55. Finding Noel

The moving men stuffed the last box into the van. I took a sad walk around the house that I thought I would live in forever. But life changes, for good or bad, whether we want it or not. The rooms were empty and scuffed looking. I'd come back tomorrow to give it a good vacuuming for its new owners. They were probably excited about moving in and getting settled before Christmas. They wouldn't even notice what I'd done. Oh, well, I would know I had done my best. I looked out the kitchen door at the tiny, snow covered back yard.

I leaned my forehead on the cool glass and sighed. I glimpsed movement below me on the porch. A scrawny, gray and white kitten scratched to get in. I tapped on the glass. His enormous green eyes looked up at me. I could hardly hear the 'mowr' from his pink, opened mouth showing tiny milk teeth.

I tugged the door open. The fur ball hesitated and then with a burst of energy flung himself in as if escaping from a ferocious dog. He wrapped himself around my legs, meowing softly. Now what? I had to go. I needed to be at the new condo to let the movers in. The little guy looked clean. I petted him and he purred like a lion. I could feel his ribs. Was he hungry? I had no food to give him. He had no collar. No ID. But it was below freezing. I couldn't kick him back out in the cold maybe to starve.

He snuggled into my chest when I picked him up. I made a snap decision, hoping it wouldn't be another major mistake. I'd take him with me and when I came back to vacuum, I'd stick up posters in the neighborhood about finding a kitten.

I put him in the tote bag that held my purse and cell phone, grabbed my keys and shut the door on what I had thought would be the perfect home for Jason and me. When I signed the papers I was so much in love I didn't care that it was just in my name. Jason was between jobs and he said he'd just bring down my credit rating. He was so cute, so loving, so attentive. He even brought home a bottle of champagne for the first night in our new home. I think that was the last thing he ever bought.

At first I didn't mind. It's hard for an actor to find jobs that fit his abilities. And my job as an under writer at an insurance company paid all our bills. But I noticed that he never went out for casting calls. His dirty dishes were all around the house. He didn't even carry them to the kitchen sink. I tried to be understanding and considerate. But when I did his laundry--he didn't know how to use a washing machine--I found lipstick on his T-shirts. I was so naïve, I thought it was blood or ketchup. Until I smelled stale perfume that I didn't use.

I took the next afternoon off work, came home and gave him $50 to have a 'nice lunch' with his friends. I shoved his clothes, CDs, Men magazines, and other junk in his duffle bag and put it outside the front door. I put a note on top saying I never wanted to see or hear from him again.

Then I put the dead bolts on the doors and cleaned every nook and cranny to get rid of any sign or smell of him. When it got dark I didn't turn on the lights and took a long, herb scented bath by candle light. I closed my eyes in the soothing water and listened to an audio book, “How to live without a man.” I planned to give it a good review on amazon.com.

Jason came home from 'lunch' around 10 p.m. He banged on the door and yelled until he found my note. I guess he was still sober enough to read. For he picked up his stuff and went back to the bus stop. The next day I put my little 'love nest' on the market and looked for a condo for one, near my job.

I stepped on the gas to get to the one I found before the movers got there. As I drove past all the houses decorated with holiday lights and wreaths, I wished the families inside a Merry Christmas even though I wouldn't be having one.

In the condo, I put the kitten in the bathroom until the movers left. I filled a small box with shredded paper and hoped he'd understand it was his 'litter box.' This little guy was going to be a lot of work. Maybe I had made another error in judgment.

When the movers were gone, I let Noel out. I apologized for giving him a cliché name for a Christmas cat, but I had to call him something. And I pointed out to him, he probably had a real name with a real family who'd come and get him as soon as I put up the 'found kitten' notices. So it didn't matter what I called him. He just looked at me and rubbed against my legs.

There were boxes every where. Noel walked around sniffing everything he could reach. I got two bowls out of the 'kitchen' box and filled one with water. Luckily I had already stocked the kitchen with a few groceries and was able to put some canned tuna in the bowl. Noel started meowing loudly as soon as he smelled the fish. He almost fell in the dish when I put it down. But every few seconds, he stopped gobbling to look up at me and purr. At last there was a male in the house who showed gratitude if nothing else.

I made up my queen sized bed. Thank heavens, I hadn't been able to afford a huge king size when Jason and I moved in together. The acres of emptiness would be even more lonely. I was exhausted, emotionally and physically, and climbed into bed after a glass of milk and a tuna sandwich of my own.

