February 2018 issue

A Thoroughly Confused Cat!
by Ross Coulter
Let me introduce myself. I am a feline of Tabby note
with the typical tan and black striping. I sport a white
under-belly and have white paws. My markings are
somewhat remarkable in that they are predominately
symmetrical with few exceptions.
I am totally blank on my origins and how I arrived
with my twin brother at the local animal shelter; after
all, I was only 4 months old at the time. I don’t know
how long we were there, caged as we were, until a
human couple came by to look us over. I don’t know
the source of the driving force; perhaps it was his
aura, but I was immediately drawn to the man. My
senses proved positive as he picked me up. I immediately
felt warmth, strength and gentleness in his
hands as he stroked my head and tummy while cuddling
me. Of course I started purring, what kitten
wouldn’t? Meanwhile the lady was paying attention
to my brother of similar markings, who scurried back
into the cage, and a two-year-old, black and white,
huge fellow inmate. Seems to me she was smitten
with his sweet, gentle temperament because she had
a big smile on her face when she hefted him up. He
snuggled into her arms and started purring like me.
A volunteer at the shelter had christened me
“Squiggy” but the man never used it as he murmured
in my ear. He called me “Wee Boy” or “Cutie”,
much nicer sounding names. On that fortunate day, I
was adopted along with the lady’s choice of the twoyear-old
black and white and commenced a life of
which every other orphan cat would be envious.
On arrival at our new home, we were given free
rein to explore and settle in. My instinct suggested
that as a male cat I should stake out my territory and
my now fellow feline house mate, also male, probably
thinking his superior age and size should designate
him as the alpha, would do the same. But the
fact that we had both been “fixed”, having had our
“Tomness” removed, any competition between us
was at a very low level except as it related to gaining
the attention of our humans.
Shortly after arriving in our new home, the man
and lady started to play the name game. They debated
about what they should name us. I had thought the
man had already renamed me back at the shelter,
“Wee Boy” or “Cutie” or both, but as it turned out
they started to call me Casey. I could live with that
until they named my roommate Clancy. There might
be room for confusion. Such was not the case as my
initial perception about my new master proved true.
(Geez, I hate that reference when instinctively I
know the opposite to be true.) He was warm, kind
and gentle and, OH! Those hands! As time progressed,
I would seek him out more and more to experience
his gentle petting. It set me
to drooling and I started showing my
affection by licking his hands. He
started calling me “Licker” and
“Drooler”.
I started following him around the
house, letting him know with my little yip (I
never meowed like a normal cat), that I wanted to be
picked up. He started calling me his little dog. Whenever
he goes out, I sit on the mat awaiting his return.
When he walks through the door, I weave between
his legs while he tries to take off his shoes. That’s
when he calls me “Pest”. Sometimes I just sit in front
of him while he reads, staring at him, thinking he
will guess what I want. He tries to stare me down but
I always win and he calls me “Brat”. On other occasions,
if I really natter with my yips to get his attention,
he will call me “Monkey”. If he really wants to
get my attention, he will call me Casey, but I am so
used to being called Wee Boy, Cutie, Monkey, little
dog, Pest, Brat, Licker, Drooler, or any other term of
endearment, I don’t respond. Dog probably would
have been a more appropriate name because I consistently
follow him around the house and I do lie at
his feet in the morning while he reads the newspaper.
While I am a bit confused as to my real name, anything
he calls me normally gets my attention. Sometimes
he tries to ignore me, but I can be very persistent
and bug him until he defers to my demands,
which he does most often by picking me up for a
cuddle and gentle stroking from his strong, warm and
gentle hands.
I’m surprised that he hasn’t started calling me his
“Little B----r”! Now that would be offensive and I
would probably ignore him altogether, but he is the
hand that feeds and I do rely on him for sustenance.
No! I think, as in the 12 or so years we have been
together, I have gained mastery over him, I will continue
allowing him to call me by whatever name he
wishes.
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T S - F 2018