It's been a rough week around here after the horrid demise of two of the cats. The youngest son still isn't quite sure what to do with his anger. And honestly, I'm still devastated.
I'm a cat lover. Have been since I was an itty bitty thing. My mom has photos of me as a baby with a cat cuddled at my feet while I slept. Guess she didn't buy into that whole "cat stealing a baby's breath" thing.
A quick perusal shows even more photos of me always dragging around a cat, dressing it in doll clothes, and other acts of forcing the poor critters into submission by cramming my feline friends into doll carriages and highchairs.
Since we live in a small, rural sort of town, my home has become a revolving door of cat rescues and arrivals. If a cat shows up on my doorstep hungry, it gets fed. This drives my husband insane. It's come close to being grounds for divorce on several occasions. Yet, it doesn't stop me from taking care of strays.
About a month ago, Mr. Biggs came up missing. It wasn't so unusual not to see him for a few days considering he's a tom cat with tom cat business to see to from time to time. He'd show up for a few days, get himself a bite to eat, recoup, and hit the road again for a few more evenings out with the lady cats.
About a month ago, no more Mr. Biggs. Or Biggie, Biggie Butt, Biggsey Boy, or Nut Boy (which is what my husband called him). I'd more or less written him off as dead. It happens. And I know if you want to keep a cat alive and well, keeping it inside is the best place for it. But I figure if they're free-spirited enough to want to go roam about, I'm not stopping them. And if they were strays to begin with, well, I do my part giving them food and love. If they want to hang about outside, stop in for a while, then I'm okay with that, too. I've got a few "insider" cats, but most go out after they're done eating and napping.
Well, today, I was filling the outside food bowl when I caught a glimpse of a large tiger cat walking towards me. I paused as my brain tried to fill in what was wrong with the picture. It was then that I realized oh holy crap, Mr. Biggs is back!
I honestly didn't think I'd ever see him again. He'd been gone a long time. My son thought I was having some sort of fit at the back door, yelling and oh my gawding.
Biggsey came in, had something to eat, and plopped down on my son's lap where he proceeded to purr and drool incessantly. I guess he was so happy, he couldn't control his spit.
He got down and settled in for a nap.
He doesn't look too enthralled, does he? I think the look says, "Just what in the hell is that?"
That is Little Turtle, apparently the brother of the poor little yellow kitten who was murdered by the Pit Bull. Little Turtle is the new Shrek. My son is coercing the poor kitten into submission, trying to get him trained to sleep on his pillow and love him just like his poor ole cat Shrek did.
This is Gunter, or Gunnar, depending on whether you're feeling German when you call him by name. He's also Gunny, Gunny Butt, and Gunny Sack. Gunny was an orphan. His mother showed up, gave birth to him and five other kittens. She abandoned them, and he was the only survivor. He was taken care of by another mother cat. I also bottle fed the little crossed-eyed freak. God, I love him.
His look back to Biggs seemed to say something like, "Dude, I don't know where this thing came from."
Anyway, I've become one of those people who posts photos of their cats. Heaven help me, I didn't think I'd get this boring, but I'm glad Mr. Biggs is back. It warmed my heart to see him again, and helped to ease just a little bit of the grief.
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3 comments:
Do you have 86 cats in a NYC apartment? Nope? Then the I'm-a-crazy-cat-lady trophy is not yours. Heh. I had a neighbor down the street from where my mom now lives that housed a minimum of 25 cats but that was before people really started to complain about such things and our neighborhood was no where near the city at the time(now it's surrounded by housing developments and industrial parks).
I meant to say this on the previous blog but if that dog came from an abusive home, it more than likely needs to be put down. I hate to say that but if it's that dangerous then it could very well cause far more problems down the line that an apology won't solve. I mean what would it have done to a baby? Animal control would recommend the same, I believe.
P.S. You should have posted this on August 2nd cause that's a "Caturday"(fark.com meme).
I'm not the crazy cat lady just yet. When the "Cat Lady" is on "The Simpsons," my kids always say, "Look, there's mom." My oldest likes to make the crazy cat lady noises in response to when I've come unglued about something. Such a comedian.
My youngest son claims that one day when I'm widowed and old, they'll come visit. They'll wonder why I smell so bad, and then they'll realize I haven't been showering because I turned the bathtub into a giant litter box.
About the dog - yes, that's what I wondered. When it ran out of our yard, it was seeing red. It didn't just go play too rough with a couple cats. It killed, and not by accident. I really hate to think if the neighbor's niece or his girlfriend's daughter had been out in his yard playing, where the dog took off like a dart.
But you're right. They've got a lawsuit waiting to happen at the end of that leash.
Pretty kitties!
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