with my mojo back, i realized how much i missed being outside.  since july, i have not been allowed to go out and strut my stuff.  why?  because i got in a fight.  i was defending the home turf from another feral cat, and while he was supposed to run off in fear and trembling, he ran over me like a sod aerator.  i was full of holes and squashed pride and i spent a full day at the hospital getting patched and put back together.  the upshot was that the outside was off-limits.

yet i got a taste of freedom over the weekend.  it started on saturday.  Clark Taylor came over to rehearse the music for his winter production of A CHERRY LOG CHRISTMAS CAROL (an Appalachian-flavored adaptation of Charles Dickens’ CHRISTMAS CAROL).  there was piano, guitar, banjo, fiddle, harmonica, mountain dulcimer and ol’ timey singing.  the music had me tapping all four feet!  and then it came to me:  my people were distracted.  they weren’t paying any attention to me.  so i went to the door, waiting for some distracted person to make my escape possible.  it didn’t happen.

but then on sunday, the house was quiet.  knitting and newspapers and second cups of coffee were the only things going on.  my chance arrived.  the gal went to the basement to shift laundry from washer to dryer, and when she came back in, i was there with a saturn five rocket on my tail.  i even said WHOOOOSH as i bolted past her and down the stairs.  she whirled and came after me, but you can’t outrun four legs when all you’ve got is two.  i was out, by golly, i was out!!!

how sweet the air smelled!  and there were squirrels everywhere harvesting nuts for the coming cold.  i was so happy to see them without a window between us that i didn’t even chase.  i just took it all in.  then i rolled in the grass.  have you ever seen a horse taking a grass bath, rolling like a half-ton puppy on its back?  that was me!  i couldn’t get enough.  the leaves were falling, the air was crisp, and i was one happy boy.

my gal was worried, though, and she came looking for me.  unlike the days before the  fight, i didn’t run from her because when you love someone, your behavior changes.  you learn to respect their needs, even when their needs aren’t the same as yours.  there i was, wanting to be outside and enjoying every minute of it.  but there was my gal, needing me to be safe because she loves me.  i let her pick me up, and we went inside.

being in a relationship is like being in school, and this weekend i learned that being free isn’t only about being on the other side of the door.  it’s also about recognizing my responsibility within that freedom.  purr, y’all.

i don’t know where to start.  i’m so wound i can’t sit down.  the good news is that i have found my mojo.  it was in a tupperware container in a cupboard.  i got it open with my feline ingenuity, and my power came back like a lion to the kill.  it was like regrowing testicles!!!  then when the bitch cats came after me, instead of running under the bed, i pounced.  i chased them up the walls and across the ceiling, and now they’re under the bed where they belong and i’m the Cat King!

the bad news is that i read my facebook feed before the New York Times, and i see that the president has lifted the ban on elephant trophy imports.  this is a disgusting turn of events in a long line of disgusting turns, and while it breaks my heart that he has no heart for the animal kingdom, i need to point out that he has no heart for humans, either.  i’m not a politicat, but come on, what did people expect?  yes, it’s shocking to read about the further endangerment of an already endangered animal, but it is no more shocking than the further endangerment of black America, immigrants, refugees, Muslims, Jews, LGBTQ, public school children, women, the poor, the middle class, and the environment.

people, listen:  you’re all wound up in Roy Moore and Al Franken and Kevin Spacey and Harvey Weinstein, and though i salute you for finally noticing that this kind of cat poop has been going on for a looooooong time, nevertheless you are playing  with a red herring.  the real culprit is the man who is on record as saying “just grab them by the pussy!”  and he wasn’t talking about anybody’s feline friend.  you want to talk about criminal behavior?  let’s talk about the man in the oval office.  how is he getting away with it?  why doesn’t anyone care?

i’d like to invite y’all to find the tupperware container where your mojo is hiding.  open it and regrow whatever body part you need to crawl out from under the bed.  it’s time to chase the real culprit out the door.   growl, y’all.

