The Cat's Breath Smells Like Dessert

by Elizabeth Jain

  “That’s right, my fine fellows,” Lizzie informed a dour Hobbes and Liam, “you’ve been thwarted—by me.”

  They saw Lizzie meant business and wasn’t going to stand for any bullying, so they left Milo alone and he refrained from using her bathroom again. Milo was relieved Lizzie had put two and two together. He was worried she would be mad at him. He wished more people would think like a cat. A litter box could be shunned for many reasons, and too often the misunderstood cat ended up waiting in the pound for another home. This was no surprise to Hobbes, who had learned of this unfortunate outcome when he lived at the shelter. He heard the staff say it was depressing that so many cats were dropped off because they were having accidents in the house. People insisted their cats were dirty, not realizing cats are compulsively clean by nature, which is why they weren’t keen on stepping into a filthy box.

  To prevent any crowding issues, Lizzie provided four litter boxes. She scooped them several times a day, which was a small courtesy her trio of neatniks appreciated. Since cats were sensitive to strong odours, Lizzie used unscented litter. She’d thought of everything.

  Lizzie chuckled when she remembered the puddles of pee she’d find beside the litter box when Liam first arrived. It didn’t take long to establish what was happening. Liam went in the box, lifted his bum, and the stream shot over the edge. “Ah,” Lizzie said, “you’re a stand-up pee-er.” Liam had no inkling he was doing something wrong. As far as he was concerned, he was using the box, although he was mystified when he turned to bury the pee. Lizzie bought litter boxes with high sides, and the problem was solved.

  As for the sleeping arrangements, Milo wanted to be on the bed with everyone else. Hobbes caught Liam’s eye, and they both had the same thought—what a crummy idea. They each staked out a corner of the bed and shot Milo withering looks to stymie any attempt to join them. Lizzie placed a cushy cat bed on the floor for Milo until Hobbes and Liam relented a few days later.

  Sorting out the new dynamic had been a bit of a trial, but the household finally mellowed. Milo begrudgingly tolerated Liam’s teasing—since he could also be very sweet—and Hobbes acquiesced to sharing Lizzie. He was surprised at how Liam and Milo had grown on him, and the camaraderie was nice when Lizzie was at work.

  Their world consisted of fun-filled days, and nothing could upset the apple cart. Until…

  Joey

  One morning, Lizzie raised her bedroom window blinds and saw what she thought was a skunk scaling the neighbour’s fence. “How odd for a skunk do that,” Lizzie commented aloud. As she got a better view of him, she wailed, “Oh no, it’s a black-and-white cat.”

  Hobbes, Liam, and Milo pursed their lips in consternation. “This does not bode well for us,” Hobbes warned.

  Lizzie put food and water on the porch, and the cat found it before sunset. She named him Joey. He came by daily and was often waiting for Lizzie on the front porch when she pulled in the driveway after work. When she was late, he stood with arms akimbo, tapping his foot and pointedly looking at his non-existent watch. Does she think I have nothing better to do? He conceded that he didn’t have anything better to do, but still, how about maintaining a proper schedule for meals?

  Joey was brave enough to pop over during the day, rather than under cover of darkness, but he wouldn’t let Lizzie get close to him. She advanced toward him inch by inch, but when she was within ten feet, he beat a hasty retreat and vanished from sight. Sometimes when Lizzie was in the garage with the door open, he sat by the entrance. She talked to him, and it was apparent he wanted to be friends but was too afraid. His mother was homeless when he was born, and the children in the neighbourhood loved to play with him. When they returned to school in September, he was left to fill his days with no pals.

  He brooded over his sorry circumstances. Why don’t people invite me to live with them? I’d be an entertaining companion for any of the children. But no one adopted him, and he was at the mercy of the outdoors. He saw many cats while living on the streets, and his heart ached when he realized that, like him, they were all desperately seeking a family.

  Lizzie wanted Joey to have a place to sleep until she could persuade him to come to her or, failing that, trap him. To help out, an animal rescue group gave her a cat shelter. Constructed by high school students in woodworking class, the innovative design consisted of a three-foot cube with an entrance on two sides and an upper level to hold a thick layer of straw. The removable roof made stuffing it in an easy task. Joey could enter through the bottom openings and climb up to the loft, hidden from predators. Lizzie placed the shelter in the corner of the porch and checked each day for signs that Joey had bunked in it. One morning, she yanked off the roof and there was Joey, curled up in dreamland. Thunderstruck, they both shrieked, and Joey sprang from his bed and disappeared forthwith, leaving a spray of straw in his wake. Lizzie felt terrible about scaring him but figured he’d come back, now that he’d discovered his own private B&B.