My mind whirled reliving the past few weeks. Christmas was in a few more days and I was alone...

I heard the pad of tiny feet, felt the bed jar as Noel jumped up. He meowed softly, turning it into a purr as he nestled his warm, soft body next to my back. Now I had something else to worry about. What if someone tried to claim Noel?

                                                                     The End

25. Kissy the Klutzy Kat

This is based on the true activities of a wonderful cat we once had. In case you've been following the saga of my twice-repaired (new!) HP laptop it will be going back to HP sometime this week. But they finally agreed to send me a replacement. I just hope this new one does not have the same curse on it.  

Crash! I heard dishes hitting the kitchen floor.  “Oh no, Kissy,” I cried.  “Not again.” Our orange marmalade cat, Kissy, expressed displeasure by shoving dishes off the grey granite counter top onto the unyielding Mexican tile.  The first time it happened, I thought it was an accident.  He wasn’t the most graceful cat.  In fact, one of the reasons we picked him out at the shelter was the sweet way he had of falling over his own feet.   He became even klutzier after he rammed his head into our mirrored wall a few times, thinking he was head butting an enemy cat. 

            I thought the broken dishes were the price we had to pay for choosing a slippery footed cat and for me not putting dirty dishes in the dishwasher right away.  The third time it happened I was convinced he pushed them deliberately. 

When I suggested this to our older daughter, Lori, she argued, “Come on, Mom, he’s just a kitten.  He isn’t mean.”

“Yes, he’s still a kitten, but he’s getting bigger every day.  Look at him, his belly is practically dragging on the floor.”

“He’s probably eating too much.  We should put him on a diet.”

I laughed.  “Put Kissy on a diet?  Then we would see broken dishes.”

“Mom, you always exaggerate.”  She looked down to check her latest text messages while she continued to excuse the cat claiming, “He’s just an awkward little guy.”

“He may be awkward, but he’s also selective.   He only knocks over rimmed soup plates, not flat dishes or round bowls.  Haven’t you noticed that when you help pick up the pieces?”

No, I didn’t notice that.  If he is doing it deliberately, maybe it’s because he hates his name.  What self-respecting cat would want to be called, Kissy?”

“That was Dina’s choice, not mine.  It was her turn to name a pet.”

Lori scowled at her little sister’s name choice.  “She would pick a dumb name.  But he is a dumb cat.  Do you really think Kissy’s smart enough to pick and choose what he destroys?”  She rolled her eyes at my foolishness

“I don’t know why he’s so china specific.  Maybe the flat bowls are easier to swipe with his furry paws.”

“The next thing I know you’ll be claiming good old loveable Kissy is a genius.”

“Well, no, I don’t think I’d ever say that.”  A few days later I was not so sure.

I decided I might be able to keep Kissy from breaking things by shutting him in the laundry room with his litter box after we all went to bed.  That night Kissy sat with me while I stayed up late to watch an old tear jerker movie, Johnny Belinda.  My husband and the girls were already tucked away.  They had pantomimed gagging when I suggested watching the movie.   

Good, old klutzy kissy was always ready to watch anything and it was comforting to have a soft, warm, furry cat on my lap during the saddest parts.  But when the final frames faded away, I acted on my decision.  I gathered Kissy up, set him down in the laundry, and quickly shut the door.

I climbed the stairs to get ready for bed.  I was taking off my watch when I felt something brush my leg.  I muffled a shriek, looked down to see Kissy giving me an impudent look.

            Oh, I thought, I must not have completely closed the door.  I picked him up and trotted down the stairs to close him up in the laundry room again.  This time I tried the door knob to make sure it was latched and marched back up the stairs, sure he was in securely. 

I had moved on to brushing my teeth when I felt Kissy against my leg. Was he a magic cat?  How on earth was he getting out of that room?  I reached down and ruffled up his furry little neck and asked him, “What are you doing down there?”  Back to the laundry room we went.  I shut the door and made sure the doorknob was latched.  But this time I stood outside it to see if he could materialize through the door like a ghost cat.

After a few seconds and a few plaintive meows the doorknob started to jiggle.  I gawked at it.  The cat could turn a knob!  The knob jiggled and jiggled until it became unlatched and Kissy’s little head pushed the door open.  How did his paws do that?  I stepped into the laundry room and looked at the inside doorknob.  Hanging from it was a small purse Dina had left on it. Kissy had pulled and pulled on it, reaching up with his agile paws, twisting the knob until he got the desired result.  Escape.

