Kitty Meadow

One of the best things about my life is the time I spend alone with my kitties. Like any four friends we have developed a special style of communicating. They sound pretty much how you would expect. Some chirps, purrs, meows and all completely adorable. On the other hand I use my “cat voice”. It is loud and high pitched. If that weren’t enough most statements end with “MEOW, MEOWMEOWMEOW”. For instance I might say when I find Roverlee eating something she shouldn’t ” NOW THAT’S NOT WHAT A GOOD KITTY DOES, RUBBER BANDS ARE YUCKY!!! M,MMM! (Shorthand for you know what)
While here in the house no big deal. They really do respond to it. Most mornings I open up my “beauty parlor” and give them a chance to face the day freshly coiffed. When done my “cat voice” doles out the rewards. DOES ANYONE WANT A TREET!!!! WHERE ARE THEY? ARE THEY IN HERE? M, MMM? (Picture me pointing to the cabinet where they are stored. Cats swarming, pandemonium without the pandas.) YOU ARE RIGHT!!! M, MMM! Phyllis crunches as she eats her hard treats. The Sisters munch quietly on soft treats. What could go wrong?
Sooner or later I must leave the confines of The Little Blue House. Fact is my “cat voice” comes with me. If I encounter a cute baby I inevitably stop and remark OH, LOOK AT YOU, M, MMM! YOU SMELL A LITTLE FUNNY BUT YOU ARE SO CUTE, M, MMM!
This can be awkward. Not nearly as difficult as my encounters with dogs. Almost always dogs smell better than babies. Problem is the owners of dogs are more sensitive than the owners of babies when it comes to how you address them. Small dogs present the biggest dilemma. The first M,MMM and the owner feels insulted. I am NOT calling your dog a cat. As if! It’s just that I don’t have a “dog voice”. My “cat voice” has to cover all cute things. If I knew a way to make dogs smell a little worse while making their owners a little less sensitive that would be ideal. I’LL KEEP YOU POSTED! M, MMM!

Matt decided a little string fun was in order after I got home from work tonight. And BOY were the girls happy! Poor Rosie had a hard time keeping up!

I was awaken this morning by Matt dry spitting and saying, “Oh GOD Phyllis! Eww! Ewww!”

When I asked what was going on Matt said, “Well, I always ask Phyllis for a kitty kiss in the morning and usually she runs up to me and touches her wet little nose on my chin. Well, she just slipped me some tongue and it GROSSES me out! Yuk!“

I was laughing SO hard. But I managed to go right back to sleep.

Please note there are no kitties in these photos! Smart kitties. I warned them that little animals were coming to visit.

Hi-
At the beginning of my foray into blogging I let you know that I cared little for felines. In point of fact I never wanted cats at all. As I mentioned though I agreed to help a friend in need by minding a cat while she found more feline friendly living arrangements. That’s when I met Tumbleweeds. She was dropped off with more luggage than I would take on a weeks vacation and a poop box. Her owner was at the point of tears and I was thinking “Oh, for the love of Pete! It’s just a cat!” That was most likely the moment that my father and St. Francis chuckled softly, shook their heads and decided I needed to be taught a lesson.

You see I had deep wounds left over from the turmoil of my childhood. Only I had yet to see it that way. Most people around me did though. It wasn’t hard. I was quick tempered and confrontational. I refused to reform my drinking and fist-fighting because it seemed to be who I was. My identity was at stake and after all I had survived by fighting. I just couldn’t stop. At the slightest irritation my temper would flare and then the yelling would start.

The first afternoon with Tumbleweeds was going along great. She explored and acclimated and I went about my business. This is great I was thinking. She does her thing and I do mine. Then it happened. A friend was with me and we were at odds over something. I yelled at the top of my lungs. That cat immediately ran for cover and did not come out for a long time. No amount of coaxing would bring her out and it was obvious she was terrified. Something broke deep down inside me. I knew how she felt. I had been that scared and been forced to hide. Not only was I sorry for what I had done but I also felt deep sorrow for being blind to the effects my behavior was having on others. I knew then that a change had to happen in me.

I apologized to Tumbleweeds and stopped trying to coax her out. She needed time to regain her sense of safety and I respected that. I asked St. Francis for guidance and forgiveness. Eventually Tumbleweeds made her way out and I never raised my voice in her presence again.

Like you, my life has been filled with challenges. In the face of whatever the world was throwing at me it was comforting to center myself with this question. “How the hell did I get myself into this mess?”. As time passed however the futility of this approach became apparent. As the Zen Master so wisely said “When struck with an arrow does one ask, ” What wood is the shaft made of? What bird surrendered the feathers to keep it true?”. “No! You pull the arrow out and do your best to stem the bleeding.” So gradually the question became “Where is the Emergency exit and can I possibly outrun these angry villagers?” My latest challenge has left me begging for angry villagers. I am taking care of an old person. A very unpleasant one. To be fair I don’t know of any pleasant ones but I have met old people who were less unpleasant and that’s all I have to judge it by.