  Even though Joey polished off the food Lizzie put on the porch for him every day, he was getting thinner and his ribs were protruding. No doubt he was full of worms, so a vet appointment was crucial. The next day, Lizzie was aghast when Joey scampered across the road in front of her car, with no regard for traffic. She’d have to bump up the timetable for his rescue or it would be a gruesome end for him. His mythical nine lives were dwindling; between the worms and the cars, he didn’t stand a chance. She trapped him that day and took him to the vet. He was calm during the drive, with nary a peep. The examination determined Joey had a severe ear infection and a parasite called giardia, probably due to drinking from puddles. The vet provided Lizzie with drops to put in his ear as well as medicine to kill the parasites, which were contagious. This meant he was banned from mingling. She put Hobbes, Liam, and Milo in her bedroom when she smuggled Joey into the house. He would recuperate in Liam’s old room, away from their sullen glares.

  Joey was not happy. He burst out of the carrier and hid under the bed when Lizzie opened the door. His mind was spinning. One minute he was roving outdoors and the next he was duped into a trap and whisked away to the vet for a thorough exam, including blood tests and neutering. Joey had been experiencing malaise for weeks. His tummy hurt, and though he was eating all the food Lizzie left for him, he felt weak and sick. His ear was sore from rigorous scratching, and it smelled putrid. He couldn’t escape the horrible stench. When he was deposited in this strange room, all he wanted to do was hide and sort out what had transpired.

  He saw Lizzie kneel and then peer under the bed at him. In a hushed tone, she assured him he would be hale and hearty soon. He sure hoped so. He’d had enough of feeling unwell. Since Joey wouldn’t let her near him, Lizzie speculated on how she could put drops in his ears. The solution hit her while she was feeding him. He was so focused on his food, in which the parasite medication was hidden, that he was oblivious to Lizzie administering the drops. She realized she could also trim his nails while he was eating. He ate with such haste that she could only trim one or two; the rest were snipped over the course of several meals.

  After a few days, Joey seemed a tad more cordial. He was sitting on the rolltop desk when Lizzie came in to keep him company. He dipped his head toward her, and Lizzie was heartened by this encouraging sign. “Ah, you want to head-butt like Milo.” She tilted her head up to Joey’s and got the shock of her life when she felt his claws rake her scalp. “Yeeoooow,” she yelled, certain it must be bleeding, but thankfully it wasn’t.

  Joey was immensely pleased with himself and snickered. “Gee, did she ever fall for that ruse.” He was aggrieved by his situation and took it out on Lizzie. His baleful eyes followed her every move, and he sat nearby when she cleaned the litter box so he could whip out a paw and scratch the top of her hands. He bit her bare ankles to further demonstrate his foul mood. On her next visit, Lizzie entered warily, attired in jeans, socks, shoes, and a thick jacket to ward off injury. She wore heavy-duty gloves to protect her hands. When Joey swiped,
he was nonplussed to feel vinyl under his claws instead of skin. His eyes narrowed suspiciously. What is this hoax? Where are the red claw marks?

  Lizzie was disappointed that, so far, her efforts to win Joey over were unsuccessful. She’d never had difficulty making friends with cats. They loved her. No matter how curmudgeonly Joey was, she would not give up on him. His stubborn ear infection was taking weeks to heal, so Lizzie had to find a way to gain his trust. She was up for the challenge and researched how to help rescued cats. She learned it could be a long process for some to adapt to an indoor life, surrounded by unfamiliar people. A cat’s unpleasant disposition might be the result of suffering prior abuse. The advice she got from the book was to let Joey adjust to the change in his environment at his own pace. Rushing him would surely backfire.

