Jack

Jack...

a.k.a. "Punkin' Head", "Monkey", "Monkey Punkin", "Monk Monk", "Jack Attack",

...formally named "Professor Jack", was a rescue. One of my sister's clients, (my sister is a vet), caught him out in the country where she lived with her five dogs. She named him "Professor Jack", because he looked just like one of her college professors. Go figure. I'd love to meet that guy! Anyhow, Jack and another buddy of his, probably a litter mate, were seen around the client's place quite often, and they were likely from a nearby farm. She started to put food out for them. One day, Jack's buddy showed up missing a front leg. He had probably gotten it caught in a piece of farm machinery, or got hit by a car, or some other animal, bigger and meaner, got a hold of him. I shudder to think. Poor little thing. The client said she tried to catch him, but she could not. Not too long after that she found him dead. Poor Jack, he had lost his buddy. Finally, she was able to catch Jack, but she couldn't keep him because of her dogs. ...So, what to do?

She surrendered Jack to my sister. She paid for his shots and neutering, and brought tons of blankets, toys and other supplies, to go with him whenever he was adopted. My sister asked me if I would be interested in taking him, and although I already had two other cats, (Sidney, a Siamese, and Dexter, my Orange Tabby, ...both of whom have since passed on...), I agreed. How could I not? My sister's client had such a generous heart, and she loved "Professor Jack". She only wanted for his safety and well being, and she knew that Jack would be well cared for and loved with me, so how could I refuse? I couldn't!

Jack came home with me, and began adjusting to indoor life. He was so wild! Alas, he destroyed my leather couch and chair, because he still had his claws. (Soon after, I had Jack front-declawed, but that's something that I no longer do to my cats. I now have lots of scratch-post cat trees and microfiber couches, because cats can't hurt microfiber. And, microfiber is also washable. A perfect material for cat owners, so make a note!) He would lay on his back, and slide himself along the floor for the entire length of my leather couch, digging in with his claws to drag himself along. It was hilarious to watch, but it wrecked my furniture! There were a hundred 'claw tip' pin holes in the leather! Aarrg! Oh well. It's only stuff, right? I don't think people ever retain 'fond memories' of their furniture. However, I will always have these fond memories of his hilarious antics as he destroyed my leather furniture!

Jack looks just like the orange cat with the white chest on the 'Fresh Step' cat litter bags. He is orange on top, kinda tiger-stripy, with white on his belly and legs, white around his mouth and chin, and a white nose, with the white coming up to a v-point, (like a mountain peak), between his eyes, which are a beautiful light green. He has medium short-hair, and it's soft, soft, soft.

Jack is a hugger. He sleeps tucked into the 'V' on the backside of my legs whenever I sleep on my side. And, I always wake up with him curled up under my armpit. He is cuddler, for sure. It never fails.... if I'm in bed, he's in bed. And, at least once a day, he gets in the mood to be held, - actually, rather, to perch up on my shoulder and be carried around the house like an Egyptian pharaoh being carried down the main streets of Cairo. I hug him to the side of my head, petting him and talking to him, and we peer out all of the windows in every direction, east, west, north, south. Sometimes, he literally tries to climb my leg like a tree, begging for my attention, trying to get me to pick him up and hoist him to my shoulder for this established ritual. He's so funny! It's 'our' thing!

Jack is my 'watchdog' cat. If there's someone on the property he's on alert, and he runs to the windows and he growls! The perfect protector. Until someone's in the house, and then it's straight under the bed!

Jack likes to lay in front of my computer keyboard when I'm trying to work. The more intently I am working, the more intent he is on laying between me and the keyboard! In fact, he is laying on my desk right this very moment, flirting, rolling on his back and reaching out his paws and nudging my left arm. "Pet me, pet me, pet me, mama!" Such a spoiled boy.

Jack is the talker, too. He makes a game of catching my attention in the kitchen, then walking to the pantry door and making this funny little sound that isn't a meow, but rather, more of a half-purr/half-bark sound, full of urgency and great insistence. There's no mystery, as the cat food is in the pantry. But it cracks me up, because, two feet away, there are four food bowls filled to the brim with a variety of different dry cat foods! It doesn't matter, though. He MUST have something directly from the pantry. So, I open the pantry doors, I grab a bit of his favorite dry food from the bag, and I lay the tidbits on the carpet by the dining room table. He gobbles them down. He loves it! Just as it is with humans, the food always seems to taste better when it comes directly from the hands of someone you love.

