These are some of the stories I remember…
Cat Fight
The other day I was having a conversation with this weirdo, who has the reasoning skills of a flip flop and a personality to match. Being the thoughtful person that I am I probed a little to find a topic of interest for us to discuss. You see this person is a colleague with the very same affliction as me: overly prepared for all situations and 15 minutes early to everything. This lady and I are staring blankly at each other across the table, waiting for the other meeting guest to arrive. She taps her pencil on her notebook and I glance over at the clock on the wall; 14 minutes and 38 seconds until the slackers show up.
As I pick a piece of hair off my blouse I remark, “It seems like no matter what I do I’m always covered in cat hair.” Now I’ll go ahead and admit that looking back, this probably wasn’t the most stellar approach at a conversation, but none-the-less I was trying to fill up the eerie silence that precedes exciting meeting time. My colleague responds with an “Hmf” before pretending to reread the meeting agenda.
I really don’t know how to take subtle cues and therefore I follow my first statement up with, “But it’s totally worth it, you know.”
The lady looks at me blankly, “Sorry, worth what?”
“You know, it’s worth all the hair and mess to have a cat.”
My first indication that this person was wacko was she actually rolled her eyes at me. I heard the voice in my head say, oh no she just didn’t, and this was right before she said, “I wouldn’t know, I don’t like cats.”
I’m really good at hiding it when I’m offended and this time was no exception. I thoughtfully tilted my head sideways and with real earnest I asked, “Oh really and why is that?”
She took a deep breath and launched into a tale of how when she was a child the neighborhood cat had scratched her on the arm when she was trying to pet it. “The cat was so deranged and just lashed out at me for no apparent reason and I was fairly young too. The scratch only bled a little bit, but it later got red and infected and I remember it being pretty painful. I think they had to put me on some meds to get it to resolve itself.” When she finished this story I was very conscious to show on my face a fair amount of sympathy although I was thinking: so you hate an entire species of animal because you had a minor scratch of no horrible consequence over three decades ago? That totally doesn’t make any sense, you flipping weirdo. You probably deserved the scratch because you tried to pick the cat up by its neck and it probably got infected because you didn’t bathe properly.
I have a sort of affinity for cats due to the fact that I’m currently alive and well because of the actions of a short-haired orange feline named Johnny. I grew up on a lake and like most kids with those types of surroundings I spent my time hanging out on the fishing pier staring into the water. Regularly a cat would accompany me on these expeditions and on this particular day Johnny was my companion. Standing at the end of the pier I noticed Johnny cat seemed overly interested in something just behind me. I’d been staring into the water for a few minutes and when the cat’s interests got my attention I decided to jump back to reality. My first thought was that Johnny wanted to play fetch with what appeared from the corner of my vision to be a stick.
“Hey, John John, you wanna play fetch?” I turned around to pick up said stick with the intention of tossing it in the water where the cat would most certainly not fetch it, but he would probably paw at it or at least stare at it for a minute or two. I must have lost all the color in my face when I realized that Johnny was not eyeing a stick sitting on the pier, but rather it was a water moccasin. For those unfamiliar to these snakes, they are highly poisonous and from my experience, very aggressive. I know people will say that snakes are more afraid of you than you are of them, but that isn’t true in all cases. Probably the same people will report that faced with a life threatening situation your life flashes before your eyes. This was not my experience. As I stared into the dark, beady eyes of that snake I ran through all my options, which took all of two seconds. There was only one way out of this situation and that was to jump into the potentially snake infested water (which although appeared like an option, really wasn’t a viable one). So I had really no option but to stand still and hope that the snake slithered back to hell from where it came and left me and my cat alone to stare into the murky water. Apparently this was not what the aggressive snake had in mind as he poised himself in striking position and eyed me like I was holiday pudding.
I’m not entirely sure how much time passed, probably only seconds, but Johnny didn’t waste any time once he sized up the situation. You know that moment when whether it’s a person or an animal, they own up to a situation and decide to attempt to be a victor in a highly dangerous situation? Well that was Johnny’s moment and I witnessed it. In a flash, the agile cat sprang from a sitting position through the air and landed with ferocity on top of the snake. The next little bit was a blur of fur and skin, hissing and screaming. I knew I had to act fast and so I hopped to the far side of the pier and ran around the brutal battle that was being waged in my honor.
A minute later I arrived breathless at my mom’s room, “Mom!!! There’s a snake and Johnny’s fighting him. Quick, we gotta go save him!!!” My mother quickly snuffed out her cigarette, ran to the side of the house, grabbed the machete and then followed me to the pier. I remember thinking that the cat might be dead by the time we got to him and I felt guilt as I ran down to the water’s edge. However, it was silly of me to think that awful snake would stand a chance against such a nimble and talented creature. When we arrived at the pier Johnny was simply bathing himself, completely disinterested in the lifeless carcass that lay inches away. I’m guessing that since my mom had gone to the trouble of bringing the machete all the way there she planned on using it. Furthermore, it’s always good to make doubly certain that evil snakes are in fact dead and so mom chopped its head off and chucked it in the lake.
