He had sobbed in the driveway. “What about me? Aren’t I moving with you? I’m part of the family. You don’t want me anymore?” Being abandoned so cruelly was devastating. How did they expect him to survive on his own? No food or water, nowhere to sleep, and cars speeding by that could obliterate him in a flash. “I don’t have super powers to keep me safe. How could they be so inhumane?” He had grumbled this to himself, since there was no longer anyone to talk to. The new homeowners weren’t hospitable in the slightest and refused to let him in, even after he left his stellar noseprint artwork on the windows. “Hey, this is my house!” he yelled, to no avail.
That was in June, and now it was November. His fur puffed up against the frosty air and his tummy rumbled. Things looked bleak. He was tired of scavenging in garbage bags for meagre bits of food alongside other strays who were just as desolate. He spent his evenings lurking in the yards of cozy, warmly lit homes. Oh, how he longed to join the occupants as they ate dinner, read, or gathered in front of the television. But wait—he snapped out of his reverie. Someone had flicked on the porch light and spotted him through the window. The door was opening. At last, here was his lucky break!
“Poor kitty, you’re freezing. Come inside and be warm,” Lizzie urged, commiserating with the shivering cat.
With that, he bolted and ran as though wolves were chasing him. He hid in the shrubbery, furious with himself. How could he have been such a scaredy-cat and ruin his chance of being adopted when that’s what he wanted more than anything?
Lizzie called, “Here kitty, kitty,” but he was too terrified to leave his hiding place and trembled under the bush until she shrugged her shoulders in defeat and shut the door. The forlorn feline wasn’t used to anyone offering a kind word. Angry people hollered at him to scram when he was digging in the garbage. Where else was he to scrounge for food? Sometimes generous folks put food out, but with scores of vagabond cats vying for nourishment, finding a morsel was hard.
The cat ruminated about his dilemma and figured if he wanted his circumstances to improve, he’d have to change his attitude. The following night, he resolutely marched back to the same house hoping for a second chance and, Oh my, what is this? He thought he was hallucinating when he saw a heaping bowl of food on the porch. He scarfed it down, furtively glancing around for uninvited company. He couldn’t recall the last time he had food all for himself. A bowl of fresh water was nearby—much healthier than dirty puddles. Droplets clung to his chin as he noticed a cardboard box on its side in the corner of this tiny haven. No cat could resist a box. Timidly, he crept over to investigate and was delighted to see yet another surprise. A wicker basket, stuffed with plump cushions, was inside, protected from the wind.
“Ah, this is heaven.” He purred as he sank into them. “At last, a bed in which to rest my weary bones.” He missed being inside, knowing he was secure. Since he’d been living on the streets, he’d slept with one eye open, and the stress was taking a toll.
Lizzie stood hidden by the blinds and smiled when she saw how content the cat was in the basket, daintily washing his face. Little comforts made an enormous difference. He was awfully bony, so the soft cushions must have felt luxurious. She named him Liam, which suited his old-soul demeanour. He looked like he was burdened by life’s woes.
The weather was chilly and already a dusting of snow covered the ground. Every night, Lizzie put food and water on the porch and watched Liam eat and have a nap. He came by after dark when no one would see him, or so he presumed. Lizzie was steadfast in her mission to save this sweet cat and was working on a plan to catch him. He was too bashful to run to her the way Hobbes had. Sometimes, he saw Lizzie peeking at him through the window blinds and ran away to hide until he was certain she was no longer there.
During one visit, Lizzie saw a slight lump on Liam’s neck. The next night, it had swelled to the size of a golf ball. Lizzie gasped, “Oh no, he must have been bitten in a brawl, and now the wound is infected. He has to go to the vet pronto or he’ll get sick.” She called an animal rescue group, and they loaned her a trap to lure him in with a dish of food. That afternoon brought a raging snow squall with gusting winds. Lizzie’s heart sank at the thought of pitiful Liam out in the storm, especially with his neck injury. She set the trap on the porch, but he didn’t show up. It would be impossible for him to walk in the deep snow. Lizzie waded through knee-high drifts in nearby yards calling for him, but no orange cat was visible in the sea of white. She was so distraught, she didn’t sleep a wink that night. The minute City Hall opened, she telephoned and asked them to plow the sidewalks. She didn’t tell them a cat required their services. That night, Lizzie put the trap out again, but Liam didn’t come by, so she set off on another search for him.
