The Cat
And
The Mad Lobster
A True Story
By
Robert Alan Chapin
Copyright 2011
A Smashwords Edition
I have never been a cat lover but we had him for 18 years. One thing you could not do was sit with bare feet exposed. He would unexpectedly jump at them and you either found yourself fending him off or getting spiked by his sharp claws and teeth. I realize he was only playing, but it was a an embarrassing encounter when we had guests.
It is often said that cats do not perform tricks well, but even though this cat had a foot fetish I was able to train him to do a few tricks. I would wrestle him to the floor and, “playfully” take his front leg and with a piece of ribbon - tie it onto his hind leg in the fashion of a rodeo wrestler tying a calf. Then raise my hands up triumphantly! Kitty could not wait for me to arrive home where he would nudge me while carrying a piece of ribbon in his mouth.
He always allowed me to play with him and never showed his claws in anger. The most hilarious trick happened one night when (kitty, a house cat) was resting on the floor one summer night next to the screen door. I was watching the 11:00 PM news and the cat did not take kindly to other cats - especially a feral animal. As it walked by our door kitty became territorial and literally shot through the closed screen as easily as if it were a piece of paper.
I previously trained the cat to play dead. I would point my thumb and forefinger at him pretending to have a gun. We had worked out this routine - and as stupid as it sounds I would begin by saying:
“This town ain’t big enough for the two of us and one of us hasta’ leave and it ain’t gonna’ be me”
At this point the cat would just stare at me until I fired off an imaginary thumb shot.
“Bang!” and the cat would list ever so slightly
I would repeat the procedure and this time the cat would list even more.
Finally, on the third and last shot the cat dropped to the floor and played dead. I have never known a cat up until that time or since to play dead. At this point he was limp in my arms as I picked him up. Then when I offered him a treat where he came alive ready to do it over again.
The night kitty smashed through the door in retreat of the intruder cat I heard my wife call from our bedroom upstairs:
“Where’s kitty” she asked
“Uh! He just bolted through the screen door!” I replied.
When she finally came downstairs to see the screen door blown open she was terrified but not as much as I was. I often thought my sole purpose in our marriage was to keep that cat alive. We chased the cat for about 15 minutes without success.
I had to have been a candidate for the funny farm because I began to play this stupid game. People could not see the cat, but only observing me performing this strange behavior.
“OK kitty - This town ain’t big enough for the two of us and one of us hasta’ leave and it ain’t gonna’ be me” I began the routine.
I repeated the it two more times and suddenly from out of the shrubbery walks kitty. Still apprehensive about coming to me, I continued to play act in front of a dozen neighbors no doubt wondering what I was doing with finger cocked and talking in some ridiculous manner about shooting a cat.
I went through the entire scenario and just as if on que, on the third imaginary shot the cat dropped to the ground where I proceeded to pick him up and carry him into the house. The next day I explained to our neighbors how the cat and I play our game.
Another funny incident occurred in the summer of 1985. My wife and I were about to enjoy a nice quiet Saturday afternoon watching the cooking shows on public TV and decided to have our own New England clambake. We stopped by the fish department at our local supermarket and purchased one lobster and several quarts of clams (steamers). My Wife would enjoy the lobster, and I the clams with drawn butter.
The previous weekend we attended a back yard picnic and were still carrying the coolers in the trunk. The lobster was in one of those plastic supermarket bags and placed on my wife’s side of the car in her foot space under the dash. At a red light I had the bright idea of shaking the bag. The lobster got loose and my wife began to scream and placed her feet up on the dash, almost touching the windshield where her entire body was unbendable and she remained there stiff as a plank. I pulled into a convenience store parking lot successfully getting the lobster back into the plastic bag and into the cooler. This was one angry lobster because we could hear the thrashing.
When we arrived home, I placed the now lethargic lobster in cold water and the clams in the kitchen sink. We fixed a drink and were enjoying the cooking show when all of a sudden I heard the “WEEEOW!” “WEEEOW!”. When I ran into the kitchen the cat was on the counter smacking the lobster with its paws and one of the rubber bands holding the claws together had become undone. Trying to capture that lobster with one misguided crushing power loose claw presented a challenge.
Another bright idea was to fill a pot with cold water and place the lobster inside with the gas burner turned to low. Back to the cooking show! After another ten minutes a loud clang in the kitchen. The lobster trying to get out of the ever increasing heated water flipped the cover to the pot onto the floor. The cat ran in the other direction, and I actually had to take a dish towel and hold the cover on the pot until the lobster was no longer flailing. I have since been told that the best way to cook a lobster is to plunge it into boiling water. I do have a problem with either method and have not eaten lobster since 1985.
* * *
Kitty developed a brain tumor and on the night he died my wife held him in her arms until morning.:
“I think Kitty’s dead” she said.
Dead? He’s stiff!” was my response.
We had a small patio outside our kitchen window at our condo. She gathered up his basket carefully placed his body and toys along with those squeaky fake mice and covered him with his favorite blanket. Meanwhile, I was outside digging a hole in the early part of November suggesting that she not watch me.
Every once in a while I would get a glimpse of her staring at me from the kitchen window. All I could find was a post hole digger, and if you have ever used a post hole digger you know that you can only dig so seep before you lose the ability to close the clam type shovel. When I could no longer get a good volume of dirt into the tool I was scooping dirt with my bare hands’
“Is this deep enough?“ and got the shaking of the head signifying “NO! Deeper!”