How does one recognize an old person? Could one be living in your midst? Use this simple two part test. First notify them that the record player has stopped working. It’s not important that the record player really be on the blink, this is a ruse you see. If they say “It was my turn to wind it, please forgive me” it is likely you are dealing with an old person. To positively confirm the fact go to your refrigerator and remark how the milk feels a tad warm. Again, you need not heat the milk, this is an elaborate deception remember. If the person asks “Well what day does the iceman deliver?” then the case my friends is most decidedly closed.

It’s impossible to explain, at least until the statute of limitations runs out, how I came to be responsible for an old person. Let me just say that if this were a sitcom, I would be playing the part of the Wacky Neighbor, forever getting mixed up in hilarious hijinks. Like bathing the elderly-cue the laugh track. In all honesty there are some lighthearted moments. We play games together to pass the time. If my old person says ” I know I came in the living room for a reason, now what was it? ” I gamely suggest some possible reasons. If it were a Sunday I might offer ” You came out to watch Ed Sullivan with me silly. Stiller and Meara are on for sure and maybe those guys who spin the plates on poles will be on too”. This would never work on a Monday. You probably see this coming but I might say “Don’t you remember that last week Gunsmoke was a TO BE CONTINUED. All week you have been on pins and needles about how Festus would escape those gypsies, or was it Comanches? Either way, pull up a chair!” We no longer play Hide the Dentures. Suffice it to say that once he found out he still had his own teeth the two hour search had angered the bee in his bonnet exponentially.

So why do I do it? It’s just that he had a cat named Tiger. Once you have a cat like that you miss him terribly and ache inside when he leaves you. I wondered what made Tiger so special so I asked. Holding the sterling silver tin that contained Tiger’s ashes my old person just choked up. I get it I told him. I know three cats just like that.

Throughout our time together my goal has been to clearly explain the circumstances that led to my current awkward situation. It has probably become painfully obvious that I am not a “cat person”. It is not always easy being caretaker and confidante to three four legged ciphers, especially against one’s will. Three factors were working to prepare me for the difficult task ahead. First my father, a stoic of sorts but prone to fits of temper. The second factor was my mother, a martyr of sorts but prone to fits of giggling. The third factor involved a stranger who spoke no English. He shared this bit of wisdom with me, “Arriba ya del caballo, hay que aguantar los respingos.” Whenever the three mischief makers seem to be getting the upper hand that old proverb gives me the boost I need.

Woody Allen said, “I know a lot about art, but I just don’t know what I like”. This roughly describes my spiritual life up til the time the two kittens joined Phyllis. Now don’t think that this is in anyway a reflection on the Trinity. Feathers can be ruffled and feelings hurt when Trinitarian terminology is taken lightly. As you no doubt remember there was quite a dust up regarding the Holy Spirit around 1000 A.D. Was the Holy Spirit descended through the Son or from the Son? Now for these folks the answer to this question determined how you would spend eternity. Today it seems people struggle to find something to do on a rainy afternoon that doesn’t bore them. The bloom has gone off the rose of eternity, you might say. As for me the final straw was the sacking of Constantinople in 1203. I am Irish after all and an 800 year grudge is a cinch. Don’t just say your sorry about sacking the city. You have to mean it! Now I’m mad all over again.

Simply put, the arrival of the little ones gave me a new dilemma. Phyllis was being raised a Catholic. Her chewing on crucifixes didn’t start till the little ones got here. Hold off on judging her just yet while we dissect the situation with regard to Renatta. She dabbled in VooDoo, this much was clear. Youthful indiscretion I later decided. As a Siamese American was she gazing Eastward for guidance? Shintoism seemed like a good fit. Then she began vocalizing intently for no apparent reason, especially in front of closed doors where she was not welcome. Shazam! She was half Unitarian, half Jehovah’s witness. She was persistent in the face of a closed door, that explained the Witness in her background. When you opened the door however she had nothing to say, at least nothing that made sense. This was her Unitarian side. Suddenly I understood that scene in The Miracle Worker when Patty Duke quits acting up. Subsequently she is sent back into a tail-spin when her identical cousin shows up. But you already knew that.

Next week Phyllis goes Eucharistic and Rosalie comes along and hopes for an old fashioned all you can eat loaves and fishes buffet!

So, at 3AM this morning, guess who is yowling outside the door? Ms. Renatta! You guessed it! So, Matt goes to the door and says, “Hi Renatta. What’s going? You wanna come in?” She looks up at him quietly, turns and walks away. Then Phyllis and Rosalie come buzzing right on in!

Matt was really mad! LOL hehe

Curiosity killed the….

Well, maybe not, but it sure was a BIG surprise to Matt when little miss Bandit (aka Renatta) decided she wants part of the Bunches of Oats!