Tag Archives: cats

the cat scared me

There’s just something about orange tabby cats.

This is one of the cats that owns us. He has issues. He came here as a 6-week-old kitten named Sun Muffin. His previous owner was a young hippie girl. Kids renamed him Simba, thank you Walt Disney. He also answers to Fat Cat or BFK, Big-Fat-Kitty. We believe that if he could talk he’d sound a bit like Edward G. Robinson: “Meow, see! Meow.” He loves to suck on blankets, the softer the better. He has a nasty ear condition that causes non-cancerous tumors to grow in his ear canals. He’s had surgery on both ears, which is why they look all floppy and wrinkled. Poor kitty.

Until last week he weighed in at 18 pounds. While kids and I were away at camp, Fat Cat stopped eating. He lost 5 pounds in a week, wouldn’t come into the house, absolutely refused to be social. He’s 13 years old now and I know he’s getting on up there in years. Hubby warned me that BFK was not feeling up to par, but when I got home and saw him it scared me, badly. The last orange tabby we had, Chester, died at about the same age, of kidney failure. Fat Cat looked as sick as Chester did the last day I saw him.

I had nightmares last weekend about Fat Cat dying. We dreaded taking him to the kitty doctor Monday, but knew we should, at least to find out what was killing him and how to make him comfy.

Right this minute, Fat Cat is curled up on the back of the couch next to Hubby’s head, sleeping like a, well, a cat. This is after he kept Hubby up most of the night last night squirming around, moving from sleeping on Hubby like he was a tree limb or something, to sleeping on his pillow, on my pillow, between us, on our feet. He’s feeling much better now, thank you. Turns out he had a nasty mouth infection, probably from eating something icky that only a cat would eat, like maybe a dead bird. He might be fat, but he can still catch a bird, or a snake, or a mouse, or a…whatever.

The kitty doctor says that, since Fat Cat isn’t a kitten anymore, we should probably feed him only yummy soft cat food. Fat Cat is happy. We’re happy. All’s right with the world.

I think the cat went out looking for something nasty to eat so we’d have to resort to giving him the good stuff from now on.

Smart cat.

Dizzy Fingers

Well looky here.

It’s 3:45 AM Sunday morning and I’m wide awake. Blame some of it on the darn cat, who is now sleeping peacefully on the back of the loveseat about two feet from me. He’s a crumudgeon, however you spell it. Eleven, no, twelve years old. My kids named him Simba as in ‘The Lion King’. He’s more of a lion buddha, though. Fat and darned proud of it. He’s had surgery on his ears and they’re sort of wrinkled now. And he smirks. A lot. He’s smirking at me now, matter of fact. He likes to hide in our bedroom and then jump onto the bed after we settle in for the night, which means that he wakes me up. He also likes to sleep on my pillow when I’m using it. No manners at all, this cat.

So he does his thing around midnight, jumps onto the bed and starts wandering around looking for somewhere to get comfortable. He tries my pillow, hubby’s pillow, winds up between us. I’m already having trouble getting to sleep, and now there’s 20 pounds of cat trying to squeeze between my head and the wall, between hubby and me, wherever. Around 2:00 I hit my limit and pushed him off the bed. He proceeded to hack something up on the floor next to me. It was on purpose, too. He woke up hubby, we chased him out of the bedroom, hubby went right back to sleep. Not me.

I squirmed. I tried to think sleepy thoughts. Nothing.

Right after New Year’s I stayed up for 30-some hours. Couldn’t sleep at all. It’s probably hormones. I’m starting to understand the jokes about being post-menopausal and going without sleep for 3 year stretches. Only it’s not funny. It’s annoying. Sort of like the cat, who is now somewhere behind me huffing and puffing, either getting ready to demand that I let him out, or trying to settle his girth on the dog pillow. Nope, scratch that…he’s tippy-tippy-ing around looking for somewhere else to land. I may have to encourage him to go outside for a while, just so I can drink some tea in peace and at least try to settle down mentally for a few minutes. Yep, he’s going out. Now.

Where was I? Oh yeah, trying to calm down. I’m playing the piano this morning. It’s no big deal, a Schubert thing I learned in high school about 30 years ago. It’s nice to have things in the repertoire to fall back on when I have to play on short notice, and occasionally without sleep.

Maybe the opportunity will arise to play ‘Dizzy Fingers’ or ‘Kitten on the Keys’…..but not at church.

Hmmmm…..’Dizzy Fingers’.

That’s me!