And Max explained reality to him ...
While being interviewed recently for MOST AWESOME CATS IN THE UNIVERSE MAGAZINE, Max was asked a potentially divisive question. To wit: Who is in charge, in this multiple kitty household? Sitting beside Jake the Wondercat, she thought about it for a moment ...
Jake muttered something about him being in charge, being the guy and all ...
And Max explained reality to him ...
"I'm not only in charge," Max told the interviewer, "I'm the reigning QUEEN of this little corner of the Universe."
The tons of snow dumped here on the East Coast today, on top of last week's piles of the white stuff, are an inconvenience to most, a serious problem for some, and a danger for the stray cats and dogs trying to survive in it. For those of us who worry about strays, it means slogging through the snow on days like this, bringing food and water to places they congregate. During the worst of it, they're often stranded elsewhere, but will eventually venture out to their favorite haunts.
Oh, and for those people who don't like stray cats ... or the people who feed them ... I say, many of you are the reason there is a huge stray cat population in this country in the first place. Unfeeling people who take in cute little fluffy kittens for their kids to play with, then when the kittens grow and reach puberty, instead of getting them neutered, just dump them out the door with no conscience, no remorse, no sense of responsibility. And what do you think happens to them after that? Let me be the one to explain basic science to you: they go in heat, get pounced on by every male cat within miles, and end up pregnant, thus expanding the population of the very stray cat colonies you so dislike. Can you say, DUH!, boys and girls?
But I digress.
The point is, I got out in the snow today -- and with warmer temps than during the last storm, it didn't feel so bad -- did what I could for the kitties, and came home to a cup of hot coffee, some crumb cake (Mmmmm!), and cats of my own who are spoiled rotten. Yes, they were out on the streets when they were very young, until I rescued them. But I doubt they remember it. Their main interest is in convincing the human to do their bidding. And food. Frequently, a combination of the two. Yet, even though they're indoors, they seem to be getting as sick and tired of snow as I am. Maybe it's because the view out the windows is so monotonous lately. White stuff falling constantly ... white stuff covering yards and sidewalks ... empty streets full of, yes, white stuff. Max has always been fascinated by people and cars. Not birds. Not other cats. But no one ever said Max is normal. Scully, on the other hand, loves to watch birds hopping around out on the sidewalk or from branch to branch on the rosebush, as if they're a favorite TV show. But during the past snowy week, very few people are venturing out, even fewer cars, and even the birds are apparently holing up somewhere. Thus, no birdy performances. Consequently, Scully is not a happy camper. Asked her opinion of the dual Blizzards Of 2010, she responded, "Pffffffffft!":
Scully and Max would like everyone to know that their Xmas gifts this year are nowhere near as fun as last year's, but the wrapping paper rocks! Thus, the human is not allowed to pick it up off the floor. Nor the pretty, curly ribbons. Ditto for the big, bite-able bows. The paper -- the one with snowflakes on it, the skinny one with Xmas trees, and especially the biiig one with Garfield and Odie on it -- are reserved for catnaps. And the occasional rowdy game of "Quick, Stick Your Paws Under This Thingy, 'Cause Who Knows What We Might Find Hiding There!" Not to worry. Once the novelty wears off and boredom sets in, all Xmas-y sheets will be shredded into various-sized pieces, as well as enough confetti-sized bits to require the human to drag out the noisy suck-up-dirty-stuff machine and make them disappear. However, in keeping with the festive atmosphere of the season, games of "Let's See How Many Times We Can Knock The Little Stuffed Rudolph Off The Top Of The TV" will continue to be played until the end of the holidays, in the hope of breaking last year's record of 147. Meowy Xmas, Twitterverse!
