship (and fear) so often. Cats make excellent Familiars, but they must be dedicated to their companion (not master…bad choice of words) to be truly effective. Cats that have mixed loyalties are much harder to communicate with, and less likely to be cooperative. They are not burdened with a sense of responsibility, regardless of who feeds them, but they do still have a tendency to come through in the clutch, although it is difficult to explain how or why.
Kitty, my four-pawed, furry protagonist here, is a fascinating cat, to say the very least. I still don’t really like the fact that she is named Kitty, nor do the vets (we tried to use something goofy, like Boots, when we had to take her in, although it never stuck), but it’s too late to change things. She’s already hit middle age, and whenever I look at her, I just see Kitty. Of course, I really see more than just Kitty, and that’s what part of this is about.
Kitty came into our lives in a strange, dramatic, and traumatic fashion. It’s not all that pleasant of a tale, but that’s how this works. Otherwise, there’s not that much of a story. Derp. Anyhow, my wife was at home one day while I was at work, and she has always had the tendency to try to do a thousand different things at one time. On this particular day, she was going outside and into the garage quite a bit, and whenever she did, she kept hearing this strange noise. It sounded like an eerie, animal-type squeal, but she couldn’t seem to figure out where it was coming from. Four hours later, she was outside again and she could still hear the same noise. It really started to bother her, so she finally went to investigate.
The family that lived across the street from us at that time had more kids than we do, and they were a bunch of little terrors. They weren’t really bad kids, for the most part, but they were a little whacked in the head. I’m not going to give the parents much credit, either, so it’s probably a good thing that they don’t read my blog. In truth, I thought that they were all screwed up, but who am I to judge? Anyhow, as she attempted to follow the sound, my wife eventually ended up wandering across the street near their house, since she seemed to be getting closer, and she decided to peek over the six-foot fence into their backyard. Sure enough, that was exactly where the noise was coming from. Unfortunately, though, it was an intermittent wail of pain expressed by Kitty, who was hanging upside down with one paw caught in a trampoline spring. Based on how long she had been crying, it was fairly obvious that she had at least been hanging there all morning, too.
Naturally, upon sighting the dangling kitten, my wife kind of lost it a little (or a lot), and she immediately went and pounded on the front door of the house. The mom finally answered, and my wife simply barged past her into the house and went straight out into the backyard to release the cat. She also discovered that, in addition to having a squashed paw, someone had cut all of the whiskers off one side of Kitty’s face. Needless to say, Kitty was not a happy camper, even after she was released. At this time, she was probably just a few months old, and she was displaying some visible signs of suffering from the trauma (and Goddess knows what other mishandling).
After grabbing Kitty, my wife told the mom straight up that they “didn’t deserve to have the cat” and that she was taking it away from them. Following that, she simply marched back out of the house and brought the cat over to ours. At that time, we already had several cats, so there was the obvious confusion that occurs when introducing a new one to the household, but there were no real incidents. My cat, Princess, was still alive at the time, and she was the alpha female of the household. Once Kitty figured that out, things seemed to be okay, although Kitty quickly proved that she was not exactly a social butterfly.
We kept Kitty for a month or so (this temporary arrangement was part of the reason that she never ended up with a real name), and then the neighbors negotiated her return, which we agreed to on a probationary basis. My wife reluctantly handed the cat back over to the mom (there were a lot of promises regarding her well-being), although even then it was clear that the cat (which was still very much a kitten) was also reluctant to submit to the exchange. Regardless, we returned her, and Kitty stayed the night at the neighbor’s house.
I guess the neighbors did NOT have a good night. The next day, the mom came back over to our house with the cat, and when my wife went outside to meet her, Kitty was literally trying to claw her way back over to my wife. I watched it all, and it was quite the spectacle. I’d never seen a cat do that before. Apparently, the cat had caused a fair amount of carnage during the night, and had also managed to take a shit in every room of their house. She clearly did not want to be there. I guess she knew a good thing when she had it. Needless to say, we took her back, and Kitty became a standard addition to our household. However, her personality was still unchanged, and she was very standoffish and unsociable. It took a lot of work just to pet her, and she did not submit to it willingly. Obviously, she had suffered through enough trauma that she had some serious trust issues.
Kitty’s personality never really changed much the entire time that we lived in that house, which was for several more years following her acquisition. In fact, I don’t remember hardly ever seeing her, although she may have endeared herself to one of the kids. I can’t quite remember. It’s not all that strange for a cat to pick a particular person in a household and adopt him/her. I have a Siamese right now that is attached to my son, and only my son. I can barely touch the damned cat, but he can pick her up and flop her around like a rag doll, and she will tolerate every minute of it. She also sleeps almost exclusively in his room, although she will hang around my other son on the occasions when my older one is not around. She still won’t have anything to do with me, though, and I know I never did anything to hurt her feelings. She’s just a snob. Stupid Siamese.
As we moved forward, we were eventually forced to sell our house due to mold issues and our involvement in a Class Action lawsuit, and we moved into a rental until we could find a new one. We had been in the house for over a decade (it was built for us), and this was only the second time we had to move since we had come to Arizona. Consequently, we located a decent, single-level rental in a good price range, which we then inhabited for about seven months until we found a house in a neighborhood in which we actually wanted to live and raise children (this is not easy…people don’t realize exactly how big…how sprawling…Phoenix really is). Before we located the new house, though, and very shortly after we moved into the rental, something went very wrong with Kitty, who was now a full-grown cat.
