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When I hit twenty, I went out and got a cat…and a pair of cowboy boots; something else I wasn't allowed to have, but not because I was allergic to them, just some kind of inane style notion my mother possessed. I've had cats ever since, on and off, using them up like batteries in a cheapy made-in-china toy. Some I liked. Some I didn't care much for…usually 'cause they didn't seem to care a rat's ass about me. - Some were really cool and fun to have around: there was Pie Wacket (a fluffy black male that looked like a witches consort), Tokyo Rose (a whining Siamese mix with white socks), Mariah (pre Carey days…please!), Wheezer (he made that sound instead of meowing…really), Pearl (another Siamese offspring name for Janis Joplin),Ridley (a gray fellow with a stub tale…we nicknamed him cigar-butt-butt…he was a very hip cat) and probably 20 others that escape me at the moment. - I have done my share of backyard burials for these temporary visitors as well as spent a good many hours and dollars getting them shots, and put back on their fuzzy little feet. I've put up with their mad dashes for freedom at all hours of the day and night in all kinds of weather. I've stared at some mass on a carpet that was wet and cold (I know this 'cause I'd just stepped on the damn thing) wondering if it was hairball or..gack…fecal! Then slumping off to get a paper towel to remove it before I stepped in it again. - I'm sure this sounds familiar to a few of you. The others can laugh at the lengths people will go to maintain a pet…a cat…and I don't blame you. After all these years it all seems pretty damn strange to me too. It is odd though, as tough a bird as I think of myself, I have yet another one of these hairy abominations now residing with me…I'll never learn. I've actually had this animal about two and half years…as I see this written out it surprises me, it doesn't seem that long. - The cat we had before was much beloved, a fun and affectionate friend. He died of some nasty disease that finally shut his kidneys down. No sooner had this "family member" passed on then the cry went up, "Let's get a NEW cat!...Yeah, a NEW cat, now!." I said, "Wait a frickin' minute!...If your grandmother croaked, who you supposedly love more than you would a funky cat, you sure as hell wouldn't run out and get a new grandmother before her tired old corpse was even cold!...Jeez!" - I managed to keep the family at bay by repeating this every time the desire for a new kitty came up. I missed Ridley, but it was sure nice not having the responsibility of "cat wrangler" dumped back on me before I had a little time to catch my breath. - That lasted about a year. A workmate had a cat she offered us. I went over to get it one afternoon and found out she'd changed her mind. She did have another cat I could have though…and indicated a black and brownish tiger striped cat with medium length hair and a tail that looked like a bent, greasy bottle brush…big deal. The cat really didn't have anything going for it, but if I returned home without a cat I knew I'd have to endure more heckling from the cheap seats. I reluctantly said okay and packed the little fuzz-wad into my truck and went home. - The animal was accepted; as it turned out, I could have come home with an alligator, a badger, whatever…they really wouldn't have cared at that point…what a group. The cat was dubbed Chili Pepper…the name is much cuter than the cat, but as it turns out, the name is quite appropriate. I don't think this animal has been out of heat for more than a day and a half at a stretch since we've had her! She's one hot little number. - Which brings me to the point of all this; I can't remember to take the stupid thing in to be neutered! Call it a perpetual senior moment, a brain fart, or what you will, but I can't seem to get this animals tubes tied to save my life! Because of this I am sitting here, as usual, at my desk in the back room and this vibrator of a cat is mauling my feet. Attempting to hump me in the worst way. She is relentless! I can boot her away and ZAP…she's right back on my feet like a pair of Rumanian bedroom slippers! Looking up at me with those vacuous yellow eyes…all watering and expectant, waiting for me to jump here no doubt. I'm at the point I may sling open the front door and boot the oversexed nuisance onto the next block. - Nope, I can't do that…I'm a sympathetic human being. I just need to make myself a big note..like this..*scribble, scribble, scribble*...and stick it here *umpfh!*...where I can't miss it…There! - GET THE FRIGGIN' CAT FIXED…NOW! - Let's see if it works (*I doubt it*)...Who
said That?!! - Who is this Guy RCat? Currently, his duties include acting as the head of a family consisting of an overworked wife, a vibrating teenaged son, and an over stimulated housecat. An elder daughter resides at some distance with her own family; a husband, two sons, and a daughter. As head of this merry band of pranksters, the illusionary aspects of his carefree life are played out on the stage of daily routine. RCat is a self described "survivor," having lived through the "flower power" promises of the 1960's with the goals of world peace, universal brotherhood, free-love, and the legalization of certain organic herbs. Contrary to what others might say, he can still remember parts of it quite vividly. Sadly, those cosmic issues have now been reduced to the cliché. He now, more realistically, understands the world has gone quite mad and no longer cares to be a part of the continuing descent into oblivion. The thought of putting on a loincloth to venture forth and live out his days meditating in a tall tree in a distant forest sounds appealing. Of course, he isn't kidding himself. Chances are a noisy bunch of cretins will quickly invade the tree next to him. Ah well, such is the way of this planet we call home. In the meantime, he scribbles poetry, short stories, and essays, as well as a choppy stream of drawings, cartoons and works of art. All done with a grin as meditative mental therapy in an effort to hold onto what little remains of his sanity. Enjoy him while you can, he is the quintessential endangered species. Send RC a message either directly or using the Word Catalyst feedback form. For more from RCat visit the Word Catalyst archives or his online home. |
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When I was a kid my parents wouldn't let me have
a cat. I was asthmatic and allergic to hair, dust, pollen, lint,
and almost any other mote sized object in the universe. If I
had a cat I would have been at the hospital in an oxygen tent
every couple days, so no cat. -
R.
C. Arquette, "RCat" to friends and fellow writers,
is an aging hippie and practicing curmudgeon. He was dragged
into the world, kicking and screaming, back in the middle of
the last century; 1950 to be exact. His outburst clearly showed
his disdain for reality at the earliest of stages. He grew up
living in the sub-tropical splendor of the "Sunshine State,"
Florida, US of A, where he attended Jr. College and after twenty
years received his AA degree; what can I say, life kept getting
in the way.
From The Attic
Cheshire Cat
Truly Calhoun
Songs of