            I thought of waking Lori to tell her Kissy was indeed a genius, but decided that revelation could wait 'til morning.  I carefully removed the purse from the doorknob and put Kissy back into the laundry room for the last time that night.  

                                                                    The End                

 

16. Cat with a Positive Attitude

My friend, Diane, was cat less due to a series of unfortunate events dooming even the liveliest cat she had rescued.

“I’m cursed, Michelle” she moaned.  “No cat should come within 100 feet of me.”

“You’re not cursed,” I argued trying to cheer her up.  “Things happen to animals that we can’t control.  You’re an excellent cat mother.  And all those cats had wonderful lives after you rescued them.”

“But their lives were so short!” she twisted her hands in misery.

“They might have been even shorter if they were on their own.  A car could have hit them, or they could have been carried off by a coyote.  They were safe, and well fed, and well-loved while you had them.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.  But I can never have a cat again.  I can’t go through this anymore.” She shook her head, her short brown hair flipping back and forth.

“Maybe a more positive attitude would help,” I suggested.

“Positive thinking?  Positive thinking will help me keep a cat alive?”

“Well, no, not exactly,” I backed off.  “Actually, I’m thinking it might help if the cat had a more positive attitude.”

“Are you out of your mind?” She looked at me with big, round green eyes that looked like a surprised kitten. “Even if it would work, how can I give a cat a more positive attitude, especially a rescue cat that’s been abandoned and mistreated?”

I held up my hands slowly.  “Just hear me out.”

Diane got up from the soft, easy chair in her living room.  “Oh, I’ll hear you out, Michelle.  How about out with you?”  She started walking towards the front door.

“Come on,” I pleaded.  “You love cats and I want you to have one for a long time so you won’t continue feeling guilty.”

“OK, what’s your idea?  Not that I’m going to follow it.” 

“Since you’re a teacher you know how important it is for your students to feel good about themselves and how you give them little chores to build up their confidence.”

“Yeees.  But cats won’t do little chores. They aren’t going to wipe down the chalk board or carry my books.”  She laughed at the thought.  Good, I was at least helping her feel less depressed.

“How about this?  What if you gave your next cat…” I held up my hands again as she started to argue that there would be no next cat.  “If you gave your next cat a positive name?”

“What? Like Norman Vincent Peale?”

I laughed this time.  “No, I mean a name like Lucky.  Call your little bundle of fur Lucky.”

“And that will help him, how?”

“There are some people who believe that names are destiny. And I do agree that the last five cats you rescued were not lucky.  Well, they were lucky when you rescued them, but not so lucky when the…”

She interrupted.  “I don’t want to talk about it.  Ok, I’ll give it a try.  If I ever have a rescue cat again, which I won’t, I will call it Lucky.”

That was all I needed to hear.  I knew she wouldn’t refuse the next offer of a cat that needed a good home.  A few weeks later she called to tell me the news.  She now was taking care of a beautiful, but skinny, black and white female cat that had been living on its own for over a month, according to the person who had noticed her and finally caught her.  The cat was in good health, except Diane needed to fatten it up with generous meals.  As time went by, Lucky thrived and even got fat and then fatter.  In fact she got so fat, Diane took her to the Vet to see if the cat was OK.

“I’m going to be a grandmother,” Diane smiled as she told me the good news.  “I’ve never had new born kittens around, lots of cats but no little ones.”

“That’s wonderful.  So this cat is having good luck.” I enthused, mentally patting myself on the back for my name suggestion.

“Not everything is wonderful.  The vet said Lucky might have some delivery problems, so she will have to be monitored carefully to get her in to the office in case she needs help.”

“I’m sure Lucky will be lucky.”

“My fingers will be crossed.  And I’ll let you know how it all turns out.”

As Lucky’s delivery date loomed near, I sent more and more positive thoughts her way.  I know it sounds crazy but I’ve read that quantum physics, a very serious science, shows everything in the universe is connected, so positive energy can be effective.

Finally, Diane called me.  “I don’t know if the name Lucky gave my kitty a positive attitude because she did have a difficult delivery.”

I broke in, “But how is she and the babies?”

“They’re all healthy and in good shape.  The vet said it was a miracle they all survived since Lucky’s pelvis must have been broken at some time in her past life.”

“I’m glad they’re all OK and if my name suggestion worked that’s great. How many babies are there?”

“She had 5 sweet things and I’ve already named them:  happy, joy, cheery, delight, and of course, Lucky2.”

                                                             The End