Tag Archives: cats

Eight Keys to Keeping Your Humans Happy

By: The Gentleman Cat

  1. Make yourself available.

    Make yourself available.

  2. Always use the litter box.

    Always use the litter box.

  3. Treat their other pets with dignity.

    Treat their other pets with dignity.

  4. Be there to comfort.

    Be there to comfort.

  5. Catch lots of mice.... whoops, you mean I wasn't supposed to eat them?

    Catch lots of mice…. whoops, you mean I wasn’t supposed to eat them?

  6. Make 'em laugh.

    Make ’em laugh.

  7. Put up with anything.

    Put up with anything.

  8. And finally... Don't eat the bird. (I think they're trying to fatten it up for Thanksgiving.... It isn't working.)

    And finally… Don’t eat the bird. (I think they’re trying to fatten it up for Thanksgiving…. It isn’t working.)

May your days be filled with polite kitties that don’t scratch up your furniture or barf on your carpets,

Sincerely,

Gent, The Gentleman Cat

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The New Kids on the Block

When I was a kid, I remember traveling vagrants left marks on the fences of houses that were good for a handout. If you felt a smidgen of sympathy and gave a gaunt, sunken-eyed bum a sandwich, it wouldn’t be long before more vagrants were knocking at the door. The cure to your problem was to paint your fence. I am beginning to suspect that someone has marked my fence, or perhaps I have the word “sucker” tattooed to my forehead in invisible ink? Anyway, if someone dumps a stray cat in our neighborhood, it inevitably ends up at my door. Gent was the last to be taken in of our local feral cat colony. We were free of outside cats for a few months, but….

Meet the new kids on the block.

Skitty

Skitty

Pumpkin

Pumpkin

Princess

Princess

The big one, with the fur coat that would see her through an Alaskan winter, is Skitty. (Named that because she was one skittish kitty) She has grown extremely loving in a very short period of time, and walking to the garden without tripping over her has become quite a chore. The orange one is Pumpkin. You may pull his tail or touch his nose, but petting him is out of the question. The little fluff ball is Princess. She is very delicate, very feminine, and a non-stop chatterbox. We really don’t mind their company, and someone has expressed interest in Skitty and Princess. I’ve already decided to keep Pumpkin as an outdoor cat. (We have plenty of warm shelter for the winter, and finding a home for a cat you can’t touch is difficult.)

But how? How do these cats know that out of all of the houses in the neighborhood this is the one to come to? How do they know which person will run into the house to get them a plate of cat food and a bowl of milk? I think perhaps it’s time to paint my fence, or maybe apply a little makeup?

Sue

 

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The Last Wildcat

102_9805I almost gasped as the cat stuck his head out around the wheel of my son’s motorcycle. This animal wasn’t supposed to be here. Not this close!  The old cat meowed then ran to my feet and waited for a response. Instinctively, I backed away. This wasn’t right. Everyone knows that uncharacteristic behavior from a wild animal is a sign of rabies.  The elderly cat had skirted the edge of our yard and avoided human contact for over four years. You could call him. He wouldn’t come. A sideways glance would send him running into the woods. He hated humans.  Why was he standing at my feet?  Cocking his head to the side the cat looked up into my face and meowed again as if to say, “Hi. It’s me. I’ve come home.” He rubbed against my leg and I rubbed my eyes. I had fallen asleep the night before in the real world and it appeared that I had awaken in the Twilight Zone.

“A rabid animal will not drink,” I quoted to myself as I stepped backwards towards the door. Milk seemed to be the answer. If he drank the milk I could relax, but if he began to froth at the mouth like something from the Exorcist, I could…

“I could what?” I asked myself. ” Shoot him? Me, shoot a cat? I don’t think so.”

“Milk first,” I decided “Panic later.”

The cat waited patiently as I slipped into the house and got him something to drink. I placed the bowl in front of him, but rather than lap at the milk, the hungry, old cat checked out my offering, then looked up as me as though he were asking permission.

“This looks pretty good,” he seemed to say. “Are you sure you don’t want it?”

“Drink, Kitty,” I coaxed, and the cat lowered his head and obeyed.

People who know of him have often said that the elderly Gent, as we call him, came to me that day asking for help. I can see their reasoning. When Gent came to us, his health was failing. Life in the wild had not been kind. His broken nose is the first thing that greets you when he lunges onto your lap. As he snuggles close, you will immediately notice his raspy breathing. When you first caress his long, soft fur, your fingers will recoil as they trail across with his crushed ribcage. These were merely the beginning of the old cat’s problems. His sides were missing huge patches of fur and splotched with chemical burns. His fur was full of nits and he was crawling with lice. Deer ticks circled his neck like a collar, and he had the absolutely worse case of fleas I have seen in my entire life. But this too was only the beginning. His ears were blackened with mites, tape worm segments were clinging to his privates, and he was vomiting round worms. And finally (yes, these really do exist.) his urinary tract was infested with worms. The poor cat was passing things that looked like baby night crawlers. I suppose if I tried really hard I could make myself believe that Gent came to us that morning looking for help, but I think I would always doubt. You see, I believe the old cat is a miracle.