Sitting in that meeting room and feeling repulsed by my colleague’s dislike for cats, I thought about Johnny Cat and his inspirational act of courage. He actually only passed away a few years ago, making him the longest living cat I’d ever known. He lived for so long that at one point I thought maybe he had some super powers and he used them to his favor in the Snake Battle of 1992. I smiled to myself and glanced back over to the clock, 12 minutes and 17 seconds until the meeting started and I was already all talked out.
Bitch Kitty and the Whores
When we think of springtime, we think of blossoming flowers, excited birds chirping in the trees, and a bountiful earth waking up and coming to life after a cold and dark winter. I’d like to add that I also associate kittens with springtime. Lots of kittens. Screaming kittens, tripping over their own feet, peeing on your favorite shirt, and hissing at all their kitten friends. Now that, “ in my opinion” is springtime.
When my family moved from the city to the remote lake community we learned to call home, I was five. The house my mother and step-father bought came with a rickety old dock, a crumbling retaining wall, 15 acres of overgrown woods, and a storage building. Maggie came free with the house. She was a shiny black cat with orange eyes and on the day we moved in she was pregnant. That spring as we unpacked our boxes and started exploring the woods and the lake, Maggie gave birth under the storage building to four precious little kitties. One of them would become my Johnny cat. The other three would become whores.
One of the perks of living in the country is that everyone can have their own cat. This isn’t something that would have worked when we lived on a busy street in the middle of the city. Well, it wouldn’t have worked for very long. Since we were so excited about starting our new rural living, my sister, Katie, and I decided that we’d assign each of the new kittens to a family member. Lauren actually already had a cat that she’d brought with her, Bitch Kitty. This cat would soon become the lifetime companion to my Johnny cat, although I’m not sure what he ever saw in her because she was a real
bitch. So we assigned Ronald as the rightful owner of Misty, a long-haired black cat. Katie took ownership of Smokey, a long-haired gray kitten, and then my mom’s cat was Sadie, a cat with black and white markings.
We soon learned that having cats in the country was indeed easier than having them in the city. The cost of their food was practically nothing since most of the time they snacked on field mice or caught fish from the rocks along the retaining wall. Their litter box remained mostly clean since they usually preferred to do their business outside. Actually the only reason we had a litter box or purchased food was because of Bitch Kitty. She pretty much refused to venture outside which made catching food or depositing her business in the grass impossible. This cat was really too large to pounce on the couch, let alone a nimble little mouse. She spent all her time bathing herself, sleeping, and doting on Johnny when he came in from a hunt.
That first year probably held some of my fondest memories from my childhood. My mother and step-father were newlyweds, which meant they were on their best behavior. That summer Murray bought an old Dixon lawnmower, which he used to make trails through the woods. This made exploring the woods so much easier and fun. The family also bought a boat, a medium-sized barge, which went plenty fast for tubing or water skiing. Lauren even hung around that summer, which was rare because usually, she spent her summers at some girl’s reform camp where troubled youth learn how to get along with the rest of society. If this year of my life had been framed and anyone would have viewed it they would have probably concluded that my life had been idyllic.
There are few things as new residents of the country that most everyone should know, which we learned the hard way. The first is ticks are no joke. They will get you, bury themselves behind your ear, and become fat and gross until you find them and burn them off. Another lesson is regarding country folk. These people have their own ways, and they don’t much take kindly to city people and their uppity attitudes. If they call your black Cadillac a limo because it’s the closest thing they’ve ever seen to one then you better not laugh, especially because that makes them feel small and therefore they won’t pray for you and your heathen children anymore. And finally, Bob Barker has been telling all of America to get their animals spayed or neutered for a reason. He was not getting money under the table from the SPCA to spout their agenda. There truly is a problem with controlling the pet population, especially in the country where animals are allowed to roam freely and naked.
About the time that the following spring rolled around, we were getting pretty acclimated to country living. Most of the family had made friends (Lauren, of course, being the exception for obvious reasons), the trails in the woods now had a groove from the many feet that had pounded along them, and our little kitties had grown up to be healthy and happy.
“Oh, shit!” Lauren protested with her teeth clenched.
“Lauren, don’t cuss, especially in front of your little sisters,” mom was making coffee in the kitchen and directing her orders to Lauren standing over Bitch Kitty in the living room.
“The little bitch went and got herself pregnant!” Lauren pointed an accusing finger at the cat. Bitch Kitty tucked her face into her paw and ignored the loud human.
“Are you sure?” mother asked coming into the room.
“Of course I’m sure. I mean she was fat before, but now she’s pregnant fat! Look at her.”
I could never figure out how people knew when an animal was pregnant. They just looked fat, and sometimes they were and that’s why you’d wait forever for puppies and never get any.
Mom felt the cat’s white belly. Bitch Kitty immediately pulled out her claws, curled into a ball, and began tearing into her hand. Quickly she pulled her hand back to safety, “Damn-it cat! Why do you have to be such a bitch?” Mom stuck her bleeding finger in her mouth and sucked on the new wound, “You’re right though, she’s pregnant. I just don’t see how this happened. It’s not like she goes outside.”