If I dug another several inches I would be reading a menu somewhere in China. My fingers were raw, but kitty had a great send off when I placed him in his “casket-basket” and when my wife was not looking I dropped his body GENTLY into the three foot deep hole. In order to prevent animals from digging for kitty’s remains, I also placed a piece of slate on top of the contents and filled the hole with dirt. We visited a garden center selecting a monument in honor of our beloved cat, and when we returned home to place the grave marker in the garden it was snowing.
During kitty’s lifetime we were never able to take a vacation because we had to stay in a flea bag motel. It was nearly impossible for us to stay at a Hampton Inn. We did begin to enjoy life without kitty and made it clear to our children - and grandchildren not to surprise us with any more pets!
Well, wouldn’t you know, on Easter Sunday following kitty’s death they showed up with two of the cutest fluff balls, a brother and sister. They were at that point where they were just been weaned from their mother and it was ok to take them from her. Our daughter told us the mother had a litter of somewhere around 6 or 7 cats, one or two were bright orange but the ones they selected for us were similar to the cover of this book
They looked like twins and had virtually the same markings. They had that beautiful pure white “V” just under their chin and both cats had white “socks.” I believe these cats are brown tabby in color. They exhibit gray markings with a splash of light brown in their fur. A male and female.
The male has more of an under carriage swing than the female who was about 4-5 pounds lighter. Each cat developed a pouch which is about two inches above the floor. It is my understanding that when cats are neutered of spayed they tend to develop this pouch.
She developed a kidney problem and had to have her put down on Christmas Eve five years ago. She was like a rag doll and would let anyone pick her up - especially children. He, on the other hand was always cautious of men, but when children were around, he also allowed the kids to carry him from one room to another stretched from his front legs to where his hind legs were dragging.
Just before we called the cat hospital to make final arrangements to have her put down, her brother and she were rolled up in a ball on one of the soft chairs in my wife’s office. He hugged, kissed and groomed her in a way we had never seen before. He knew something was wrong. Several years prior to her illness I was not feeling well and while lying on the sofa she jumped up snuggling into my mid section purring while occasionally sniffing my face - as if to say “are you alright now - I’m here!”
Just after the kids presented the kittens to us they were taken to the vet for the first time and did not have names. Even to this day they are known as Girl Kitty and Boy Kitty. The vet’s office suggested we name them for record keeping purposes. My wife decided to name the boy Lord Bootster and the girl Princess Pussin’ as in the cat food brand Puss n’ Boots. With paperwork now in place and the t’s crossed and I’s dotted, shortly thereafter follow-up appointments arrived in the mail for “Kitty and Kitty”. So much for proper names.
Girl kitty as she is affectionately known is buried outside our Lanai at our Florida home. Following a period of mourning, boy kitty gradually began to hop up on my wife’s lap and now they are inseparable. He was never too fond of me - tolerant but cautious at the same time. My wife says it is because my voice is not as soothing to the cat as hers.
There was one occasion in particular when the cat disappeared for four days while my wife was visiting our children in Massachusetts.
He was stretching his claws on the runner attached to our stairs leading from the top floor down to our den when I shouted for him to “STOP!“ That is all it had taken and he hissed and was off to his secret hiding place - for three days!. Every morning I would clean the litter box, add or change his food, and put out fresh water. I purposely raked the litter box to see if he would show up to do his business sometime during the day. By the end of the first day he had not approached the litter box, and had not touched his food.
Sometime during that second night however, he did manage to use the litter box. The next morning I repeated the same procedure as the previous day and when he did not use the box or eat on the third day I began to panic.
It was about this time when his surrogate mother: my wife called: “
How’s kitty?” she asked.
“Oh Fine” I answered.”
“Put him on the phone so momma’ can talk to him?”
“OK! He’s right here I’ll get him...”
With no cat in sight I had to think fast! Just to clarify matters, I did finally tell my wife of the incident with the stair runner and she was well aware that I faked the kitty meow on the phone. Like some husbands would do, I made an imaginary sound of a cat’s meow on the other end of the line and she and “kitty” had a meaningful conversation but it was determined that “Daddy” - that’s me, was not treating kitty nicely
When I said that he abruptly had to leave for the litter box she said that I have been too rough on him. The problem with which I was faced was that he had not eaten or peed in almost three days and she was returning home the next day.
Now, I don’t know if cats have a long memory span, but before I went to bed that night the cat still had not appeared for its daily normal routine. In the morning I called our daughter who lives less than a fifteen minute ride and explained the problem to which she suggested I leave the house for several hours. She arrived and he immediately came out of hiding and ate, peed, then played with her for about fifteen minutes,
Following her intervention I went to bed and when I awoke there was kitty up on the bed all bright eyed ready to play. I cleaned the house, loaded the dishwasher, washed the clothes and dusted the house and even kissed the cat! When my wife walked in it was as though kitty had never been missing.
I have written a number of FREE short stories for your pleasure. If you like them enough to write a review it would be greatly appreciated. The force that makes not only the free short stories successful and ultimately leads to readers purchasing my two novels are the reviews you write. Any support would be greatly valued. Thank you! Bob