as i mentioned in a previous post, the gal and i flew to atlanta the other day.  she got a seat by the window and i got a cage on the floor.  it wasn’t my favorite way to travel, but like so many things i’m discovering since joining a family, there are many decisions that are made for me rather than by me.  i’m adjusting, but it’s a process.  when we’re out west, it’s just the two of us.  we have breakfast together every morning, we watch the birds outside the window, i blog, she knits.  but in our house in the ATL, there are two other cats and a rabbit.  the rabbit, whose name is kitty for pete’s sake, is bigger than me so i leave her alone.  but the cats are a different matter.  they’re sisters, and i would call them the feline equivalent of female dogs, except there is no equivalent, so i’ll just play it straight and say they are bitches.  serious bitches.  not only did they refuse to welcome me home, but they also won’t let me near the food.  and every time i need a cuddle, one of them is in my gal’s lap.  this is going to come to a head soon, like after they stop chasing me.  in the meantime, i’m staying out of their way and and doing my writing from a quiet spot under the bed.  Purr, y’all.

once i learned there was such a thing as petting, i was all for it.  i love to be petted.  i love to curl up next to my gal so she can run her hands down my back and tickle my chin.  when i’m really feeling it, i even let her rub my tummy.  there are days, though, when i don’t wish to be touched, and i’ve taught my gal which days are which with a growl and a swat.

but let’s put this in perspective:  i’m a cat.  in the human world, when one human tries to pet another human, there had better be an agreement between the two that petting is ok.  humans who touch without permission are abusing their power over other humans.  humans who believe they can take what they want from another human are bad.  it’s wrong to think that the rights, dignity, body, innocence, and future of one human are subject to the desires, lust and needs of another.  it makes me hiss and spit to read about all these men who have abused women and children simply because they can.  in my world, a tom has to ask permission of a queen before he can even speak to her.  if she tells him to back off and he doesn’t listen, she will rip into him with claws and teeth and teach him what “no thank you” means.  you know what else happens to toms that can’t keep it zipped?  they get neutered, that’s what.  Purr, y’all.

have you ever zipped yourself into a sleeping bag only to have the zipper break?  have you ever been inside a bathroom stall and couldn’t get the door to open?  were you ever shoved inside a school locker by someone who wouldn’t let you out?  that’s what i experienced the other day when my gal loaded me into a pet carrier and flew me across the country.  now mind you, i have no quarrel with going to the atlanta part of atlanta fe and having the pleasure of visiting with/chasing the house cats i left behind, but i do dispute the mode of transportation.  can we talk about the whole concept of pet carrier?

i think of my gal as a pet carrier.  i’m her pet, and she is my carrier.  pretty simple, right?  in fact, i had no objection to flying, and i would have been delighted to ride in her arms all the way to atlanta.  however, the airlines don’t see things the same way we do.  they think a pet carrier is a cage small enough to fit under a seat on the plane.  the absurdity is that NOTHING will fit under the seat of a plane.  yet much to my chagrin, that’s where i spent three hours; under the seat, in a cage, all alone, and the flight crew didn’t even think to offer me a drink or a kibble snack.

so here’s some advice for traveling cats:  remember that once you get to the airport, you are no longer in charge.  not only that, but your human is not in charge either.  both of you are at the mercy of people with the power to decide who stays and who goes, and you don’t want to provoke them into deciding that one of you can go but not both.  so when you must fly, plan on taking a nice long nap.  you’ll make the experience easier on yourself and your human, and you’ll arrive at your destination rested and refreshed, which, in the end, is what life is all about.  purr, y’all.

it was turning cold at about this time so i didn’t mind going back to the basement every day to eat the crunchy stuff, and every day the dish was full and waiting for me.  after a week or so, the human came down the stairs to say hello.  i’m not stupid, so i dashed to the darkest corner of the basement, but thanks to my dang tuxedo/penguin markings, she could still see me.  she sat down on the steps and made clucking noises.  she sounded like chicken who has found a worm.  she looked at me and i at her and neither of us blinked.  then she went back upstairs.  curious, right?  she must have been the one who put the dish where i could find it.  she must want me to eat.  so i ate some more.

