Nutty Cats
Cats. Lovely, beautiful, glorious cats. I have been a cat fiend all my life, even when the downstairs neighbor's cat scratched me when I was a little girl. I think what first attracted me to them was their soft fur and their smallness. Their perfectly formed faces with little upside down triangular noses, bright eyes that see right through you, and whiskers that sweep majestically around their perfect little pink mouths with tiny sharp teeth, also ensnared me.
But I never really had cats until we moved here. There were several that visited us in our apartment in Boston, but they weren't ours. They just knew of a house where they could eat for free, and lie on beds all stretched out for their naps, so they came on over. Here, we have had various different cats, most of them descendants of a cat we found one night, when my then boyfriend and I were coming home from a date in Vilagarcía. On the road back, we found the scene of an accident. A car had gone out off the road, but its occupants were okay and the car didn't seem to have much damage. They had swerved to avoid hitting a cat, and ended up in a wide ditch. We stopped to ascertain all was well, and then we hunted for the cat. My boyfriend/future husband found it on the other side of the road, hiding in the ditch by a road sign. He picked it up and it promptly bit him on the thumb. It happened to be a kitten not much larger than his hand. This tiny morsel of fur had caused this accident. We took it home, discovered it was a girl, and named it Cleopatra. She became our first pet when we were married.
Since then, thanks to her descendants, we have had many cats. Most were outdoor cats which ended up disappearing in the woods, or hit by cars, or decimated by strange illnesses. At present we have three cats inside the house, and various barn/basement/field cats outside. There's not a mouse nor a rat to be seen. They've taken the hint that it's safer to pester other houses. Our indoor cats now are older cats, the oldest is twelve, and the youngest is seven. But when they were younger they created enough havoc. We have a wooden cover for the electric mains switches next to the front door. The cover is decorative and can easily open to access the switches. One early morning years ago, there was a loud crash in the hallway. One of our young cats, still thinking he was a lightweight kitten, had jumped on it and torn it from the screws holding it to the wall. In his jump he broke one of its boards. We set it aside, and when the cat was older, we fixed it and put it back in its place. By then, his kittenish side had calmed down.
We have a small Christmas tree which we always set up on a small round table in front of the window in the kitchen. We began to do that when our daughter was little, so she wouldn't touch it and accidentally knock it down. But that's just what the cats would do. Every morning we found it knocked down or leaning against the wall because one of the cats found it fascinating to be able to climb an indoor tree. I ended up getting the drill, boring holes, and then finding thin copper wires to pass through the holes and wrap around the feet of the tree, fastening it firmly. From then on, we would hear the shiver and tingle of something within the tree, but it stayed in its place. Not so the ornaments. Some of them were too tempting, and ended up far from the tree. Much later, moving furniture, we would find disappeared plastic balls, and then have to get out the Christmas boxes to put them away. Macarena, now older, still loves to sit under the tree and watch the twinkly lights, hoping some of them will decide to hover within range so she can swat them.
Food is generally safe, but only because I remember to put it away and don't leave it out on the counter unless it is firmly covered. In Boston, my mother once left out fish on a plate. One of the visiting cats discovered it, and was last seen fleeing the scene of the crime with a fish in his mouth, dropping some scales behind him in his haste. In our home, any roses that come in have to be guarded against our youngest, Anton. I don't know why, but whenever he sees a rose it's almost as if he were seeing a box of chocolates. Tempting, delectable, with a myriad of flavors that tickle the palate. All roses that enter the house end up being chewed. The thing is, he knows he does wrong, so when he sees me, and he's just been snacking on a rose, his eyes grow big, he slinks down to the floor, and rushes out of the room like an exhalation.
The oldest, Nuxca, short for Matrionuxca, had a pastime that was innocent enough, but would send us into paroxysms of laughter every time we saw her. She would sit on the balustrade with her bottom against the large ball. She would wiggle her bottom and run up the balustrade to the top. There, she would hunker down, grab the balustrade with her arms and legs, and slide down to the bottom. Once at the bottom, she would sometimes do it again. It was her personal playground slide. She's the only one who's ever done that. Now, she's older, and prefers sitting on laps to playing. Whenever we're talking on the phone she also comes to us, meowing, "What's wrong? Why are you talking to yourself? What is that thing doing to you?" She's concerned the small slab we're holding on our faces is trying to bite us.
