Tag: pets

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Slap shot

<p class="has-drop-cap" value="<amp-fit-text layout="fixed-height" min-font-size="6" max-font-size="72" height="80">My first wife, Georgia, and I found him as a kitten while living in Ottawa, Ontario. He started life as a combative kitten and grew into an adult that liked a good brawl. Georgia called him our little vampire kitty because he would lick your blood off his claws. After the marriage "went south," he wound up with me. He loved graduate school in Philadelphia. It was his type of place.My first wife, Georgia, and I found him as a kitten while living in Ottawa, Ontario. He started life as a combative kitten and grew into an adult that liked a good brawl. Georgia called him our little vampire kitty because he would lick your blood off his claws. After the marriage “went south,” he wound up with me. He loved graduate school in Philadelphia. It was his type of place.

 Clancy had a favorite musician, Warren Zevon. Clancy especially liked numbers like Werewolves of London, Lawyers Guns and Money, and Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner. There was a beat-up Windsor chair in my Philly apartment, and if I put a Warren Zevon tape on, the cat would jump onto it and challenge me to a duel. He hated it when I gave in too quickly. He preferred a quality combat experience – one with blood spilled – mine. He would sulk around the apartment, mutter to himself, and then attack my leg suddenly, forcing me back onto a combat footing until he tired. 

I found one way to distract him, a game we called Cat Hockey. Playing this game requires a multitude of small hi-bounce balls. We had dozens. The play took place in the kitchen using the refrigerator as the goal. He, of course, was the goalie. It was my job to get a ball past him and under the fridge. Clancy took great pride in deflecting my shots, making moves where he’d leave the “net” and attack me, or finesse a shot into the living room. Clancy typically won this game…it was safest that way. He didn’t handle defeat in a sports cat manner. We had so many balls to put off the moment when I had to get on my knees with a stick and retrieve the balls. Clancy had to supervise and crowded my view of the dusty under the fridge goal zone.

Ultimately someone unfamiliar with his proud Canadian heritage would suggest that the game could be cat soccer. At which point, I’d recommend that they came around some night when the Maple Leafs played the Bruins. When the movie Slap Shot came out, it was for sure his type of movie. Clancy would have fit right in with the Hanson twins, Killer Carlson and Ogie Oglethorpe. He loved to “drop the gloves” just like the hockey players of that era.

