The Purring Cat

Much has kept me from consistency in blogging, but I hope to do better.


Tom bestows his affection greatly -- each time I sit or lie down.  In my lap or if I'm prone he sits close to my face and paws at my hand to get it to pet him.  After a bit of time he appears to be satisfied and settles himself apart from me, usually that is.  Sometimes he curls up next to my back.  And those times after I sit up, I find that his head is resting on the pillow behind where my head lay.
"Imitate your mistress," he seems to be saying.


I wish Tom was a purring cat, but the best he can do is to vibrate slightly.  He does love to share my time. 


You know how cats love to knead, especially on soft surfaces.  I don't believe in cutting cats' claws, so I continue repeating my admonition to stop clawing.  "Don't claw.  No claws." And such.  And believe it or not, Tom does try to press his feet into my lap without clawing.  But next time, I repeat the commands.  His heart is willing, but his flesh is weak.

Tom's Next Door Friend

Last week I was on hand to feed and water Tom's neighbor.  She is a yellow-orange striped puss.  She is given a privileged life by her master.  She has a basked beside his bed to sleep in, and nests in his living room to held her close.  One is a tree to climb with "scoops" she can lie down in, if she feels like it.  She has a fountain watering bowl that I check, besides a Fancy Feat meal and automatic feeders for dry meals.  I checked all of these  things and fed and watered her, scooped out her litter boxes (yes, plural) and got everything done.  She comes up and sniffs at my finger tips, but shies away, if I extend him hand to pet her.  So -- she is a one master cat.  I also find she is curious and shares one habit with my good friend Tom.  She inspects the cabinets but leaves the doors open as does Tom. 


I once had a Siamese gentlemen cat named Senator Fong who was adept at opening the front door, but he always left it open and never learned to close it.  He could have backed up against it and closed it, but he never did.    It is like TV programs in which people get out of cars leaving the doors open and the headlights on.  Don't they know it runs down the battery?

Annoucement:


I will be appearing with my novel THE HIDDEN CITY at the Hardesty Regional Library, January 9 from 1:00 to 4:30 pm.  The event is a Book Fair featuring speakers for readers and writers.  A number of Tulsa area writers will be present with their books.  I would love to have you visit me there.

No Trespassing

The air suddenly filled with an eerie sound -- a higher pitched howl than a growl, but coming from a growling throat.  Tom sprang from the chair with the soft, fake-fur throw to the bed below the window.  He reared up on his hind legs to look out the window.  I followed his gaze.  On the high
board fence separating my property from that of my neighbor was a cat with a collar.  Tom had yet
to be influenced by a nearby cat, except outside where he was most likely to retreat before a strange
cat.  He jumped up to the window sill to make his presence authoritative.


Tom repeated the howl over and over, his altered voice still affecting his speech.  The cat on the fence didn't look in his direction through the window.  Why did this cat excite such a menacing response in the cool-cat personality which is Tom.  My impression was that the fence cat was a female, not that such has ever had any real affect on my altered Tom.  Yet in some ways she resembled Tom, but with much more white fur.  In fact, she was white with several small patches of striped fur of the same color as Tom's mostly striped head and back.  Only his chest and underbelly are white. 


Did he regard this feline as a relative that hadn't acknowledge his territory?  Or was this a sudden and very emotional warning to the marauder?  Stay off my space.  Can't you tell it is NO TRESPASSING here?

My Daugher's "Tom"

I have written much about the Tom I have adopted from my younger daughter after her divorce and her need to establish a new life.  That was seven years ago, and Tom is thoroughly my cat, demanding all the rights of affection from my, as well as, food, water, rights to all my domicile offers.


But  when we moved into the house I now inhabit when my children were children, my first daughter found a black cat that followed her up from a creek that ran back of our house.  She had to leave her
cat behind in Illinois when we moved here, so she welcomed and fed the long-hair 't feline who was so friendly.  He had been  someone's pet and needed a new home.  Sadly, in this neighborhood, when people moved away they left behind their pets to find for themselves.  So we had a willing tomcat and mistress. 


