The New Cat

I have shared my life and my home with many fur buddies over the last forty plus years. Six dogs and too many cats to remember at the age of 70 have puked, shit, and torn up our home from time to time over that period. For every irritating stupid pet trick they pulled, I still came back for more. Pets, no, I can't call them pets; ..... my diminutive four legged fur buddies have enriched my life and probably when it is all said and done and I sit in an urn on the mantel as a pile of crusty dust , well, someone may just note that the furry members of my family kept me sane when I needed to be the most.

Which brings me to the new cat.

We went through a period twenty plus years ago or so when we were fostering momma kitties and sick kittens. At the time we had I am guessing, 8 or 9 other full time feline inmates we called our own. It was a madhouse of too many litter boxes and never ending barf detail. My wife, the accountant, can give you more precise numbers, but let's just say we were tripping over the little bastids. And contrary to the image that I am a contrary ole fart, I was loving Life. Bring em on.

We found our limit. Told ourselves no more new cats. We successfully abstained from adoption or fostering until there was only one cat and one dog left. I reveled in the fact that we now only had one litter tray and the random acts of barfing had become almost non-existent.

But, the quiet and solitude would not last. After three years, neither my wife nor I were happy with just the two critters. We were happiest I guess when the house had more feet zooming around.

I waited for my wife to kick the new pet notion into gear. I waited because if it didn't pan out I wanted to not be the one who had suggested it ........ Nah, I waited for her because I knew she would not be able to stand it. She lasted longer than I thought she would.

Once the idea of a new cat had settled in, she began the online search for one from the available kitties at the NH humane Society where my daughter is the Projects and Program Manager. 

She found a female cat she thought might be good. Named "Squiggle", she was two years old and all black. Black cats don't get adopted as fast as other cats. 

So. we get her home and my wife has come up with a detailed plan to ease Squiggle into our small community. We'll keep her isolated for a time and then slowly introduce her to Maggie and Felix, AKA Peanut, AKA, Little Asshole.This sane introduction lasted two days and then anarchy ensued. 

Maggie likes cats and apparently Squiggle is familiar with dogs and their stupid ways, so nothing more than some warning hisses that Maggie was all to happy to honor. The problems came when Felix and Squiggle had their first face to face.

We had been concerned about Felix attacking Squiggle as he is a tom and tends to strut around like he is some kind of badass. Now mind you, Felix might weigh in at an impressive 7 pounds. Squiggle might hit 5 pounds. Just to look at them, neither was intimidating in any way. 

The first day barriers were cast aside, it did not take long to hear hissing and growling of the kind we know is probably accompanied by claws out slashing. Just as I stand up, Felix comes barreling downstairs while Squiggle sits at the top of the stairs looking demur and cute. She turns around and heads back to her throne on a dresser in the bedroom. 

My little buddy is crushed now. His ego has been bruised and he knows Squiggle is the boss and he is just another asshole under her paw.

We have been through this kind of realignment several times in our past. Sadly Felix, AKA Peanut, AKA, Little Asshole has not. It's been 3 days now and he is still sulking.

Keep it 'tween the ditches .................................................

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I am getting better at finding tunes for my posts. Of course, now that I have begun bragging, my next choice will hide for hours. ......... Anyway, today's tune is "Bohemian Catsody". Not sure who arranged it. Enjoy!