He came to me the morning after I buried Puff. I had no desire to face that pain again, so I had staunchly determined that I didn’t want another cat, but often times what we want and what we need are entirely different things. I needed Gent. I just didn’t know it. In the months to follow my family would have to face the loss of two more pets, the failing health of my parents, and too many other problems to list without becoming severely depressed. Through it all, Gent has been like a gift from God. This old wildcat gave up his life in the out of doors and moved flawlessly into our home. He is not neutered. We would never consider having him put under anesthesia. Yet he does not spray. Within a day’s time he stepped from the role of wildcat into that of therapy cat. Yes, we have provided him with medical care, but the care he has given us is so much more.

Calm and attentive, Gent has an uncanny ability to detect feelings and to decipher needs. He knows when someone is sick. He knows when someone is hurting, and he knows when someone needs to feel special. He saw Grenny through the deaths of Kitsten and her brother, faithfully staying by her side until she was ready to face the world on her own. When my elderly parents came to live with us, he took it upon himself to welcome them and provide activity to keep their minds and hearts alive. His fur has been cried upon, his ears have listened to plans, failures and heartaches. He glues himself to the sides of those who are sick and spends hours upon the laps of those who are depressed. The list goes on and on. This old cat has made us his purpose in life.

I have no idea how long we will be able to keep Gent. He is a very old cat. His lungs are bad. His heart beats too fast. His kidneys are almost shot, but we will keep him as long as we can, and I will face the pain when the time comes. because this old cat is our gift from God, and he is worth it.

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A Final Goodbye

Sometimes in life another being crosses your path, and for a brief moment in time stress, pain, and worry melt into happiness, companionship, and almost childish play. And then it’s over, leaving a hole in your heart that it seems nothing can fill. Tomorrow morning I will walk to the edge of the forest and dig a hole where I will lay to rest one of my best buddies. Puff (alias, Chief Puffy of the Dirty Foot Tribe) has passed away, the victim of poisoning. I don’t blame the person who spilled the chemicals. I don’t think it was deliberate. Accidents happen, and unlike most cats who hate getting their feet wet, Puff walked through, and rolled in, anything. For weeks, my companion fought valiantly for life, but too much damage was done, so wrapped in a blanket in my arms he eventually slipped away. I guess I knew when I took on the responsibility of a wild cat that he would face constant dangers until I managed to coax him into staying inside, but I thought our friendship would last longer than one summer. Life had different plans. “Wait for me,” I whispered in Puff’s ear as together we looked out over the garden for the last time. “Just inside the gates of heaven. I’ll be looking for you there.”

Chief Puffy of the Dirty Foot Tribe Spring 2014 - September 9, 2015

Chief Puffy of the Dirty Foot Tribe Spring 2014 – September 9, 2015

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Abby Goes for a Car Ride (to her fur-ever home!)

“I’ve been sitting in this car for four minutes. How long does it take two humans to load one cat bed, one litter box, and a few cans of cat food?”

“Finally. We’re on the road.”

“Wow! So this is Sheetz! Could you get me a hot dog while you’re in there?”

“I don’t feel so hot. Maybe I shouldn’t have eaten that last hot dog.”

“Maybe a nap would help.”

“Would you prefer that I barf on your lap or on the carpet. Oh, forget it. I’ll just do both.”

“Are we there yet? Please tell me we’re there or at least tell me that they didn’t follow the same intoxicated snake when making the rest of this road.” (Poor Abby got car sick the day she went to visit the vet too.)

Abby is now happily settled in her new home where she will never go hungry and always be loved. She is one lucky cat!

Abby is now happily settled in her new home where she will never go hungry and always be loved. She is one lucky cat!

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We’ve Been Adopted

The eyes of mischief

I have ended up a pet parent again. Puff, one of our community’s many wild cats has determined that my family is his family, and that my yard and porch are his home. He’s quite a cat… wild… mean… .loving… gentle… tame… skittish… completely unpredictable, and quite determined that he lives here.

Sue

 

Resting in the WildBond of FriendshipNaptime

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Abby is Bathing!

cat washingIt seems a little strange to announce to the world that a cat is taking a bath, but sick and injured cats often forsake their meticulous grooming habits. For Abby, taking time from her almost constant naps to polish her appearance is quite a milestone. To add to this incredible accomplishment, she ran half way up the stairs, and even took a few minutes for some leisurely play. This once forsaken, feral cat is well on her way to recovery!

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