the next day, she came down again while i was eating, and again i retreated to the shadows, but this time she sat down beside the food dish and made the chicken noises.  i began to believe she was harmless, so i tip-toed to the dish.  she lowered her head and didn’t look at me.  i wasn’t sure what she had in mind, but in my world, that posture means submission.  curiouser and curiouser!  first the food and now this.  so i figured “ok, what the heck.  it probably won’t kill you to acknowledge the gesture.”

i bumped her head with mine.  we kittens did that every day with our mum and it was always met with a hug or a bath.  but this gal kept her head low and bumped back!  “alright then,” i thought, “let’s try that again.”  i bumped, she bumped.  i bumped, she bumped.  then she stood up, i retreated, and that was that.

day after day there was food, her presence, and an exchange of head bumps.  then she extended her hand as we bumped and touched me.  since mum had taught that human touch is almost always fatal, i expected that my next breath would be my last, yet there i stood, breathing.  quivering, yes, but breathing.  not only that, but the touch was good.  it was warm and gentle.  i let her keep touching.

we continued this introductory ritual for several days, and then there came the time of real discovery.  i ate, we bumped, she touched, but then without warning she put both hands on me and picked me up!  my brain screamed “fight, scratch, run!” but my body said “i don’t know what’s happening but it sure is nice.”  my heart pounded like a mouse heart and i could hardly breathe, but breathe i did, and then i felt a rumble inside.  it was a sound from kittenhood that started low and grew louder as it moved from memory to this moment.  it was the sound mum made when we nursed and pressed our tiny paws into her soft flesh.  it was the sound of contentment; the sound of love, and it was coming from me as this gal held me.  i think i was more surprised than she was.

the long and the short of my story is this:  she brought me in.  i’m a house-cat now.  a handsome, happy, tuxedo, bob-tailed, house-cat, and i couldn’t be happier.  Purr, y’all.

it took a while for my heart to stop racing, though i was still and under cover.  and then a strange thought came to me.  i went in and was able to get out.  the human in the house saw me and didn’t yell or chase me.  and, even better, the basement had corners, which means i could use it to my advantage in hunting; cornered prey are easier to dispatch than free-ranging prey.  hmmmm.

the next day i slipped through the grate to explore the basement.  i didn’t make a sound, and i didn’t hear any sounds from upstairs.  i crept around the perimeter, checking for other ways to come and go and was delighted to discover a second broken grate on the other side of the basement.  enter on one side and exit on the other; very promising indeed.

then i noticed a smell.  it wasn’t something i’d smelled before, but it had a foodish scent.  of course i’d left half a mouse the day before, but this was different.  i crept like fog from the walls to the center of the basement floor, and discovered a small bowl filled with pellets.  they looked like rabbit poop, but they smelled……interesting.  i crept closer, all senses on high alert for a trap.  closer and closer until my nose was at the edge of the dish and nothing happened.  sniff sniff sniff.  nothing happened.  wait, sniff, look around.  nothing.  so i ignored everything i’d been taught and eased one pellet into my mouth.  i crunched it.  the taste was savory, with squirrel notes and a pleasant bird finish.  yum.  oh my yes, yum!  i looked around again.  i could see both exits clearly.  no humans appeared. i was not trapped, and the pellets fairly begged me to eat them.  so i did.

to be continued yet again….

i don’t remember the day i was born, and i’ll bet you don’t either, but i do remember being a kitten, lolloping with my siblings in the brush under the watchful eye of our beloved mum.  and i remember that when we were big enough to hunt on our own, we were on our own.  we scattered in the woods and i took up residence in a part where the mice and squirrels were plentiful and water ran in a trickle after a rain.  i had my own little place beneath the roots of a tree and as far as i could tell, i was set.  but then a few days passed when my dinner outran me, and i was too hungry for sense.  i did what no wild cat should ever do:  i chased a mouse into the basement of a house.

mum warned us kittens of the dangers of houses.  she told us about doors and windows and how they were not to be trusted because they might let you enter but might not let you exit.  she told us about the humans that live inside who would chase us away or worse, report us to the authorities.  she told us to stay away, no matter what.  but there i was, intent on that mouse and the next thing i knew i was not out but in.  i cornered my meal and was half finished when one of those doors opened and a human saw me.  i spat mouse fur as i ran and slipped through a broken grate to the outside and escaped into the cover of trees.

to be continued….