The Cat's Breath Smells Like Dessert

by Elizabeth Jain

  “What on earth?” Lizzie mumbled.

  Exasperated, Liam tapped harder. “This is like trying to wake a hibernating bear.”

  Lizzie opened her eyes to see Liam sitting beside her pillow. He wanted to crawl under the top blanket—his secret fort. Most of the time he could wrangle it himself, but tonight he was having difficulty and needed Lizzie’s help. She lifted the blanket and he zoomed under. Thank goodness she figured out what he wanted because he was anxious to get back to his squirrel dreams.

  Hobbes, Milo, and Joey also slept alongside Lizzie. They formed one giant pillow, so she was toasty warm too. That arrangement was excellent for everyone during the winter months. Sometimes the cats changed positions and accidentally stepped on Liam, who was hidden under the blanket. He would yelp indignantly, but after a fleeting scuffle, everyone burrowed in the blankets and didn’t stir until the alarm sounded. When that happened, it was a toss-up as to who blared their resentment loudest, but Lizzie tended to edge them out as the winner.

  Fun and Games

  Hobbes loved hide-and-seek because he excelled at hiding and Lizzie sucked at finding. Being an only child for years, Hobbes was an ace at inventing games for his amusement.

  He got a kick out of disappearing when Lizzie was due to leave for work. Her hysteria became more absurd with each passing minute. Her stickler-for-the-rules boss refused to accept a misplaced pet as an excuse for tardiness. To Lizzie, it seemed a perfectly reasonable explanation. Clearly he did not live with a cat.

  One evening, Lizzie had gone into the closet to get a sweater before attending night class. When she returned three hours later, Hobbes wasn’t waiting to greet her, which was baffling. She called and called, but there was no answering meow. Lizzie hastened upstairs and heard howling coming from the walk-in closet. Hobbes had darted in without Lizzie realizing, and she’d closed the door. He’d had fun for a while, with tons of stuff to explore, but after that he wanted out.

  “Where’s my Lizzie? Why am I locked in the closet? I haven’t done anything naughty.” His faltering voice echoed in the dark space. He was beyond relieved when she opened the door. Lizzie apologized profusely and held him in a guilty hug. Hobbes forgave her and planted a resounding sandpaper smooch on her face.

  After that episode, Lizzie never left the house without knowing where Hobbes was. One morning, when she was late and he was hiding, she resorted to using his weakness against him. She went into each room and asked, “Does Hobbes want a hug?”

  Hobbes debated what to do. He was well hidden among boxes under her bed, so she couldn’t see him, although she’d checked twice. Picturing her running from room to room, looking under beds and in closets, tickled his funny bone. He desperately wanted a hug, but he also wanted to win. Lizzie repeated the tempting offer and, before he could stop himself, a little squeal snuck out. He clamped a paw over his mouth, but it was too late. Lizzie shoved a box and spotted a sheepish Hobbes. The jig was up, so he wriggled out and got his hug. Lizzie always kept her promises.

  Once Liam, Milo, and Joey moved in, it became more challenging for Lizzie to keep tabs on them. Hobbes had finessed the art of remaining taciturn when Lizzie called him. However, Lizzie outfoxed him when he wouldn’t come out, regardless of her offer of a hug. She fussed loudly over Liam, telling him he was the best cat and that she loved him to the moon and back. Hobbes listened with growing dismay from his hideout.

  “What’s this? I’m the best cat, and Lizzie has to love me the most.” He couldn’t condone such nonsense. He hurtled down the stairs and plopped himself in front of Lizzie. “I’m your best boy,” he protested.

  Lizzie scooped him up for a goodbye hug and whispered in his ear, “Of course you are, but don’t tell anybody.”

  Hobbes grinned widely. “I knew that was all just crazy talk.”

  Milo also loved to hide from Lizzie—right under her nose. He sat motionless among the stuffed animals as Lizzie walked past, calling for him. With nary a twitch to reveal his whereabouts, he gloated as she remained oblivious to his clever camouflage.