Want to have people look at you oddly? Push a kitty stroller down the street. A dayglo pink one, at that. You get noticed. A lot of people don't realize it's for cats. They think you have a baby that's so hideous, you've enclosed the stroller so that no one will see him/her and be traumatized. What a kind and caring fellow citizen you must be. Yet, morbid curiosity being what it is, people feel compelled to squint and stare at the black mesh, perplexed expressions on their faces, as they try to see this baby only a mother and P.T. Barnum could love. Explain to them that it's a cat, and they seem both relieved and oddly disappointed. Then there are the people who are well aware of kitty strollers, yet still lean down, try to peer through the mesh, and do everything but say, "Cootchy-coo," as if it actually were a baby. Meanwhile, groggy kitty, post-vet appointment, is on the inside looking out, with a Cheech-and-Chong-like, "Heyyyy, wha's happenin'?" attitude. Thus was Max's journey home from the vet a few days ago. Don't worry, minor stuff, including ear mites, so she's fine. I suspect she enjoyed being stoned. How else to explain the goofy cat-grin and uncharacteristic affectionate mood? Possibly, she was a stoner in a previous life and was channeling her former self. But, all good things must come to an end, and by that first night, the battle over ear drops began. It was fun while it lasted :-}
On top of 8 trillion other things I have to do this week (a possible slight exaggeration), ear drops twice a day for Max the cat now, who really doesn't want them. I mean, reeeeeeally doesn't want them. Have you ever watched Olympic wrestling? Not that she doesn't find the initial step amusing. That's a definite impish grin on her face as I try to catch her. She knows I'm not in her league. Moving at the speed of light (or close to it) she goes straight from the floor to the back of the sofa in one leap, across the back of it, onto the nearby chair, bounces off the cushion and up onto the server, skids across that (what the hey, I didn't need two matching candlesticks anyway, one is perfectly sufficient), onto the floor, doubles back and zips under the length of the coffee table, out to the kitchen and up onto the counter (so kind of her to miss the coffee mug that I stupidly left close to the edge) ... there's one thing I can guarantee -- if I get reincarnated as a cat, I will be way lazier than this ... off the counter and out of the room, and then, suddenly the game stops and she sits there in the middle of the living room floor, washes a paw, and looks up at me with a, Well, let's get this $%#& over with expression. Let's me pick her up, changes her mind, and the wrestling begins. How do cats twist and turn like that? Do they have a spine? If so, is it made out of Silly Putty?
But eventually the deed gets done and she stares into my eyes with that, Ok, where's my treat? I better get a damn treat! look. And of course she gets one of her favorites. Wouldn't it be nice if we adult humans got a treat for every unpleasant task we had thrust upon us? Boss drop a pile of folders on your desk just before 5:00? Here's a handful of chocolate-covered cherries. Bus running late? How 'bout some chewy nougat? Doctor about to stick a scope up your ... uh ... here's a giant, super-duper-sized, heart-shaped box of top-of-the-line chocolates. Seems fair.
Now it's time to brave the chilly drizzlies outside to go get cat food. Ok, I'm pushing it. Really, I have a business thing to take care of, a library book to return (yes, there are still actual paper books in existence, and some nice people in a big stone building willing to say, "Here, take some home with you"), yes, some cat food to pick up, and then for damn sure, I'm going to buy myself a treat.
Scully & Max never met a gargoyle they couldn't destroy. I have several small stone gargoyles that sit on the back of a shelf. Cool-looking figurines that I, gargoyle aficionado that I am, would love to display more prominently, if only for my own enjoyment. I used to have four of them. Now I have three. Cat lovers can probably picture how that came about. Yes, one cool little figurine met its demise after encountering The Furry Fists Of Death, which sent it sailing off the windowsill, through the air, and onto the floor. I think some of it is still under the refrigerator. Try sweeping while being ambushed by furry attackers. As any cat could tell you, swatting pieces of broken knick knack across tile can be the highlight of a feline's day. But today I brought home a gargoyle big enough to stand its own ground. Probably. Hopefully. As you can see in the photos, Max even gave it a kiss. Can't help wondering if she paid attention months ago when I watched "The Godfather" on TV. 'Cause the "Kiss Of Death" would not bode well for the new gargoyle. Was that a conspiratorial look that passed between Scully & Max as they gazed upon this stony new visitor? Only time will tell.
Writer of horror, sci-fi, other genres. Servant of cats. Multiple cats, who kindly allow me to live here (at least until they figure out how to open Fancy Feast cans themselves). Contact me at: GargoylePhanNB@gmail.com