Still here

Just a quick note...I'm still here and the cats are annoying as ever. But work has taken a higher priority and so I can't really do much here at the moment.

Don't worry...more horror stories to come.

In the meantime, see what my beer has to endure...

And then there were eight

Amidst my raging, all in a tone of humor to the uninformed reader, our cat population has diminished by one. Tubby, the reluctant patriarch, is gone. He had been sick for several weeks, losing weight and refusing food. I could tell he was ill simply because he refused to move from Seth's bed for days at a time. After disappearing for about a week, we figured he went somewhere to die but to our surprise, turned up over the weekend, but with no change. Perhaps leaving without saying goodbye would have been easier, but certainly not a comfort that only a cat-owner knows when he puts one of his beasts down. I've done this several times and despite the tone of this blog, it was never easy.

Almost 11 years ago, Tubby, along with the rest of his litter, had been hand-fed by Michelle when their mother was mauled, they being only 3 weeks old at the time. As the kittens were given away, and a few ran away, Tubby became Michelle's cat by virtue of the fact she really had literally raised him, the mother instinct co-mingled with the owner mentality. Joyous when the animal healthy and obnoxious, and grievous when lost and gone. There is no resurrection for the animal world, something that only God's image bearer is deigned to have, and that only glorious for the elect. Such is the kind of grace bestowed on man alone. Yet the memory of these animals belongs to us, part and parcel of this fallen world, a reminder I think of two things.

First off, it is Adam's sin (and ours by default) that brought death into the world. If we would rage against death, we must rage at our own sinfulness, humbly acknowledging that the world can be a sad place only because of us. But second and more importantly, as we condescend to raise and maintain these beasts (Scripture says the righteous man takes care of his animals), we must remember the grace that God has bestowed on us, especially in the work and person of Jesus, who died to redeem us from sin and death. If God can condescend to a fragile and lost creature such as man, surely we can pity and care for the animals, whom were cursed on account of us through no fault of their own. Where no such empathy exists, do we understand grace at all?

I say this by way of explanation; Tubby is gone. He has no soul, no memory and his body, which will be buried under the fern in the front flower bed, will return to the earth. He will not remember me, but I will remember him. I think he would have liked that idea, which is why he came home to die and not under some stranger's porch.

Farewell, my old friend.

Fuzz

This is Fuzz, aka Stupid Fuzz. He is called this because of an incident involving a squirrel. I call him stupid for other reasons, both of which shall be delineated later. Fuzz is second oldest male cat in the house and is the father of Oatmeal and Trouble, after several bouts of fornication with another one of our female cats, Boo. Yes, cats have no problem with such immoral behavior, especially when performed in public. He is not the alpha male either, being far too disinterested for such tasks. Fuzz was one of many kittens in a single litter; the rest were drowned, and Fuzz was saved for a meal we never ate. Just kidding.

Everyone in my house considers Fuzz their favorite because of his good nature. Personally, I think it's because of his amazing stupidity. Amazing for several reasons. First off, he does not perceive human irritation; specifically, my irritation. Most of our cats have developed a "Jeff" radar that enables them to avoid me when I'm in foul mood towards felines. Actually, this is most of the time since they all avoid me constantly, running the other direction when I approach. However, Fuzz does not have this ability. He will attempt to cuddle with me when I'm trying to fall asleep, despite the fact that I've thrown him across the room several times. He is just not a smart animal when it comes to people. Second, he is a terrible mouser, the one trait I value in felines. The "stupid" moniker was first given to him when he was released on the back porch to dispatch a squirrel that had been robbing our bird feeder. The little beast was sitting on the edge of the deck, and Fuzz was sent outside to take care of business. Instead, he regarded the squirrel with a look of nonchalance, sat down and looked the other way. Yet on other occasions he has chased the same squirrel halfway up a pine tree, furiously racing around the trunk until they were both 20 feet high. How this cat can make distinction about when to chase and when not to chase is unknown to me. But given that he is fed from money out of my pocket, I expect results, an expectation he apparently does not share.

Fuzz is also the master of inconvenience. Cleaning his bottom right in the middle of dinner, especially with guests, is a specialty. Sitting amongst the folded laundry on the coffee table, then proceeding to stretch into comfortability whilst knocking every neat stack on the floor. Sleeping on that clean shirt I left out on the dresser to wear the next day. Cat hair, flea droppings, and dirt; what a fashion statement. Leaving that particularly odiferous "gift" in the litter box as we're gathered in the living room as a family for some quality time. Hmmm…smell the love. One standout example is when he proceed to fornicate with Boo right in the middle of the living room floor while the kids were watching a movie with a friend. Would you like a private room sir? No thanks, we're fine.