Despite their antics and unconcern for the physical well being of our household objects, cats are fun. Even when you're angry with them, you're laughing at their actions. They are knowledgeable animals, yet sometimes they don't think things through. Or do they?
But I never really had cats until we moved here. There were several that visited us in our apartment in Boston, but they weren't ours. They just knew of a house where they could eat for free, and lie on beds all stretched out for their naps, so they came on over. Here, we have had various different cats, most of them descendants of a cat we found one night, when my then boyfriend and I were coming home from a date in Vilagarcía. On the road back, we found the scene of an accident. A car had gone out off the road, but its occupants were okay and the car didn't seem to have much damage. They had swerved to avoid hitting a cat, and ended up in a wide ditch. We stopped to ascertain all was well, and then we hunted for the cat. My boyfriend/future husband found it on the other side of the road, hiding in the ditch by a road sign. He picked it up and it promptly bit him on the thumb. It happened to be a kitten not much larger than his hand. This tiny morsel of fur had caused this accident. We took it home, discovered it was a girl, and named it Cleopatra. She became our first pet when we were married.
Since then, thanks to her descendants, we have had many cats. Most were outdoor cats which ended up disappearing in the woods, or hit by cars, or decimated by strange illnesses. At present we have three cats inside the house, and various barn/basement/field cats outside. There's not a mouse nor a rat to be seen. They've taken the hint that it's safer to pester other houses. Our indoor cats now are older cats, the oldest is twelve, and the youngest is seven. But when they were younger they created enough havoc. We have a wooden cover for the electric mains switches next to the front door. The cover is decorative and can easily open to access the switches. One early morning years ago, there was a loud crash in the hallway. One of our young cats, still thinking he was a lightweight kitten, had jumped on it and torn it from the screws holding it to the wall. In his jump he broke one of its boards. We set it aside, and when the cat was older, we fixed it and put it back in its place. By then, his kittenish side had calmed down.
We have a small Christmas tree which we always set up on a small round table in front of the window in the kitchen. We began to do that when our daughter was little, so she wouldn't touch it and accidentally knock it down. But that's just what the cats would do. Every morning we found it knocked down or leaning against the wall because one of the cats found it fascinating to be able to climb an indoor tree. I ended up getting the drill, boring holes, and then finding thin copper wires to pass through the holes and wrap around the feet of the tree, fastening it firmly. From then on, we would hear the shiver and tingle of something within the tree, but it stayed in its place. Not so the ornaments. Some of them were too tempting, and ended up far from the tree. Much later, moving furniture, we would find disappeared plastic balls, and then have to get out the Christmas boxes to put them away. Macarena, now older, still loves to sit under the tree and watch the twinkly lights, hoping some of them will decide to hover within range so she can swat them.
Food is generally safe, but only because I remember to put it away and don't leave it out on the counter unless it is firmly covered. In Boston, my mother once left out fish on a plate. One of the visiting cats discovered it, and was last seen fleeing the scene of the crime with a fish in his mouth, dropping some scales behind him in his haste. In our home, any roses that come in have to be guarded against our youngest, Anton. I don't know why, but whenever he sees a rose it's almost as if he were seeing a box of chocolates. Tempting, delectable, with a myriad of flavors that tickle the palate. All roses that enter the house end up being chewed. The thing is, he knows he does wrong, so when he sees me, and he's just been snacking on a rose, his eyes grow big, he slinks down to the floor, and rushes out of the room like an exhalation.
The oldest, Nuxca, short for Matrionuxca, had a pastime that was innocent enough, but would send us into paroxysms of laughter every time we saw her. She would sit on the balustrade with her bottom against the large ball. She would wiggle her bottom and run up the balustrade to the top. There, she would hunker down, grab the balustrade with her arms and legs, and slide down to the bottom. Once at the bottom, she would sometimes do it again. It was her personal playground slide. She's the only one who's ever done that. Now, she's older, and prefers sitting on laps to playing. Whenever we're talking on the phone she also comes to us, meowing, "What's wrong? Why are you talking to yourself? What is that thing doing to you?" She's concerned the small slab we're holding on our faces is trying to bite us.
Despite their antics and unconcern for the physical well being of our household objects, cats are fun. Even when you're angry with them, you're laughing at their actions. They are knowledgeable animals, yet sometimes they don't think things through. Or do they?
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