“It’s that damn Johnny cat!” Lauren seethed. “The kittens are going to be stupid for sure.”
I watched from the sidelines and fumed from my sister’s belligerent remark. Later the father of Bitch Kitty’s kittens would save my life, which could have never been done by a dumb cat.
“When she gonna have ‘em?” I asked curiously.
“Beats me,” Lauren shrugged before storming off.
“Probably in a week or so,” my mom replied with a look of concern in her eyes. “I have no idea what we’re going to do with another batch of kittens.”
My sister Katie and I delegated ourselves as the official maternity representatives for Bitch Kitty. We turned our closet into the birthing station, complete with a cardboard box, old towels, a bowl of water and food, and an ink pad and papers (for the birth certificates, of course). Since we had no idea when Bitch Kitty was going to go into labor we pretty much quarantined her to our room for the remainder of the week.
“You really shouldn’t do that,” our mother warned. “Cats don’t like to be confined and they know where to go and what to do when the time to give birth comes. You’re taking that away from her.”
We ignored our mother’s advice since she wasn’t on the kitty maternity committee and therefore her opinion didn’t count. It was a bright and sunny Saturday morning when Bitch Kitty started showing signs of distress, which we took to mean she was indeed going into labor. We’d rehearsed for this moment and felt confident that we’d make excellent midwives. I stroked Bitch Kitty’s head and since she was too busy panting she couldn’t do what she normally did which was attack me. It seems like we sat watching and petting for hours before there was a sign of the first kitten being born. I was so excited for this moment, as I’d never witnessed anything like it. Just as the first kitten’s head began to crown I heard our mother shout from the hallway.
“Oh no! Oh my god!”
Katie and I both looked at each other with deep concern. We suddenly rushed off to see what mom was fussing about, leaving Bitch Kitty in hard labor all by herself.
“Wha?! What is it?” Katie was the first one to ask.
“That’s what it is,” mom pointed to the towel cabinet, with the door open widely. Katie and I hunched down and peered in, slightly hesitant. If I hadn’t just watched two hours of cat labor then I probably wouldn’t have known what I was looking at. There laying across a mound of towels was Misty and she was in the process of giving birth.
“Uh-oh!” Katie screeched.
I didn’t screech. I was excited. Now I had two cats to assist with the labor and delivery process. Later I would have two batches of kittens to play with until my heart was content with kitty love.
“Sarah, you go help Bitch Kitty,” Katie ordered. “I’ll stay with Misty. “
When I returned to my station I was happy to see that Bitch Kitty had successfully given birth to two kittens already. One was white and the other gray. Just before the third one arrived there was another alarming shout from the front door. This time it was Ronald.
“I was coming down the side trails along the house when I heard this screaming. It took me some time to figure out what it was. Guess what? Smokey is having kittens in that hollowed out tree beside the house.”
“What?” Katie yelled loudly. “No way!”
“Oh my God!” Mom sighed.
“I’ll go check on her,” I offered as I sprinted towards the door.
I ran around to the side of the house, knowing exactly where my brother was talking about. When I came to the tree I poked my head into the large hole in the trunk and looked down. Immediately Smokey meowed with a slight cackle. She looked up at me briefly and then went back to bathing her newest arrival. I shook my head with excitement and also because I could have sworn there was a spider in my hair. There was another meow, this was louder. I stuck my head back into the tree and then the meow happened again. It wasn’t coming from Smokey. Puzzled I followed the now incessant meowing. When I came to the side of our deck I ducked down. The meow was
indeed coming from right underneath the deck. Squinting into the darkness, it took a minute for my eyes to adjust and clearly see Sadie nestled in a pile of leaves and panting with great effort.
“OH SHIT!” I exclaimed before running up to the house to announce the news.
The next few hours of that day involved running between each of the birthing cats and checking their progress. By nightfall, all of them had successfully given birth to a litter of kittens and were sleeping soundly in their respective maternity spots. When everything had quieted down the family tried to piece together what and why all the events had taken place on the same day.
“They must have all gone into heat on the same day!” Lauren explained from a place of great authority.
“But it wasn’t Johnny that got them all pregnant, besides that’d be incest,” mother figured.
“Yeah, you’re right. I bet it was that big bobcat that we see prowling around some times,” Katie reasoned.
Just at that precise moment, Johnny Cat strolled into the living room where we were gathered. He looked curious.
“I figured you turn up sooner or later. Now I wonder where Maggie has gotten off to. Probably scared off by all of the commotion of the day,” mom rationalized as she scratched the cat behind his ears. “What in tarnation are we going to do with all these kittens?”
It turns out that Maggie wasn’t scared off by all of the noise from the other cats giving birth. Actually, Maggie was busy giving birth herself under the storage building for the second year in a row. By the end of that weekend, we had six cats and thirty-six kittens. When they were old enough to be weaned each and every one of the kittens were taken to the Humane Society. After that my mother took the wise Bob Barker’s advice and carted each of the remaining cats to the vet’s office to be spayed and neutered. To this day, I’ve never had another cat give birth because that day supplied all the kitty maternity experiences I would ever need.
Hellcats: Anthology Page 98