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A Cat’s Take On The Bible

<p class="has-drop-cap" value="<amp-fit-text layout="fixed-height" min-font-size="6" max-font-size="72" height="80">A few years past, I was sitting in front of the woodstove. My black cat, Smidgen, was sitting purring in my lap. Once in a while, it was her habit to correct my take on life by sharing feline wisdom tidbits, black double pawed cats specifically. The formula followed was usually a reminder that her Ancestors had been gods in Eygpt. She told me That her family was from the most excellent line of ships cats ever to have landed in Newburyport. After all, wasn’t she from Neptune St. in Joppa?After the preliminaries, Smidgen proceeded to knit with her claws on my legs, purr, and correct the bible lesson from Genesis that the kids had had at Sunday School.<br>“Genesis! Those stupid males had all the details wrong. Sure it was seven days, and yes, the Garden was lovely, but as they say, the devil is in the details…”<br>OK, Smidge, how did it happen?<br>“Well, just like the Bible says, God created the heavens, the world, and all the creatures on it in six days. At last, God decided to create people. At that point, God thought creation was through and sat down to take a well-earned rest. Just like the book says that was on the seventh day. There God sat on a lovely hill, below a lovely tree, looking out on the Garden of Eden, and was just thrilled at how good it was for a rush job. But, then God realized that something critical was missing. Adam and Eve were playing with Spot their dog, there were the beautiful trees, and drop-dead gorgeous mountains, but something was missing. So God sat there leaning against the beautiful tree, and meditated on what was missing. For several hours God thought, and then looked up and cried out “cats! I forgot"cats!” then God created cats, in her image of course, and looked out upon the world, and said that it was good. So on the seventh day, God did get to rest with a purring kitty on the lap, knowing that now the world was perfect.”A few years past, I was sitting in front of the woodstove. My black cat, Smidgen, was sitting purring in my lap. Once in a while, it was her habit to correct my take on life by sharing feline wisdom tidbits, black double pawed cats specifically. The formula followed was usually a reminder that her Ancestors had been gods in Eygpt. She told me That her family was from the most excellent line of ships cats ever to have landed in Newburyport. After all, wasn’t she from Neptune St. in Joppa?After the preliminaries, Smidgen proceeded to knit with her claws on my legs, purr, and correct the bible lesson from Genesis that the kids had had at Sunday School.
“Genesis! Those stupid males had all the details wrong. Sure it was seven days, and yes, the Garden was lovely, but as they say, the devil is in the details…”
OK, Smidge, how did it happen?
“Well, just like the Bible says, God created the heavens, the world, and all the creatures on it in six days. At last, God decided to create people. At that point, God thought creation was through and sat down to take a well-earned rest. Just like the book says that was on the seventh day. There God sat on a lovely hill, below a lovely tree, looking out on the Garden of Eden, and was just thrilled at how good it was for a rush job. But, then God realized that something critical was missing. Adam and Eve were playing with Spot their dog, there were the beautiful trees, and drop-dead gorgeous mountains, but something was missing. So God sat there leaning against the beautiful tree, and meditated on what was missing. For several hours God thought, and then looked up and cried out “cats! I forgot”cats!” then God created cats, in her image of course, and looked out upon the world, and said that it was good. So on the seventh day, God did get to rest with a purring kitty on the lap, knowing that now the world was perfect.”

OK, Smidge, but what about Adam and Eve and the expulsion from the Garden. What about the Serpent?
Smidge sneered at me, no mean feat considering cats don’t don’t have proper lips to sneer with.
“Once again, you stupid two legs got it wrong. Catnip…it was all about catnip. God, being a superior being, had planted the Garden full of super-powerful nip. He forbade us, little guys, from sampling it. Being smart, and wanting to get blasted on Garden Gold, the senior cat approached Adam and Eve about cutting and curing us a secret supply. There was enough of that stuff to blast every cat into heaven a thousand times, and no one suspected that God would miss a little bit. The deal would have worked out fine except Spot, the little viper, went and told the boss. The boss was super peeved and found the curing shed with a couple of hundred bales down by the riverside. It got blasted with a lightning bolt. I tell you if cats could get high on burning nip we’d, we’d have stayed high for a few months. But no such luck, and soon we were all hightailing it out of the Garden with Spot running behind us; God’s not so fond of snitches either, so Spot got the boot too.”

Around that time, I woke up to a purring cat on my lap. “Smidge? Have you been telling silly stories again?” At first, she looked at me with a blank stare. Then she got up in a huff, insult showing in every movement. Down she jumped, hissed at me, and walked away with her tail held high.

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Miss Right

<p class="has-drop-cap" value="<amp-fit-text layout="fixed-height" min-font-size="6" max-font-size="72" height="80"><br>Later on, we could never decide if he was born on Canada Day, July 1, or the fourth of July. Eventually, we settled on the fourth because he was such a rambunctious kitten; he seemed to like fireworks. He had no name for a while but got dubbed Clancy Bumps (with an Umlaut over the U). It was Clancy because he was a feisty little fighter. The Bumps we derived from Dinksbum a German term for a thingamabob. He grew into the name, and for some, those he disliked intensely, his name became consonant with feline violence. If he merely held you in contempt, he ignored you. For the lucky few, he offered friendship and affection in limited quantities.
Later on, we could never decide if he was born on Canada Day, July 1, or the fourth of July. Eventually, we settled on the fourth because he was such a rambunctious kitten; he seemed to like fireworks. He had no name for a while but got dubbed Clancy Bumps (with an Umlaut over the U). It was Clancy because he was a feisty little fighter. The Bumps we derived from Dinksbum a German term for a thingamabob. He grew into the name, and for some, those he disliked intensely, his name became consonant with feline violence. If he merely held you in contempt, he ignored you. For the lucky few, he offered friendship and affection in limited quantities.