  After many frustrating weeks, Joey’s infections cleared up. He had stopped trying to scratch Lizzie and looked forward to her visits. The day arrived to introduce him to the rest of the clan. Lizzie put Joey in the carrier and took him to the kitchen. The cats hissed at him and left the room. Joey stretched his paws through the wire door, begging them to play, but they continued to snub him. His affable meows fell on deaf ears. Their attitude shifted when Lizzie whipped out the treats. They heard the bag unfurling and came running full tilt. She scattered kibble on the floor, as well as in Joey’s carrier, and they clamoured to grab them. They were busy savouring their snacks together, and thoughts of spurning Joey dissipated.

  Lizzie did this every night, and after a week, things were going swimmingly, so she let Joey out of his carrier. Hobbes was sitting on the couch, Liam was lying by the stairs, and Milo was dozing in his bed. Lizzie assumed Joey would careen through the house, exploring top to bottom. He did precisely that, but first he ran up to each cat and, one by one, cuffed them in the face. His jovial way of saying “Hey, pleased to meet you” didn’t endear him to them. They were dumbfounded at the gall of this clown and spat at him, but their fury was all for naught because Joey was fearless. When he’d inspected everything to his satisfaction, he wanted to wrestle with the cats. His quarantine had seemed endless, so wasting another second wasn’t an option. Hobbes, Liam, and Milo were as mad as wet hens and in no mood to horse around, so Lizzie put Joey in the carrier and returned him to his room.

  Joey was so excited he could hardly sleep. Well, that’s not entirely true—he was a cat after all, and no one snoozed better than a cat. As he jumped on the big bed in his room, he took stock. What a day! I ran free in my new home that comes with three live-in friends. They were a bit aloof, but I’m no quitter. They’ll see—soon they won’t be able to resist my charms.

  Lizzie concocted a plan that allowed her to rein Joey in when he became too unruly. She bought a harness with a leash and attempted to put it on him. He rolled around on the bed to prevent Lizzie from fastening the buckles. She laughed at his antics but persisted and got him into the harness. She opened the door, and he bounded down the stairs with Lizzie in tow. Hobbes, Liam, and Milo observed this chaotic entrance with disdain. They gave him the cold shoulder, but Joey, with his sunny disposition, was immune to their frosty welcome. He was determined everyone would love him. When Joey pushed the limits with his shenanigans, Lizzie tugged on the harness and picked him up before he was out of control.

  From that day forward, when Lizzie held up the harness, Joey clambered onto the bed to let her fasten it. The sooner it was on, the sooner he could frolic with his new friends. After two weeks, everyone accepted Joey and he was free to hobnob with them. He zeroed in on Liam, who had been standoffish with him from the beginning. Liam rebuffed him, with his nose in the air, whenever Joey tried to engage with him. Joey wasn’t having any of that nonsense, now that he had his freedom, and set about making Liam his pal. He chased him and got him in a headlock so he could wash his face.

  Liam pleaded with Lizzie. “Help me. He’s worse than an annoying little brother.” Joey wouldn’t give up and, within several weeks, Liam surrendered and indeed became Joey’s best buddy.

  One of Joey’s quirks was to stalk an unsuspecting Hobbes, who was sitting comfortably and minding his own business. As he prepared to blast off, Joey’s bum wiggled—his version of an engine revving. He raced toward Hobbes from behind, walloped him in the head, and sent him rolling like tumbleweed. Hobbes never knew what hit him. By the time he righted himself, Joey was long gone, off to torment someone else, and Hobbes was left befuddled. Something had knocked him flying, but what?

  Lizzie gathered that Joey was partial to a tidy house. He efficiently used his paws to sweep every surface. His cleaning blitz began when he jumped on the fireplace mantel and pushed the pictures and ornaments closer to the edge until they toppled to the ground. When they smashed, he hightailed it out of there, not wanting to incur Lizzie’s wrath, although he’d noticed she was remarkably tolerant of his escapades. She quickly moved breakables to the china cabinet. Anything on the kitchen counter was fair game, including fruit, vegetables, and mail. Whatever caught Joey’s eye was turfed out tout de suite. Every morning, Lizzie was confronted with bare countertops and a floor covered with his handiwork. The silver lining to Joey’s obsession was that it forced her to be tidier, although the rooms were looking a bit spartan. She missed her exquisite bouquet of silk orchids, which had been relegated to the powder room. Joey’s eyes had lit up when he first spied them, and his arms spun like helicopter rotors—a flurry of motion as he ripped flowers from their stems.