“Whatever am I going to do?” She fretted about the bad timing of the inclement weather and returned home in a funk. As the porch came into view, there sat Liam inside the trap. She squealed with relief. He’d run straight in and gobbled up the food, but now he was frantic to get out of the confined space. Lizzie covered the trap with a blanket so he wouldn’t be scared, and she assured him he was safe. Liam immediately felt calmer in the dark, where he was hidden from view, and sat quietly to see what would happen next. He trusted this nice woman who had been feeding him and hoped she would fix his painful neck. He felt woozy from the infection. He’d been in a tussle over scraps of food and hadn’t fared as well as the brawnier cat. Lizzie took him to the clinic right away, and the vet shaved his neck, cleaned the abscess, and put in stitches. Liam looked like he had lost a fight in the boxing ring, but he would rally with antibiotics and devoted care from Lizzie. While he was there, he was neutered, and blood tests verified he didn’t have any diseases that could be transmitted to Hobbes.
Lizzie and Hobbes had been together for eight years, and she was concerned how he would react to another cat sharing his house. Hobbes adored being an only child. Lizzie prepared the guest room for Liam’s recovery and put Hobbes in her bedroom when she brought Liam inside. Though Hobbes never saw him, he knew Liam was behind that door. He could smell him. Hobbes was most disgruntled by this turn of events, as evidenced by his fierce tiger growls when he patrolled the hall.
Liam’s neck was healing nicely, and the fur had grown back. He inspected himself in the mirror and was pleased to note that, with his healthy diet and stress-free living, he was looking quite dapper. He had been horribly cold while stranded in the blizzard, huddling under bushes, miserable and hungry. He meowed for help, but everyone was hunkered down until the storm ended, and his plaintive cries went unheard. He passed the hours daydreaming of the food and bed on Lizzie’s porch. He was elated when the sidewalks were finally cleared of snow and made a beeline for Lizzie’s house. One thing Liam possessed in spades was mettle. Now the trauma had faded to an ugly memory, and Lizzie was his mom. She spent hours with him so he wouldn’t get lonely. How fortunate he was that she had persevered and rescued him despite his fear.
Sometimes, you can pinpoint when you first loved someone. For Lizzie, sitting beside Liam at the window the night he moved in was the defining moment. A mini bulldozer was scooping mountains of snow from the parking lot. They watched the animated scene below from their elevated vantage point. Lizzie smiled at Liam, whose eyes were bulging with fascination. The bright full moon shone on him, his patches of white fur sparkling like diamonds. Lizzie leaned over to give him a gentle hug and, unless her eyes were playing tricks on her, he smiled back.
During frequent visits, Lizzie read a book aloud while Liam cuddled in her lap, her voice lulling him into a lazy snooze. This new life of his was sublime. A sunny window in his room provided hours of amusement. The tree in front of the window was chock-a-block with birds flitting from branch to branch. Lizzie explained why birds would rather have cats observe them from inside. Song birds were dying in large numbers, partly due to cats eating them, and some birds were on the verge of extinction. Now Liam’s tasty meals were served in a dish, minus feathers, and the birds h
ad one less cat on which to keep an eye.
Liam got plenty of exercise while he was restricted to the guest room. His favourite game was to leap high in the air from the bed and catch the small pieces of folded paper towel Lizzie tossed. He jumped halfway to the ceiling, and Lizzie told him he could be in the Olympics with that performance. Eventually, Liam needed a nap to recharge his batteries. Whenever Lizzie left the room, Hobbes was stationed in the hall with a look of reproach. “Yeah, I’m no chucklehead.”
“You sure can’t fool a cat,” Lizzie remarked. She gave Hobbes lots of attention so he wouldn’t feel jealous or neglected. This was essential if she wanted to ensure Hobbes and Liam established an abiding friendship. Lizzie put their dishes on either side of the door so they were near one another while enjoying meals. Afterward, Lizzie stretched a ribbon under the door, and they busily batted paws. “Fantastic,” Lizzie exclaimed. “They’ve turned a corner at last.”
With this phenomenal progress, Lizzie decided to introduce them. She propped up a tall folding screen with clear panes and opened the door. Liam was so excited to see Hobbes, but Hobbes was not thrilled to see Liam. Not one bit. In fact, he howled his displeasure along with a lot of hissing—a strange hybrid of coyote and snake.
“Oh dear,” Lizzie sighed, “now what?” She was sure a hug would soften his attitude, but that was a mistake.