  Quite by accident, Liam discovered an outstanding place to hide while being chased by Joey. He was flying at top speed when he jumped on the dining room table, and the momentum propelled him to the top of the china cabinet, almost to the ceiling. He sat sphinxlike as a hornswoggled Joey looked everywhere for him. Lizzie walked by the cabinet and had an uncanny sensation of being watched, but no one was there. A slight movement from above caught her eye, and she screamed when she saw Liam’s floating head, his body nowhere in sight.

  Liam laughed so hard he nearly fell off the cabinet. “Lizzie sure is a cinch to scare, and I’m not even trying.”

  Joey and Milo decided to suss out Liam’s china cabinet roost. The view from that height was irresistible, and soon it was one of their choice hideaways. Lizzie never got used to the shock of a cat abruptly landing on the table from above, barely missing her dinner plate. She came to expect the unexpected with these cats, who behaved like chimps.

  Whenever nature programs featured monkeys, Joey was glued to the couch, mesmerized by their stunts. Seeing them ricochet helter-skelter from place to place triggered an idea. He figured if a monkey could be so nimble, what was stopping him? Nothing at all, it turned out, as he had the living room to himself. He set himself high on the launching pad of the china cabinet, took a deep breath, and flew through the air with his arms outstretched toward the chandelier. It all went so wrong, and he was stumped. Could the problem be his lack of monkey fingers? The last thing he remembered was the looming chandelier and reaching to grab on so he could swing from it. Instead, amidst a tremendous racket, he was showered with plastic missiles.

  He saw Lizzie whirl around in shock. She’d been preparing dinner and was stunned to hear the clatter of prisms hitting the dining room table. She thought someone had thrown a rock through the window. In the seconds it took Lizzie to get there, Joey had vamoosed and was hiding upstairs under the bed. He didn’t know what terrified him more—being caught in the crosshairs of the vicious chandelier attack or Lizzie when she discovered what he’d done. How was I to know I couldn’t swing from it? It looked super easy on TV.

  Lizzie sized up the now-bare chandelier. One plastic prism remained, still swaying. Miraculously, none of the light bulbs had shattered. She sighed as she gathered fifty-five pieces strewn over the table and floor and began the task of hanging them back on their hooks. “Joey, you should join a bowling league after that achievement.”

  Joey wasn’t about to rumble with the chandelier again, but it had whet his appetite for gymnastics. How exhilarating it was to soar through the air with abandon. He pondered the ways he could display his athletic prowess that wouldn’t involve breaking anything and driving Lizzie bananas. The opportunity presented itself that same day. He was stretched out on the kitchen chair, practising his manoeuvres, when Milo strolled past, tail high in the air.

  Joey couldn’t resist a tail waving in front of his eyes, so he grabbed it with both hands while Milo vehemently vocalized his objections. This was all part of their frequent game, but Joey was eager to show off his newly acquired skills. As soon as Milo turned his back, Joey clamped his front paws on the chair rail and swung in a spectacular arc. He kept his feet together for better marks—the Olympics had been must-see TV—and commenced the dismount. Right on target, his feet slammed into Milo, who swatted Joey to let him know he’d gone too far. Joey was tickled pink with his success and bounded back up in the chair for another round.

  Joey’s Jeremiad

  Joey’s favourite pastime was nestling next to Lizzie on the couch while watching Bondi Vet. He loved how the vets used their gentle touch and soothing voices to care for animals. Every creature imaginable was featured—elephants, koala bears, Tasmanian devils, kangaroos, birds, pythons, mice, rabbits and, of course, cats and dogs. With numerous Bondi Vet episodes under his belt, Joey considered himself an authority on compassion. From his window seat in the upstairs bedroom, he saw horr
ible things happening to dogs walking with their owners. Some dogs had straps, called gentle leaders, fastened so tightly around their muzzles that it prevented their mouths from opening. Joey knew that panting enabled dogs to cool down in warm weather. If their bodies overheated, they could become severely ill or die from heat stroke. People used gentle leaders to discourage dogs from tugging on the leash.

  Joey gave an audible tut. “Their parents should use a harness instead. Why don’t they realize they’re causing harm?”

  Joey was proud of Lizzie for taking up the cause on behalf of mistreated animals. She spoke up whenever she witnessed it. Dog owners were filled with remorse after realizing how their pets were suffering. A woman Lizzie spoke with in the park immediately loosened the strap and was horrified to see her dog’s tongue fall almost to the ground as he feverishly panted. Joey rapped on the glass with his velvet paw and admonished offenders through the closed window. “You nincompoops need to smarten up. Lizzie can’t save all dogs by herself.”