With five kids and a bunch of pets, it isn’t always easy to keep track of all the animals. However, Kitty seemed to, sort of…well…disappear. She didn’t come out for days, and when we found her, she refused to eat or drink. She still used the box, but it appeared as though she had gone on a hunger strike. She would hardly even eat canned food, which is actually a treat for our cats. She just regressed into this weird state of being until she suddenly started looking almost skeletal, and the day came when she essentially just curled up into a ball and stayed there, which is when we took her to the vet (yeah, this happened a lot faster than you think, so quit with your, “Why didn’t you take her to the vet sooner?” I can hear you, y’know.).
I had her on the metal table in one of the examination rooms when the vet came in, and Kitty was still curled up into a ball. I noticed that I could count the vertebrae on her spine. My wife and I started explaining what was going on, and I finally said, “Look.” I took my finger and I pushed Kitty all the way across the table. She never even moved; she just remained all balled up. Upon examination, the vet told us that the cat had developed a condition called fatty liver, which occurred when the cat stopped eating and drinking properly, likely due to stress, and which would continue to exacerbate the situation once it fully asserted itself. Based on the condition of the cat, we could either put her to sleep, or we could attempt to save her. We told the vet that if she thought she could save her, we would prefer to have Kitty back alive, and so she went to work.
Several days and about $1000.00 later, we got our Kitty back. We were still in the rental, and we had to watch her closely for a while, but she did just fine. There was, however, one monumental change that had taken place during this time. Kitty’s cold personality had apparently been exchanged for one that seemed to compel her to seek out whatever ministrations she could wherever she could find them. In short, she had suddenly become an attention whore. It was bizarre, to say the least. Instead of making herself scarce, Kitty was now everywhere. She was mostly attached to my daughters, and regularly slept in their room, but she would take whatever she could get. Just witnessing the sudden change was like some strange marvel in animal psychology. Did she know? Was she grateful? What was the deal?
We eventually moved into our current house, and we made certain to monitor Kitty very carefully following the move. This time, however, she made the transition with ease. There was no hiding, no hunger strike, and no apparent trauma. My daughters all wound up in separate rooms, and Kitty divided her time between the three of them for the most part. If none of the girls were around, then I was the last resort. Kitty does have this habit of nursing on the bed linen, and she also tends to drool a bit (and puke sometimes), so my wife is not fond of having her on our bed. However, when my wife wasn’t around, and I was kicking back in bed alone, I would let her accompany me whenever possible, which really wasn’t all that often. Kitty still slept in the girls’ rooms every night. Eventually, we ended up with another kitten (who has her own painful biography) who began to sleep on our bed, both of the older girls went off to college, and Kitty just continued to sleep in their room (which we combined after my first daughter left). Because of our dogs (all saved from horrible fates, as well), Kitty can’t sleep downstairs with my youngest daughter, which was formerly one of her hangouts.
Although the new cat, Harlequin (Harlee, for short) hangs around me, she is nothing like the affection hound that Kitty tends to be. In fact, sometimes I think that I annoy Harlee when I give her any affection at all. Even so, she will still sleep with me, but it’s usually somewhere just out of reach. Given that I have insomnia and obstructive sleep apnea, I have a tendency to wake up in the middle of the night, after which I will seek Harlee out and pet her. This is also the only time that she seems okay with it, too.
So, here’s the part that strikes me just a little strange. If you’ve been paying any attention at all, you know I just got out of the hospital earlier this month after having a stroke (and another bout of pneumonia). Well, ever since I’ve returned home, Kitty has practically been stuck to me like glue. No matter what time of day (or night) it is, if I’m lying in bed and dinking around on the laptop (or reading, or doing nothing), she will park herself directly between me and the computer (or whatever else I’m concentrating on). She has this really annoying habit of sitting right on my mouse, too, even while it’s in my hand, so I can’t move it, and I hate the stupid trackpad. In addition, even though one of my daughters is home from college for the summer, Kitty has been sleeping with me almost exclusively…and practically all night long. At this very moment, she’s curled up in a ball right beside me.
Kitty doesn’t seem to be asking for much, either. Of course, I will pet her and scratch her in all the right places until my arm gets tired, and then she’ll sometimes head-butt my hands to see if she’s going to get any more attention, but even if she doesn’t get any at all, she will still plop herself down right by my side. She hasn’t really been practicing any of her bad habits, either, which is weird, as well. She’s just there with me…every chance she gets. I’ve never seen her act like this before, and it’s only been since I came home from the hospital.
So, what does she know that I don’t? I could ask all of the philosophical questions right now, but that would be a waste of space. Still, I can’t help but think that she has more information than she’s letting on, and she’s….what? Not telling me? Dropping subtle hints that I’m too stupid to pick up on? I just don’t know. Of course, it could be purely coincidence, although this is not a good time for her to be screwing with my sensibilities. Silly cat. Still, she’s soft and warm and furry and irresistible, so I’m not going to complain, especially since there isn’t enough space. Besides, my arm is sore from petting her all of the time, and I can’t seem to move my mouse hand.