Hobbes was cross with Lizzie and let her know he most definitely did not want a hug. What he wanted was for that interloper to be given the old heave-ho, preferably before dinner because he was spoiling his appetite. Allowing Liam to live on the other side of a closed door was one thing, but that cat had chutzpah thinking he could roam Hobbesville. He squirmed to be put down, hissed at Lizzie once more for good measure, and stomped downstairs, braying his disapproval with every step. This was way too much upheaval, and he was going to deal with it by having a nap.
Liam was despondent. He was dying to meet Hobbes, but it was evident Hobbes despised him. Liam didn’t get a chance to show him what an awesome friend he would be. He was aware another cat lived here and ideas had percolated in his head while he mended. They would wash each other’s faces, play tag, and have adventures together. Now his dreams were dashed. Liam hung his head, slunk under the bed, and wouldn’t come out when Lizzie coaxed him.
“Well,” Lizzie said, “l will have to be patient and try again.” She crawled part way under the bed to give Liam a pep talk, telling him tomorrow was another day and things would pan out. Liam looked at her with doleful eyes and hoped she was right.
The next day, Hobbes was just as mad, and Liam was just as sad. Lizzie set up the screen, and Hobbes glowered at Liam, daring him to venture out of his room. Liam took the dare, and before Lizzie could block him, he flattened himself and pushed his head under the screen, mere inches from Hobbes, who was speechless. His mouth hung open and, for once, he was too dumbstruck to hiss.
Lizzie sucked in her breath. “Uh-oh, Hobbes will rip Liam’s head off.” But to her amazement, nothing happened.
As the seconds ticked by, Hobbes sat frozen to the spot while Liam slid out, inch by inch, and then took off, exploring the whole house. He raced down the stairs, jumped from the couch to the table to the chairs, and sped to the basement and back. Hobbes sought refuge under a chair and gaped at this brazen buffoon tearing around—a blur of orange and white. Liam thought it would be a riot to chase Hobbes, and the two whirling dervishes flew past Lizzie, almost knocking her off her feet. Hobbes was hissing non-stop, sounding like a deflating balloon. What was he to make of this predicament? He’d enjoyed having Lizzie to himself for eight years. Eight years of tranquility over in an instant.
Hobbes gasped, “This won’t do at all,” as he frantically tried to shake the maniac gaining on him. He zipped under the bed, and Liam darted past and carried on his merry way. Hobbes decided to lie low until Liam wore himself out. He had a sneaking suspicion life was going to be more rambunctious.
Lizzie was home on the weekend to supervise and ensure harmony continued. Hobbes reluctantly got used to his roommate, and Liam was ecstatic to have a chum and free rein of the house. From the outset, Liam was adamant he was sleeping on Lizzie’s bed with Hobbes.
Lizzie said, “It’s a good thing this is a queen-size bed.” Hobbes and Liam were in complete agreement. Life with Lizzie was the cat’s whiskers. Nothing would ever change that. Until…
Milo
Lizzie thought a baby polar bear was on her porch late one night. The pale-orange cat’s beautiful coat glowed white in the dark, and he was eating the food Lizzie had set out. The previous day, she’d noticed a black cat sniffing garbage bags by the curb, so she was trying to catch him and find him a home. She was flabbergasted to see a different cat. Two homeless cats are traipsing around my neighbourhood? Like Liam, he ran when she opened the door to say hello. Lizzie sighed and wondered why these cats were living a nomadic existence. Where are their people?
Lizzie succeeded in trapping the black cat and took him to the clinic. He was panic-stricken and wild and did not want anyone to touch him. The vet donned huge protective gloves after the cat charged from the carrier and clawed his way up her back to her shoulder. The animal rescue group knew of a family who built a cat shelter inside their barn for this very situation. They hoped once the feral cat interacted with caring people he would calm down and move in with them. In the meantime, he was warm and comfortable, and safe from outdoor perils.
The pale-orange cat was coming by every night for his dinner. He was grateful for the nutritious meals. He had a place to live, but he was of the opinion he deserved a five-star home. A woman named Fran had adopted him in response to a newspaper ad, but she wasn't a conscientious caregiver. She fed him cheap kibble that was chemically dyed and full of preservatives. It made his stomach queasy, but there was nothing else to eat.