  Another act of cruelty that stuck in Joey’s craw was when people jogged or rode bicycles in hot weather while their dogs struggled beside them. If passers-by happened to glance upward, they’d see an apoplectic cat in the window, voicing his opinion.

  “What a heartless thing to do to man’s best friend. They’d stop that behaviour if they were wearing a fur coat themselves. Their sweltering dogs have no choice but to run, and meanwhile, they’re becoming dangerously hot, with their organs literally cooking. And why don’t these people carry water bottles? Their dogs are dying for a drink.”

  Sally, the Goldendoodle, limped into view with her dad. They were Lizzie’s neighbours, and Joey had heard the sad tale about Sally through the local gossip mill. For years, she had ridden with her parents in the car and loved hanging her head out an open window. One day, a jackhammer blasted as they drove by a construction site, and Sally was so terror-stricken that she leapt out the window. Her injuries were severe and required several surgeries, but she wasn't restored to her happy-go-lucky self. Sally's parents felt enormous guilt for not using a dog seat belt to keep their beloved pet safe.

  Joey wished he could spread the word about two issues that upset him more than anything else. The first one was declawing cats. When he lived on the streets, he met Jenny, a pretty calico who had been declawed, and she was finding survival to be a grim prospect. She told Joey she once had a home, but one day she slipped outside when someone forgot to close the door. She wanted to smell the daffodils in the garden but got side-tracked chasing a butterfly and—poof—she was lost and alone. She would be in dire straits when she needed to defend herself. She had no claws to scratch an attacking animal, and she couldn’t climb trees to get out of reach. She’d already dodged tragedy by a whisker in the brief time she’d been outside. A hole under a fence allowed her to escape the jaws of an aggressive dog off his leash.

  Jenny’s family had her declawed when they adopted her because they assumed she would scratch the furniture. She tried to tell them that all she wanted was a tall scratching post made of rough material. They didn’t understand what her agitated meows meant, and off she went to the vet. Jenny’s feet would have been spared if she’d been taken to a vet who refused to maim a defenseless cat in such an egregious manner. Humane vets explained to parents why they don’t declaw cats. The procedure was not a simple one like trimming nails; it was an amputation of the end of each toe. Jenny was doomed with the vet her parents chose, and she cried and cried, not wanting part of her toes chopped off. No one listened. It wasn’t fair that she couldn’t stop them from mutilating her feet. They were her feet, and she wanted them to function the way nature had intended. When she woke up from surgery and saw her painful, bandaged feet, she whimpered in anguish.

  “I can’t walk normally with pieces of my toes missing, and what will I do when I’m itchy? People would go nuts if they didn’t have nails. Imagine trying to get rid of an itch by rubbing it.”

  Joey was heartsick when he heard of Jenny’s misfortune and hoped a caring person had taken her in since they last spoke. He thanked his lucky stars Lizzie had welcomed him into her family and that his toes and claws remained intact. Lizzie purchased a marvellous scratching post for her boys—the Sisal Cat Scratching Post from the Felix Katnip Tree Company. When she removed it from the box, Liam hugged it and didn’t want to let go long enough for it to be assembled.

  The cats balanced on the top and rubbed their faces against it for a scratch. The rough material was perfect for hooking their nails into when stretching their shoulder and back muscles. Poor Jenny would never be able to do that again.

  Joey’s second grievance was just as heartbreaking—parents who turned their pets into unhealthy, obese victims of kindness. People thought it was kind to leave food available in a dish all day. Prior to Lizzie adopting him, Joey chatted with a chubby white cat sunning on his porch. Joey leapt to the top railing and introduced himself. Fred was the roundest cat Joey had ever seen.

  “Where are your legs?” he asked solemnly.

  Fred looked downcast. “They’re under these rolls of fat, and I can’t recall when I last saw them. I miss the days when I could jump like that,” he said, eying Joey with envy.

  “Why aren’t you svelte, the way a cat is supposed to be?” inquired Joey.

  “I used to be trim, but my parents leave food out for me. When I’m bored I eat it, hungry or not.”

