pet connection

As I’m writing this, Squash, a 3-year-old orange and white cat, is trying to work her way onto my keyboard. She began her journey by jumping up on my desk and settling herself on a pile of papers to the right of my keyboard. Purring loudly, she told me she was quite happy to be close to me and really, this was all she wanted.

When my attention left her and went back to my work, she gracefully rearranged herself so she was off the papers and on to the desk and her tail began flipping so it hit my hands. No problem, if I can’t work with a cat tail flipping around I shouldn’t be a cat owner.

The next step in her – I’m sure – calculated plan was to turn so she was still on the desk but could reach my hands with a front paw. No claws were used – she knows that will get her dumped unceremoniously off the desk – but a pristine white paw will reach out and gently batt my my hands as I try to ignore her.

When that didn’t work, she simply got up and tried to lie down on the keyboard; all seven or eight pounds of her. That got her the attention she was trying to get in the first place. I gathered her in my arms, leaned back in my chair, and with her cuddled to my chest, I laughed and petted her. And she purred some more.

I am a pretty good dog trainer. But I am a horrible cat trainer; I let the cats train me. I know it; I admit it; I recognize I have a problem and should be admitted to Cat Owners Anonymous (COA). If there isn’t a COA, there should be!

I grew up with cats and can’t remember a time when I didn’t share my home with at least one cat. My husband grew up with dogs and horses. His Mom raised Standardbred horses and Dobermans. When she passed away, he and his Dad had Dachshunds. But no cats. So when we married, I told him cats came with me as a part of the deal. And although it was quite an adjustment for him, now he enjoys the cats as much as I do.

Today we have three cats; Squash and her litter sister, Pumpkin, and Xena, the Warrior Princess. All three are rescues. Squash and Pumpkin were rescued in the fall three years ago (hence their names) by the daughter of a friend of mine. She had seen a litter of kittens outside and had been watching them for a few days but had never seen the mother cat. When coyotes started picking off some of the kittens, she caught the last two and hid them in her room. Since they already had several cats her Mom told her to find homes for the kittens. So they ended up at my house.

Prior to Squash and Pumpkin, Paul and I had never had sibling kittens. All our cats had joined us one at a time. However, I think in the future we will rescue siblings as these two have been so much fun. They have a wonderful bond with each other and can play, play fight, chase, and ambush each other and then will curl up together. When they’re tired, they will groom each other and then sleep curled up in one big orange and white ball.

Last night as Paul and I were watching the TV, it sounded like a herd of horses was charging down the hall. It was just these two  — both with tails all poofed out as if they had seen a ghost. They ran from one cat tree in the back bedroom all the way down the hall to the cat tree in the living room. They leap in the air so they grab onto the cat trees half way up the six foot height. Then as a sister charges up the tree in pursuit, the one at the top leaps off and dashes back to the other end of the house.

When they play this game, they hit the cat trees so hard I was worried the cat trees would topple over so I put a couple of concrete blocks in the base of each. After a few dashes back and forth, the cats stopped and began grooming each other.

Meanwhile, watching them, Paul and I are laughing so hard our sides hurt.

Xena was about six or seven weeks old when I caught her in the local grocery store parking lot dodging cars. This teeny tiny thing was panic stricken and dashing here and there as cars drove past. So I kind of herded her (I DO have herding dogs!) into an island in the parking lot with a tree and some shrubs. As she hid there, panting, I was able to reach down and grab her. I stuck her in my shirt so she could get some body warmth and hear my heart beat as I drove home. We named her Xena because she is, in all respects, a warrior princess.

For the most part, the dogs ignore the cats while they’re playing because they know if they try to get in the middle of the game, a nose will be swatted. Archer, the youngest dog, has the hardest time. He wants to play so much and once in a while the cats will let him. But he’s such a clumsy puppy eventually he becomes too rough and a cat will swat his nose. Then his feelings are hurt, he cries, and comes looking to me for sympathy. I have to admit, I give him some but I also laugh. Poor baby.

Pumpkin likes to torment the dogs. She knows they are all slightly afraid of her – or at least wary – so when a dog is lying down in the living room, she will come rub up against them. She will arch her back under the dog’s chin, and rub her head on their front legs. Archer and Riker just freeze when she does this but Bashir has decided if she’s allowed to do that, he can respond. So he begins to wash her ears as she rubs. She’ll allow it initially but then I’m sure the sloppy dog tongue is just too much and she will move away so she can clean all the dog germs off her otherwise immaculate coat.

Of course as all this happens, I am laughing.

Image: Pumpkin, soon after she was rescued.