He also has a tendency to wander farther from the house than the other cats. When nearby, he will come to any family member, including me. When on walk-about, he will only respond to Seth's call. Now you must understand, this is not a mere "here kitty, kitty" call; this is a loud and repeated "FUZZ!", that can be heard throughout a 2 mile radius. This can go on for 5 minutes until Fuzz decides to come home. One can only wonder what the neighbors think. My son is slightly embarrassed at being a feline foghorn and though Mandy has tried to fill that role, it just doesn't work. When spending the night at a friends house and Fuzz is out and away, he won't be back until Seth is.

Fuzz is also subject to all sorts of spontaneous "love fests", my term, whereby family members will find the lazy villain lounging on someone's pillow (leaving a trail of debris) and proceed to scratch his neck, his head, his belly, until he is awash in affection, eyes closed, purring like a Mack truck. All the while, that individual is talking to Fuzz, about how wonderful he is or about how stupid he is. Actually, Fuzz does not know the difference, so it really doesn’t matter as long as you're giving him a good rubbing. He responds equally to praises or curses as long as he's the center of attention, has no shame, lives off someone else's income, largely ignores the other cat population, and could care less about his responsibilities.

Maybe he ought to run for public office.

Tubby

This is Tubby, aka "Too-Bye". He earned this name because he is was the fattest kitten of the bunch. He earned the "Too-Bye" nickname via Mandy, who was just barely a year old and couldn't say "Tubby" very well. Tubby is the oldest of the nine and should be considered the Alpha-Male, but he's too timid for that job. He tends to let other cats bother him so he spends most of his time outside, where he is even more worthless than inside. He ignores squirrels, birds, and other invading cats. He even has been known to ignore dogs, provided he is far enough under a parked car. As a protector, he fails miserably except that he urinates on parked cars in the immediate area, which is his only real plus except he does this to my car. Since I only wash my car twice a year, I kinda feel bad for tire shop when repairs are needed. But not too bad.

Tubby can regularly be found spread-eagled in the middle of driveway, waiting for someone to pull up. Of course even if you do pull-up, he will ignore you. He stares at the front of your car as if working a Jedi mind trick. But it doesn't work. A good, long horn blast usually does the trick though. If that doesn't work, I back up and accelerate quickly then stop suddenly just before smacking him. My wife and children do not like this antic, but I am rarely in a diplomatic mood after driving home from work, especially when facing a recalcitrant feline. Being a long-hair cat, he particularly enjoys rolling in leaves, dirt, or some other foreign debris. Not only does this add to his stunning good looks, it gives him something to bring inside the house.

Speaking of which, once inside the house Tubby should be known by another name - Destructo Boy. Outside, besides issuing unenforceable mental edicts against moving cars, Tubby likes to sleep on the hood of whatever car is in the driveway. He excels at finding car owners who keep their cars fastidiously clean, so that he can leave a footprint proof of his visit. Other than that, he's basically harmless. Inside, he becomes a four legged weapon. Immediately upon entry to the house, he heads straight for the food bowl, after passing a gauntlet of butt-sniffing feline companions who are intimately interested in what rear ends smell like. (Stories on those antics to posted at a later date.) Tubby eats for a few minutes then gets some water to wash it down. The water dish will remain unmoved, but the sink, an empty cup, an unwashed bowl of spaghetti remains which is fill of stagnant water, what's left in the shower from bath time, or an open toilet bowl will all suffice. He really likes to jump in the sink when you're brushing your teeth; no interruption like a cat on a mission. To make this thirst quenching a full joy, let it be raining outside. Disgusting muddy paw prints follow everywhere he goes. The kitchen counter and shower are particular joys, though Georgia's red clay barely shows up on our beige carpet.

But the Destructo Boy moniker really applies when he wants to go outside - usually about 3 minutes after he's been let in. Tubby jumps on the kitchen counter - oh, sorry about the dishes. Tubby jumps on the piano - oh, sorry about the knick-knacks and assorted stuff arranged there. Tubby jumps on the corner chair - oh, sorry about the vertically stacked books that come crashing down, scattering the other cats everywhere. Tubby scratches the couch, which he knows better - oh, sorry about that hole I'm making. When he's feeling particularly malicious, he urinates on the wall. I am not making this up; when he wants to go outside and you don't open the door fast enough, he finds something to pee on. Repeating beatings just don't phase him - he may run from the other cats, but seems to have assumed the alpha human position, which belongs to me. I think.

Other than these things, Tubby is a great cat.