Saturday, June 26, 2004

Cats Are Like Potato Chips... You Can't Have Just One (Part I)

People ask, "How did you get so many cats?" The story of the cats. When I moved out on my own, I had to get a cat. I left Alex, or Boo-Boo, with my parents, or rather they threatened my life if I took him. A lady at work had a cat that just had kittens. Wha-la. He was a freaky mauve color with mauve eyes. I named his Oliver, or Ollie. Two weeks later, I was back at the homestead, between the time that my parents moved deeper into the wooded abyss and they sold their house and heard a cat meowing. My friend and I found this tiny grey kitten under the azalea bush. He was pitiful. Flea-bitten, hair falling out, malnourished. UGH! I took this gray fuzz and got flea soap. ARGH! YUCK! NASTY! I washed him up good and when I poured water over him it looked like he peed blood. I combed what was left of his fur, he was one big flea, that's all. Fed him lamb and rice, he learned to lick water and then I wrapped him up in big beach towel and he slept for hours. That small gray fuzz is now cock of the walk here. (Ollie, even after being fixed, left, or was stolen, and never returned.) Smokey is a 15 lb. monster whose sole purpose in life is to rout my yard of any dog that dares to sniff a blade of our grass. He has medium long hair so he looks that much bigger. His first foray with my Lab, which I no longer own, was a scratched cornea and $200 in vet bills. When I moved from my Tornado-bait (yes, there are tornados in the Appalachians and they do gravitate toward trailers) I had sort of adopted the cat next door named Hobbs. Yes, he looked like Hobbs, duh. The neighbor didn't like him because she hadn't gotten him fixed and he sprayed everything. But she didn't feed him either, scraps off the table. She also said that he was her cat and I couldn't take him with me. Fine. Two days after they pull my trailer out, my other neighbor calls to say that Hobbs is still sitting on my porch meowing. (Sigh) I told him under the cover of darkness to stick him in a cat carrier and bring him down. I got his neutered and he and Smokey still sort of liked each other. I have say though, he had the worst kitty breath of any cat I've ever owned and never failed to want to stick his face in yours for love. By and by, he too left and never returned. This leaves me with one cat, again.
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    Blogger Queenie said...

    Oh I knew there was a reason I kept coming back here! I have cat tales, too!


    6/26/2004 07:35:00 PM  

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