This is one of those topics I probably should avoid. Similar to the axiom that politics and religion should never be discussed in polite company.
But, we touch on those topics in this column, and who says I am polite company? So I see no reason to shy from this pet topic.
Let’s talk cats.
Cats are sneaky. Cats are conniving. Cats can be intentionally dumb and loving at the most inopportune times.
Cats wait until you’re not around and then sharpen their claws on furniture. And when you confront them about their crime they look at you indignantly as if to say, “Whatever are you talking about.”
Cats wait until you’re asleep in the couch in the middle of a movie and then jump on the kitchen counter to clean up any left over food that you might have left out.
Cats don’t like loud noises. Clap your hands, stomp your foot, and drop something on the floor and the cat is out of the room in no time. And if the cat is sitting on your lap when the loud noise occurs, make sure either the first aid kit or phone for calling 911 is close by.
There is this cat that has come to live with me in the wilderness. Her name is Willow. Her raccoon coloring works well in the wilderness until a real raccoon comes around, that is. Then Willow wisely hides
When cold weather arrived Willow earned her keep. Rodents of any vintage were fair game. Sometimes Willow augmented her traditional cat food diet with rodent paté, sometimes carcasses or parts thereof were left on the porch or deck.
One time Willow comes around on the deck with a mouse and begins to do feline gymnastics with it. Slipping and grabbing and tossing until she shoots a 3-pointer and the mouse ker-plunks in the little water fountain in the corner of the deck. Willow looks at me as if to say, “Get me the mouse, ya durned fool, I’m not done playing.”
So I fish it out of the water and toss it to the cat who merely sniffs at it then glares at me with a look that says, “Dry it off, you uncouth bumpkin. I’m not putting a wet mouse in my mouth.”
In the warmer weather, Willow will wait patiently at mole runs. I have never witnessed how she does it, but there are adult moles left very dead on the lawn.
For that achievement, all of the rest of her shortcomings shall be overlooked and Willow will have a lifetime home in the wilderness.
But cats don’t understand doors. Let them through and shut the door, they begin a meowfest wondering why they can’t get back through the opening they just used.
I will probably have to go to the 256 True Value Hardware to buy new hinges to replace those that are worn out from letting Willow in and out so much.
I was brought up to close the door to go to the bathroom and when I do, Willow is there meowing and scratching to be let in to her litter box. I let her in & she sits there as if to say, “You have an odd way of using the litter box. And by the way, do you know how funny you look sitting on that white porcelain throne with your pants down around your ankles? Certainly not near as dignified as a litter box.”
‘Scuse me while I open the door for the cat again. She wants out or in or out or in…