Tom's "My Day"

I, Tom, the common tabby but a noble cat, began my day by posting myself at the back door where I
see into the house I belong to.  She was a little late this morning.  The sun was up and above the
horizon, before she came past.  I pretended not to see her, but I heard her in the kitchen turning on
water which begins her day.  She keeps the shades over her windows at night, so that I don't see her
getting out of bed.


I am watching when she approaches the door to let me in.  Then I move directly to the door to the garage and to the light switch where she follows me to click it each morning.  Back inside, I hear her get out the food sack for my breakfast dry menu.  I love the crunch of that good stuff. 


She leaves me alone then  and works over the bed she sleeps in,  The soft blanket is on the floor where I delight in flexing my toes in the soft feel of it.  Drat! She tells me to get off.  "I need the blanket," she says.  She puts it on the bed, along with another cover.  When she finished, I jumped up onto the pillows that match the top cover.  It feels so good; yet when she sees me she tells me to get off.  I pretend not to hear.  I actually have to endure a lecture about it, but I'd rather not hear it, so I hopped off.  Well, I found another nice warm, sunny spot on the floor.  It's not to bad, but nothing like the blanket or the pillow. 


I have been with her now so long I believe I deserve the same comforts she indulges in, herself.  Just when I think I have been accepted with the same privileges she has, she gives me pushes and lectures.
Is that any kind of life the king of the cats should have?  After all, I am royalty intended for my subjects to treat me with  the greatest respect. 


I will make her give me her full attention and pet me more than along my back and tail.  I will have nothing less than my jaws, my chin, and my head rubbed.  What does it matter if a little drool gets on her lap, or her fingers get wet from rubbing my jaws?


My friends, we must persist in making our house owners conform to our greatest comfort.

Book Signing in Ok. city Jan. 17th and Tom at home

Any of you in the Oklahoma City area ?  I invite you to attend a book signing at the Full Circle bookstore this Saturday, January 17th from 3 to 5 pm.  I will be there with copies of my novel, THE HIDDEN CITY, an adventure filled with mystery, suspense, and intrigue.  Favors of free bookmarks and chocolate will be included in the festivities. 


Full Circle is an independent bookstore located across from Penn Square Mall at 1900 NW Expressway, Suite 135.


Tom the common tabby, but noble cat, will be inside all day avoiding the cold weather, should it not be as warm as predicted this Saturday.  But he will be alert to the wild life outside, keeping up a watch from the door and windows.  If a bird flies from one window sighting, Tom runs to the window in the direction the bird has taken. 


During the few occasions I am away overnight, ;he may be in or out.  When I return and call him, I find a very "cool cat" who acts as if nothing unusual has happened. 


Do our pets respond any differently to a full moon.  The moon has been full lately.  I find Tom is more feisty and full of restlessness.  He will crowd the door wanting in, and then march to the other door and sail right out again.  I noticed this with a previous pet, Millie, the Burmese who used to cling to the window sill of an upstairs bedroom (gained by leaping from a fence to the narrow sill.
Being let in through the window, she would run right downstairs to the front door to go out and repeat the maneuver all over again, until convinced by being ignoring she wouldn't get away with the game any further.


Cats try to outwit their human friends.

First Tom

My first pet, when I was about five years old wandered into my Dad's feed mill, because he fed cats to keep the mice away from the grain in the mill.  Tom was a full-grown light yellow male Dad named, "Tom" and brought home for a pet.  I had wanted a white cat like the one in Peter Rabbit who sat grooming herself in the sun.  Tom was the next best cat.  He was an intelligent cat who showed he had a mind of his own. 


Dad always fed the mill cats on Sunday when the mill was closed, and I would go along to see the two cats.  All I had known before were country cats who never entered the house at my grandparents farm.  At age three, I had followed a kitten who ran under the front porch, and when I reached in to pull out the kit, it scratched me in the eye.  That required a trip to the country doctor.  I recovered and still wanted a pet cat.


Dad gave Tom a place in our kitchen.  He had to sit on the two-step kitchen stool while there.  My Dad even taught Tom to shake paws.  He would tell the cat to shake his hand, and touch Tom's paw.  Tom would raise it and he would shake the paw as if Tom were a young gentleman.  I would do the same and shake Tom's paw.  You'll say, "Yes, he raised his paw because it was touched."  Maybe so, and maybe not.  We believed, and Tom never failed. 


Tom also knew how to transport himself between our home and the mill.  One time my Mother
sent after him with the broom.  To show his disdain, he turned up at the mill overnight.  Then when he felt like it he would return home.


Tom was unaltered and had springtime departures to live apart chasing girls (as I was later to learn).
If I heard cats fighting in the night I would dash out of the house to rescue my dear feline from harm, knowing nothing of the nature of animal life.  In due course Tom would come home announcing his
return in a cadence matching his marching feet of loud m'rows.  He also bore his battle wounds.


Another time I'll tell you about his battle with a crawdad.