In the second grade she wrote lovingly of him as an elegant cat -- Tom, named by her father, a farm boy who considered all animals must earn their keep by being useful.  He wasn't used to cat being anything but catching mice in the barn.  So, as she continued to write her essay, "Dad calls him that fleabag, etc. and etc.


However, Tom did contribute to the general welfare of our family.  The housing plat had taken over a field on the edge of habitation which was not yet filled in as a residential area.  The field was rich with field mice and possums, skunks, squirrels and bluebirds and meadowlarks, long since vanished, except for the squirrels and rabbits and the occasional possum.  I also hear ducks downstream from the natural creek that has become a city-widened drainage system.  Tom often caught large field mice and brought them to the back door, proclaiming loudly his gift.  Not to mention his pride in the catch.
Of course, we praised and petted Tom for his thoughtfulness.


Tom was a loved pet by all the children, combed and fed by his mistress. 


To continue a rather long history of this Tom, his life was at risk one time.  A neighbor came racing by trying to catch her boxer pet.  Just as the dog past, Tom on the hood of a car in our drive jumped on the dog's back.  When the large dog got near the telephone pole at the very back o property, the cat jumped up onn the new pole with a new coat of creosote.  What should have been a \successful retreat turned into a cat's worst nightmare.  The dogs teeth ripped open his belly.  He
made it on up the pole as only a cat could.  The owner got hold of the boxer, but I could see a red line un Ton's underside.  He was able to come down the pole, and was taken immediately to the
neighborhood vet who stitched him up.  Thankfully the rip had only penetrated the outer skin.  The stomach lining held intact.


Pet ownership can be exciting.  Nevertheless, guard your pets


Afterthought:  this girl still has two cats and a dog and lives on a small acreage.  All these are friendly and love to be petted.  Her daughter also had four cats at one time, until one died.

Compliant, Even Obedient Tom

I have good news about Tom, the most understanding and intelligent cat pet I have known.
While he has settled himself on the bolster pillows on my bed -- when my back was turned -- he has also been obedient when I tell him he need not be on the pillows.  He has even deigned to arise
and jump off the bed. 


He has also enjoyed jumping into my lay and crossing  over into the twin chair on my left side.
I am most often in my TV watching chair when he decides to join me.  However, he soon curls up
or stretches out inn the chair and goes off to sleep.  Well, the term cat nap does certainly apply.  Cats do often sleep with one eye slightly open to observe all that goes on.  He watches my comings and
goings from the chair.  But sometimes I find him fast asleep and wake him when it is time for him
to go out for the night.  Lately, he has been quite cooperative, and with or without a little push,
moves to the door and exits willingly.  I am thankful for his attitude change. 


He is regaining his voice, too, and expressing appreciation when I open the door to let him in. 
He has his little sounds of "thank you" as he enters the house and then high tails it off toward the garage door to make sure  I turn off the yard light.  He prefers to do this even before he settles over his breakfast kibble. 

What happened, Tom?

Ten days ago Tom produced a cough that came from deep inside him by the loud, barking sound of it.
I thought vomiting would follow the heaving of his stomach and put him out the nearest door. Over
several days the same thing happened, but he managed to swallow and conquer whatever made him produce such an upheaval in sound -- beyond an ordinary cough which might have been due to a
hair ball.  Thank heaven he never did throw up anything.


Then the malady subsided.   I heard no more coughing.  Then a couple of days ago, he meowed a
small kitten like comment followed by more attempts to voice his message.  Weak, cracking vocalized feline language.


I've tried to figure out what happened.  He ate without difficulty his full meals, as usual.  But I hadn't heard him speak, I recalled.  At last, I concluded he had eaten, or swallowed, something that got in the way of his voice which had to dissolve out of his way.  I must think like a cat.  At least, that's my analysis.  Perhaps, a rat's tail?I