 In graduate school, he developed a fondness for evaluating my girlfriends. Any he disapproved of rarely lasted long.

Then, in a burst of awareness, I understood that the cat had better taste in women than I did. I know, what a terrible admission to make about myself. But it was true. I was happier with women on the official “approved by Clancy” list. 

I learned to watch his reaction to them as much as I watched their response to him. If he disapproved, we would get up on the refrigerator and stare while pretending that he was going to leap at you. He preferred intimidation to mere violence where possible. Thank goodness because when he turned violent, things turned ugly – ask the German Shepard dogs, he beat up.

The worst thing you could do is treat him as a cute kitty; this was lèse-majesté. You could warn people not to pick him up and cuddle him, but not all listened. It certainly culled the field of potential girlfriends, fast.

With all this as a prelude, I was amazed by what happened when I met Mandy after grad school. She offered a hand for smelling and the requisite nip. Then she sat down and ignored him while he gave her a look over. He disliked being ignored, so he came over to smell her and rub against her. With these positive signs, we began to date regularly. We gradually moved onto a serious relationship. Then one weekend, she stayed over at my place. I went shopping and left her alone with the devil cat. When I returned, I found her curled up on couch reading. Resting comfortably on her lap was Mr. Devil cat himself, glaring at me. The look he gave me was all -“…and what do you want? Go away now.”

He made it clear over the following months that while I was his buddy, she was his “mom.”

So that you know he didn’t become a total softie. He continued beating up german shepherds, intimidating other cats, and bleeding humans for tasty blood samples. Only concerning “mom” did he change his ways, and even she did not get off entirely. When “mom” failed him, he’d wait till early morning, get up on the bureau, and as soon as he had her attention stare at her, and swat her earings to the floor. He compounded his revenge by rapidly jumping down and chasing the earing where it would never be found. Over the years, she built up an extensive collection of unmatched earrings. I replaced what he lost.

 It became clear that I had to marry “mom.” She was Miss Right. Four children, two cats, and two dogs later, I think my lovely wife still has a box of unmatched earrings tucked away.

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At Last

Xenia, Warrior Princess, Imperial Majesty of all see surveys patrols the area around the pond every morning. Unlike many cats, she is unconcerned about wet and damp weather, and will happily conduct her morning patrol in anything less than a full downpour. The yard and surrounding woods are stocked with small and not so small rodents. But the pond patrol is for the wiliest of prey: Lithobates clamitans – the green frog.
Capable of eluding her sharp vision and smell, they leap away from her at the last moment. They bob in the water, confident that they are safe. Until the second they see twelve pounds of black and white feline leaping into the pond after them. I am carefully watching and force open her mouth because the frog hunt is strictly catch and release. Standing beside Xenia is her faithful hunting companion Sam ( AKA Killer – scrouge of the chip monks). Most of the time, Sam’s job is to walk the pond’s perimeter and flush the prey into the open.
Right now, though, Sam runs towards the stacked cordwood barking at something in the woodpile. For an instant, I am distracted. Sam’s doggie grin alert’s me that I have just missed something. Turning, I see Xenia nonchalantly sauntering towards the open door. Wait a minute Xenia never walks casually anywhere! What’s that poking out of her mouth. Is that a frog leg? Sam starts barking. Xenia starts the final dash for the door, as I run to catch up. Sam runs between my legs and bolts into the door after Xenia. Xenia drops the frog. It promptly hops further into the house as both cat and dog begin wildly chasing it – for hours and hours.
It was not the first time the plan to stock the house with live prey was attempted. It was just the ultimate victory of feline cunning and canine persistence winning out over human idiocy. Finally!

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