  “What utter nonsense.” Joey scoffed at the idea. “How tough can it be to feed you twice a day? Why aren’t they putting your well-being ahead of their own laziness?” Joey was a passionate soul, frequently on his soapbox.

  Fred’s parents took for granted he was healthy, but his joints hurt from the extra weight, and it was getting harder to step into the litter box. That was going to lead to a whole new set of problems with his parents. They would conclude Fred was misbehaving by not using it. One day soon, his sham would be exposed when it was too agonizing to walk another step and he collapsed.

  “What will happen to me then?” he asked Joey, his voice full of angst. His chin quivered as he fought to regain his composure.

  Joey had no answers, and his eyes welled up in empathy. Devising a plan with the vet to help Fred slowly lose weight was his mom and dad’s responsibility.

  Fred was no longer enjoying life. His days were tedious because he was too fat to move. People joked at his expense, saying it must be nice to lead such an existence. Some went as far as to say his roly-poly girth was funny. If they only knew how awful it was. He couldn’t reach parts of his body to wash himself, and feeling grubby was causing him stress. He reminisced about the days when he was capable of grooming himself properly so that he looked and smelled nice. As sore as Fred was with arthritis, his situation was going to worsen as he developed the same health complications as overweight humans. He was more susceptible to diabetes and liver disease, and his lifespan would be shorter than that of a cat at the correct weight.

  Fred said wryly, “Joey, contrary to popular belief, a fat cat is not a happy cat. My parents have no clue how I’m suffering. You know how stoic cats are—we hide pain as a survival instinct.”

  Joey nodded in agreement and wished he could help Fred as he watched him languish.

  Months later, after Lizzie saved him, Joey would reflect on his tête-à-tête with Fred when Liam arrived home from a check-up and flounced out of his carrier with a self-satisfied smirk.

  “What’s with the smug mug?” Joey quipped.

  Liam got a charge out of boasting about his visit. “The vet gushed over my sparkling teeth, fresh breath, and sleek physique.”

  Dr. Milena had given him a superb score for body condition and said she rarely saw that. Most of her clients were convinced a rotund cat was normal, and nothing could be further from the truth. Cats were meant to be lean so they could squeeze into narrow spaces. The vet would tactfully remind parents to feed their pets properly and go easy on the treats.

  Lizzie was grateful to the les
s tactful veterinarian who had tended to her dear cats Garfield and Munchkin for many years. In her no-nonsense manner, Dr. Laurie announced that Garfield needed to lose two pounds gradually over a year. The additional weight was creating health concerns that would diminish his quality of life. Lizzie thought she was spoiling Garfield with a brimming bowl of food left out for grazing, but it made sense that it was a poor decision. Healthy people weren’t round-the-clock nibblers. They knew that proper meals and sensible portions were key to feeling good. Why would pets be any different? Lizzie followed Dr. Laurie’s advice and gave Garfield the recommended serving twice a day. He returned to his ideal weight and lived to be a spry 20-year-old.

  Hobbes, Liam, Milo, and Joey were all trim, and Lizzie plopped them on the scales weekly to keep them on track. She put their dishes away between meals so they wouldn’t expect random snacking. They were in tip-top shape and romped together with the energy of kittens. Lizzie intended to give them the best life possible.

  Holiday Hoopla

  Whenever Lizzie headed out, she told her boys where she was going and when she would return. Today she was off to visit her dear friend Donna, who was 100 years old. Donna was sad that her declining health had prevented her from having a cat the past few years. She missed the company of a purring fluffball and was cheered when Lizzie regaled her with the latest cat caper. She shook her head and laughed upon hearing about Liam’s relentless mischief. Donna was going blind and missed reading too. Lizzie had an idea. She took her favourite cat book to Donna’s apartment. The title was The Cat Who Came for Christmas by Cleveland Amory. As Lizzie predicted, Donna said she couldn’t see well enough to read anymore. Lizzie suggested she ask her friends and family to read a chapter aloud when they came to visit daily. Donna was thrilled that everyone was happy to read the book, and soon she and her visitors were captivated by the adventures of Polar Bear the cat. And, more good news—two additional books featured Polar Bear: The Cat and the Curmudgeon and The Best Cat Ever.