“Why would anyone think cats want their food to resemble a mound of crayon nibs? That’s bonkers,” he declared. He craved healthy food like the yummy canned stuff he was wolfing down on Lizzie’s porch. “Now this is a responsible parent,” he said, munching happily. Fran hadn’t taken him to be fixed and didn’t fuss if he stayed away for a few days. Alas, his gallivanting meant more litters of kittens were joining the thousands already needing homes.
Within a few days, Lizzie trapped him, and off to the vet he went for a check-up, blood tests, and neutering. Lizzie named him Milo, and when she picked him up at the animal hospital, they advised her to be careful when letting him out of the carrier as he’d been cranky and most uncivilized with the vet. Lizzie worried Milo might attack her when she opened the door. Her friend Jean invited Milo to stay overnight and rest after his surgery while Lizzie figured out how to introduce him to Hobbes and Liam. When Lizzie arrived at Jean’s house, they set the carrier in a bedroom and prepared to run for the hills and slam the door behind them.
Meanwhile, Milo stifled a hearty guffaw with his paw when he heard how jittery Lizzie was. He had been snappish at the vet. The strange smells, along with barking dogs and yowling cats, had rattled him. On top of that, he wasn’t used to being poked and prodded, so he’d lashed out to let them know he was flustered. Jean cowered by the doorway when Lizzie unlatched the door, poised to flee. Milo sprang from the carrier and stood straight up on his hind legs. A winsome smile lit up his face as he held his arms out to the side and twirled in a half-circle. Lizzie’s and Jean’s eyes popped. This was the “nasty” cat the vet cautioned them to handle with trepidation? Milo was jubilant to be rescued from his lousy home and wanted Lizzie to see how charming he was. He regretted not wearing a tutu—his show would have been more dazzling. Albeit, judging by their reaction, Lizzie and Jean were enchanted by his happy dance, which he’d been practising on the streets. You never know when a snazzy trick will come in handy.
Milo relaxed at Jean’s house, and in the morning, he was bundled into the carrier for the drive to Lizzie’s place. On the way, she described Hobbes and Liam and how they came to live with h
er. Milo was all aflutter at the prospect of two new buddies and hoped they would take a shine to him. Lizzie arranged for Jean to arrive with Milo so Hobbes and Liam wouldn’t cast her as the culprit disrupting their lives. Lizzie went into the house, and a few minutes later, Jean rang the doorbell. Liam’s ears perked up when he heard yakking, and he prodded a navel-gazing Hobbes. They sauntered over and stopped dead in their tracks. To say they were riled when they saw what was sitting in the carrier would be a massive understatement. They exchanged rolled eyes and scowled at Milo.
A morose Hobbes said, “Déjà vu.”
Liam was incensed. “You’ll rue the day you visited our house.” He conveniently forgot how he had longed to be accepted by Hobbes and had zero empathy for Milo’s plight.
Jean put Milo’s carrier in the family room, and she and Lizzie sat in the kitchen to let the cats get acquainted in private. They heard hissing and snarling, but eventually silence prevailed. When Jean peeked around the corner, the cats didn’t appear quite so ruffled. Breathing a sigh of relief, she turned to Lizzie. “They’ve achieved an uneasy truce.”
Jean opened the carrier, and an apprehensive Milo shuffled out. Performing a trick was the furthest thing from his mind when he took a gander at the two sourpusses appraising him. Jean petted Milo while Lizzie puttered in the kitchen, prolonging the charade that she had nothing to do with Milo moving in. Soon Hobbes, Liam, and Milo were sitting in a circle, frowning and looking serious. After a cup of tea, Jean stood up to leave and Lizzie accompanied her to the door. Hobbes and Liam felt a twinge of foreboding. With eyebrows raised in affronted horror, their heads whipped from Jean to Milo and back to Jean. Why wasn’t she taking the furball with her? Did she forget him?
“Jean—come baaaack,” they implored. She didn’t.
Lizzie monitored them closely in the event of a battle. Things seemed to be going along smoothly, but later she spied Hobbes and Liam conspiring to ambush a hapless Milo when he exited the litter box. They squatted side by side at the top of the stairs, two gargoyles giving him the fish eye. The next day, Lizzie caught Milo peeing on a towel on the bathroom floor, which was peculiar since he’d been using the litter box. Soon it became clear Milo was cowed by Hobbes and Liam who were waiting to knock his block off. For several days, Lizzie carried Milo to the litter boxes in the basement and stood guard.
The Cat's Breath Smells Like Dessert Page 2