Jack has been with me for five years, and he is the 'patriarch' of the cat household. He is the teacher, the playmate, the guard, the nurturer and the overseer of the pride. If Jack were a man I would have to marry him. Alas, he is just a cat. So, I will keep looking for his equivalent in human form!

It's my bedtime now, so I guess I'll head back downstairs and try to nudge out a space for myself on the bed. Did I mention that I have cats? If you're a cat owner, you know exactly what I mean.

Have a purrfect night,

The Accidental Cat Lady

Oliver the Orphan

Little Oliver.

A.k.a. "Little Pooper" "Poopy", "Baby Boy", "Monkey", "Monster Monkey" and "My Little Lover".

He was no more than a week old, eyes not yet open, ears still laid down, when he was found. There he was, the morning of 4th of July, on my aunt's farm in northern Minnesota, abandoned (or forgotten) by his mother, meowing at the top of his little lungs in the grass by my aunt's garage.

My cousin first discovered him, and left him there, believing that mama would be back soon enough, to complete the baby's transfer to the new hiding place. Having been on the farm his entire life, my cousin had known hundreds of cats and kittens, and things usually worked themselves out where they were concerned. However, by that evening, this little bitty life was still sitting in the grass by the garage, unable to see, unable to stand on his wobbly little legs, and crying, crying, crying for his mother, ...and it was getting dark.

Did mama miscount? Did she abandon him on purpose? If so, what could be wrong with him???

This is when the kitten was brought to my attention, and that was all it took. Nightfall was coming on, and there was no way that something this defenseless would survive a night on the farm. Some other creature would surely eat him if we left him alone. A hawk, an owl, a coyote, a wolf, a raccoon. The number of possible predators was a daunting proposition. So, I accepted the mission. I scooped this tiny gray kitten into a makeshift shelter cardboard box, and I began to vex.

How will I feed him? What do I do??? He is so so hungry! Help!!!

Luckily, my cousin had an unused "Just Born" baby bottle kit, made specially for tiny animals. I warmed some milk and filled the bottle. With one hand, I balanced the squirming kitten who was still desperately searching and calling for his mama, and with the other hand, I held the bottle, and I tried to connect the two. It took about ten minutes, and just as I was beginning to panic, he finally took hold and started to suck. My heart jumped. We have 'contact'! I was utterly relieved. This precious kitten proceeded to drink for about two minutes straight, and then, almost suddenly, his little body went completely still and his little head fell slightly backwards. Oh no! I thought he was dead! But, upon closer inspection, I realized that he was just sound asleep. His little tummy was full and he was out like a light!

Awwww.... it was too much. That was it. No questions asked. I was his, body and soul. This little life became the center of my world for the next six weeks. Every 2-hour feedings, nurturing, playing, cuddling... I was a new mom.

So, that's Oliver's story. That's how Oliver came to be mine. Little Oliver... the orphan, saved on the 4th of July, who now sleeps laying on my head, across my neck, or circled up by my ear with his cheek pressed to mine. A gorgeous gray tabby with fox-brown highlights, a white chin, coal black paws and tip of the tail, and hypnotically dark green eyes, unlike those of any other cat I've ever known, which stare directly into mine, waiting for my next word or gesture. Like a dog.....who purrs. He is amazing.
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Tally: "Oliver, Jack and Five White Cats" has one story told, and six to go...

...plus Dusty.

Oliver, Jack and Five White Cats

How did I manage to wind up with seven cats? Oh no, wait, make that eight. I can't forget about Dusty, the outdoor stray that I fed for two winters, who has now established herself as a full-time part-time resident, complete with her own heated 'dog-house converted into a luxury cat-house' and perennially-filled food and water bowls. Jeez, eight cats.

OK, so, how did I manage to wind up with eight cats?

the answer to that question, and each cat's story, will unfold in the coming days... interwoven with my personal journeys through romance and love, devastating heartbreaks, the battle scar of post-traumatic shock, artistic evolutions, amazing travels and the wonderful people I've met, the friends I've made and lost, business challenges, surviving cancer and the cancer battles of other friends and family. Victories, defeats, love, hate, life, death and cats, cats, cats!

Oliver, Jack and Five White Cats..... ...and Dusty.