 The
Cat's Meow
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| Issue 8, Vol. 4 | Valentine's Cat | February 13, 2005 |
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How To Get Your Cat |
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Let's suppose that you are a woman (if you are a man, just reverse the pronouns) who has lived alone with her beloved cat for several years. You have recently met the love of your life and now have plans to consolidate households. There's only one small (and furry) obstacle to happily-ever-aftering -- Fluffy hates Prince Charming. First of all, try to see the situation from Fluffy's point of view. Once the apple of your eye and the recipient of nearly all of your attention while at home, now Fluffy has to wait for the Prince to leave before she gets a pat on the head. What's more, this two-legged competitor is larger, has a deeper voice than "Mom", and smells different (all very threatening to a housebound kitty). The enemy has even taken over some of Fluffy's favorite resting places (the last straw!). It's no wonder that she exhibits her stress by urinating on his jacket and hissing and growling whenever he makes an appearance. The Prince has won you over, now it's time for him to "court" Fluffy. (This can be difficult to convince the Prince to do if Fluffy has already demonstrated her feelings for him.) As food is always the fastest way to a cat's heart, have only the Prince feed Fluffy. He should remain in the room while she is eating -- in the beginning, the opposite side of the room. To shorten his stature, he should sit on a chair, or better yet, on the floor. If he wants to talk to Fluffy, he should talk in soft, high tones, avoiding "sss" sounds. Until Fluffy has shown some signs of relaxing in his presence, he should try not to stare directly at her. Keep in mind the importance of the role of scent in the cat's social life. Put a couple of the Prince's unwashed undershirts next to Fluffy's food dishes and favorite sleeping areas. You might consider donning one of his shirts or jackets when cuddling Fluffy. Make sure that the Prince's after-shave or cologne does not contain animal products (e.g., musk). The Prince should never seek Fluffy out, but should let her approach him when she is ready. (Forcing her to confront him, will only increase her level of stress and convince her that he should be feared.) A favorite toy tied to a long pole (or a fishing pole-type cat toy) will help the Prince interact positively with Fluffy from a distance. Once she sees him as the provider of wonderful things to eat and a potential source of entertainment, she can't help but acknowledge his usefulness. And when you see how determined he is to make friends with your other "significant other", then you will know that you have found your soul-mate. Reprinted from www.CatsInternational.org |
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A Midnight Dance of Cat and Mouse |
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There is an orange tabby, fluffy cat that lives across the street from us. I don't know its name, or even if it's a boy or girl, but I do enjoy watching this Morris lookalike as it lays peacefully on the porch or its lazily on the windowsill watching the world go by. This has got to be the most laid back cat I think I've ever seen. One afternoon, it came strolling up to my husband, Bill, and I, as we were getting out of the car. Our new furry friend followed us up to the front door, then turned back and plopped down in the middle of the street. Oblivious to the onslaught of traffic heading its way, the cat casually sprawled out, gracefully grooming itself, while we stood at the curb alerting the unsuspecting cars, fast approaching. The next day, I found out we weren't the only ones with an unusual tabby tale to tell. Our youngest daughter, Katie, was coming home late from work and noticed a strange occurrence by the light of the full moon. She saw the same sweet feline, still as a statue on the lawn across the street. A closer peek revealed what it was that was holding the tabby's attention -- a tiny mouse scampering through the blades of grass within reach of possibly razor sharp, menacing claws. Katie stood, silently observing, as this itty-bitty mouse flitted back and forth in an attempt to entice the kitty to play. Just when Katie was worried that this mini Mickey might become a midnight snack, the mouse did something totally unexpected. It stopped, looked up into the eyes of what is suppose to be his arch enemy and, reaching up on the tiniest of hind legs, he gave the cat what appeared to be a kiss on the nose. With the light of the full moon brightening up the surrounding darkness, Katie continued to watch as the unlikely duo played an innocent and heartfelt game of cat and mouse -- not one of the violent variety. Back and forth they tenderly interacted as two old and very wise friends. Listening to my daughter recount the experience, I got to wondering why it always shocks us when unusual acts of kindness go against the grain of what the world accepts as gospel. After all, aren't cats and mice supposed to act like the Tom and Jerrys of cartoon fame? Aren't we automatically conditioned to draw the line in the sand that our enemies dare not cross? At first, Katie couldn't believe what she was seeing. But it wasn't a case of her eyes playing tricks on her. Somewhere beyond the gates of heaven, a message of love from above was shining through, loud and clear. The cat and mouse enjoying a midnight dance together in the stillness of a moonlit night, under a star filled sky, answered the unending question: With love, aren't all things possible? Sent to The Cat's Meow by Hart Dowd |
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Bright
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Lost Love (A Cat Story) |
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A man sat alone in his room with his cat. He had known the cat for a long time, in fact, for most of his life. He and the cat were friends. The man was retired. He would read and listen to his records and talk to his cat. The cat liked it very much when the old man read to him. The old man read Nietszche and Conrad and Faulkner and Dostoyevsky. He read great works, and the cat would pause its washing and sit listening to the old man spin tales of hope and despair. Every day, the old man would go to the park and feed the pigeons, for it made him happy, and it helped to pass the time. The cat did not care for this diversion, but it let the old man go to the park, for the man still loved the cat. After all, the old man enjoyed it so, and who is a cat to interfere in the happiness of an old man? Then one day, things changed. The man came home from the park with a silly grin on his face. That night, over supper, the man told the cat about his woman he had met. She was so beautiful, he said, and had so much grace and culture. She had read all his favorite authors, and she knew Latin, and French. The man was love-struck, and the cat didn't know what to say, so it simply listened, and nodded wisely. The man went often to feed the pigeons, and to visit the park, and the woman, and the cat grew lonely. Soon the man was spending evenings with the woman, and once, he was gone the whole night. The cat fretted and fretted, but still it did not know what to do. For half a year, this continued. The man never forgot about his cat, but he began to treat it differently. Where before, he used to read Kafka to it, and leave the newspaper out for the cat to look at, he now called his cat fluffkins, and would give it din-dins. He gave the cat skratchies on the tum-tum. So, the cat decided that something had to be done. The cat first tried going to the park and scaring away all the pigeons, so the man would have no reason to leave the house. When this failed, he went to the woman's apartment, and hid her car keys between the seat cushions, and put runs in her stockings and salt in the sugar bowl, and unplugged her alarm clock. He mixed up all the numbers in her Roladex and plugged up her garbage disposal. But none of these measures seems to stop the old man from spending time with her, and time away from the cat. So the cat tried another ploy. He introduced the woman to a wealthy, thirty-year-old bachelor. She swooned and fell in love with him, and the two got married and were transferred by his company to another state. The old man grieved over the sudden loss of his sweetheart. He moped around the apartment all day, sometimes not even getting out of bed until well after mid-day. He spent hours talking to his cat about her. The cat listened to the old man, and kept silent, like a good friend should. One day, the man put on his coat and hat, and grabbed a loaf of bread from the counter. He was going back to the park, he declared. It was spring, and a new batch of pigeons had come to the park to replace the old ones the cat had scared away. The old man sat on the bench for most of the day, feeding the pigeons and thinking of his ex-lover. When he came back that evening, he told the cat about how he had forgotten the pleasure there was to be gained from feeding crumbs to the birds. He went to the park quite often after that, though he did not stay nearly as long. The cat did not try to stop him. After all, the old man enjoyed it so, and who is a cat to interfere with the happiness of an old man? © Travis Smith, 1992 Reprinted from Travis Smith's Personal Homepage |
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