Cat Tales (series) ep. 1

Introduction:
Many of these stories are first hand accounts. There are duplicate stories from previous posts regarding Max and Cali, cats of Monkeyjack. In some households there are are then two pets, so the inclusion of others is inevitable, regardless of the mix of species.

The family cat Stubby. Stubby, a runt and outcast of his litter was a farmcat. The family there was trying to get rid of the kittens in favor of expunging them. I remember seeing this little cat walk along the gravel and being given the word, "that's him". His tail was shorter than most cat due to some kitten injury. We got him home, and in this case I got to experience what cats tend to be like in a car -- electron comes to mind ... always moving, chaning everything's energy level when it touches them.

He was a small, but mighty cat. The dog, Princess, had a mortal enemy -- cats. Here, one enters the house and is entreated to stay. The first two days were great fun for the dog and cat. The cat ran around -- good exercise for a young cat. The dog got exercise chasing the cat. There were no reported injuries.
That did't work. The dog kept eating the cat food, to starve him out. That didn't work. After seven days, the dog wandered into the kitchen, looked at everyone, now with the understanding that the cat was going to stay, and peed deliberately on the floor.

Throughout the rest of his lttle life Stubby went on many adventures. The backyard was relatively free of any life, except for maybe ants. He killed birds, squirrels, rabbits, bunnies, moles, chipmunks, moths, butterflies, bees, wasps, nearly anything that moved. Spiders were slower moving and not much interest unless they were on the wall.

I remember many mornings letting him in or out that I found a "tubuluar" package on the cement. The prone position rodent was in full rigor, looking almost turd-like. This was a token, unspoiled, not ripped open, just killed and presented. There was a difference between that and a close (within visual range) hunted kill. Usually these were more like Predator kills, with their heads or limbs removed, disembowled and messy. Noticing some, there were clearly four types of kills:
peckish killings, with organs eaten
gaming killings, with several moral wounds
playful killings with grotesque pre and post mortem wounds and attacks
token killings with little damage to the body, presented so that humans would respect him

Also a treat were the scrapes and cuts and bloody wounds consistent with the tough-guy-on-the-block. My father thought we spent enough money on him to be a dependant for tax purposes.

He was super silly on catnip -- go figure and loved to climb. He didn't like to climb down.
My father once had a solution to his "tree" problem. He was in a neighobor's pine tree which wasn't ours and it wasn't good to climb. We begged him to help Stubby. He got out the hose. It was rational. Which did he hate more, climbing down or water. He hated water more and found a way down. The Bluejays, whose nest he inteded to raid were delighted with his leaving.

Sadly, I saw the most difficult thing with a cat -- slow demise. He developed feline leukemia (intestinal) and he was in pain for the last few months on his life. He died, crawling to my Mum ... dying in her lap. My father, usually saying nothing but sarcasm about the cat also wept. That was a rareity.

Before his passing was Princess' passing. She was going blind, but her one-time enemy, later friend walked beside her, making sure that she didn't bump into any walls. He was a seeing eye cat for her. It's funny that you apply compassion only to people, when no one was there to train him to walk her. He did that on his own.

-- T.B.C