  Joey was a neat freak—but not in the same league as germaphobe Lizzie. She stowed her toothbrush and stack of paper towels in the bathroom vanity to keep them pristine. If Lizzie didn’t close the cupboard door immediately, Joey scooted in and rubbed his face on her toothbrush for a satisfying scratch while standing on the paper towels. He was always impressed with the volume of Lizzie’s screeching. Lizzie was always impressed with Joey’s ability not to be offended by a scolding. Wide-eyed, he wondered what the hubbub was about and carried on. He had nothing but time to wreak more havoc.

  Lizzie was awestruck at the change in Joey’s personality. Over the past two months, he had transformed from an irritated, hostile cat to a gregarious, affectionate one. As soon as his health improved, he was a dynamo. The Cheshire Cat grin was permanently plastered on his face. Whereas toys bored him initially, he now lobbed them throughout the house. His happiness was boundless, and when he took a break from playing, he sashayed along the back of the couch to rub his head against Lizzie’s. Like Hobbes, he loved hugs, but he was the only cat who angled for tummy rubs. On occasion, his ear would bother him, but all he had to do was tilt his head or scratch his ear and Lizzie materialized by his side to clean it and apply drops. Having her take care of him was such a relief. Joey loved her so much he was sure his heart was growing like the Grinch’s.

  Joey was blessed with a terrific sense of humour. Lizzie’s jokes were rib-tickling, and he loved to lie on her lap and laugh until his stomach hurt.

  Lizzie often reminded him of his crabby behaviour when she rescued him. “Do you remember how mean you were to me? Aren’t you glad I believed there was a sweet boy under that crusty exterior?”

  Joey would give her an effusive kiss and agree wholeheartedly. “Yes indeed, I’m the luckiest cat in the world.”

  Never a Dull Moment

  Liam was the alpha cat and tended to be pretty bossy. His modus operandi was to creep over to a slumbering Milo and set the stage. With his ears flattened, eyes narrowed, and chin jutted out, he was a nightmare waiting to happen. Milo’s nightmare. Sometimes it took a minute, but his patience was rewarded when Milo, sensing something was amiss, opened his eyes and screamed like a sissy upon seeing Liam’s scary grimace an inch away from his face.

  Milo was livid that Liam intended to bunt him off his warm cushion. He collected his wits and bopped Liam’s nose to shoo him away. That sparked a raucous kerfuffle, and where one cat began and the other one ended was impossible to tell. When Lizzie arrived after the dust-up, Liam tried to bamboo
zle her with his “there’s nothing to see here” face. But with Milo’s fur stuck to his chin, there was no way to wriggle out of a guilty verdict.

  Occasionally, when Liam incited a quarrel, Milo asserted himself in an effort to hang on to his cushion. He huffed and snorted as he tried to blow Liam away like dandelion fluff. Milo appeared to be impersonating a comical pig, and Liam wasn’t the least bit daunted. Whenever Lizzie broke up a skirmish, she put Liam in a bedroom by himself to cool off. She told him he was having a time-out for bad behaviour.

  After two minutes by himself, Liam protested at the top of his lungs. “No fair, no fair. Teasing Milo is fun, and I always get bawled out for it.” Lizzie opened the door a few inches, and Liam’s hangdog face peered out.

  Milo, who presided over Liam’s detention, slapped him upside the head. “That’s what you get for picking on me.”

  Liam wasn’t deterred. Upon waking every morning, he deemed the slate wiped clean and provoked another wrestling match. Sometimes Liam was so pooped from tormenting Milo, he draped himself over the sofa to rest.

  Liam was smart enough to recognize it was in his best interests to heed Lizzie when she bellowed. This mostly occurred in the middle of the night when he wanted Milo’s spot next to Lizzie and was debating the benefits of beaning him. Liam considered himself a courageous cat, but the notion of Lizzie’s outburst if she were jolted out of her beauty sleep scared him silly. He recalled vividly the first time it had happened—the primal snarl of rage as she flung back the covers, yanked off her eye mask, flicked on the light, and caught him battling with Milo. Teeth bared, eyes wild—he’d never seen anything more bloodcurdling, even on a raccoon. He knew from experience he would be jettisoned outside the bedroom and have the door shut in his face. He had bristled with indignation when it dawned on him that he’d been banished. The others were sawing logs in there, and he was out in the hall? Oh, the humanity!