Pooky

If there is one name in our house that strikes both adoration and loathing at the same time, it’s going to be “Pooky”. Pooky is a killing machine and a hopelessly needful animal at the same time. He is close to what I consider to be the perfect weapon in the feline universe; loved by all, yet the destroyer of sanity. Perhaps a little background will help.

(Also please note the photo here - I was ready to get up, Pooky was just getting comfortable. And also notice the disdain of Socks...)

Pooky, along with his two sisters, were rescued (more or less) from a house in our neighborhood who was doing a less than stellar job at taking care of their cats. The mother and father were practically wild, and the kittens lived in a box on the front porch, infested with fleas and filth. After the owners moved out, we took these orphans in, and they were pitiful. Pooky was hideously small, a melon of a head stuck on his scrawny and undernourished body. Feedings had to be done with milk formula initially because we didn’t want the mother cat in the house. Eventually they moved to solid food, though it took Pooky some time. Feedings were...well, nasty. Michelle would put milk and wet cat food mushed up on a plate, set on the floor. The kittens would devour the food, but Pooky, not content merely to eat, had to actually settle himself in the food. Every meal was followed by a bath. Disgusting to say the least.

This carried on for several months and we were beginning to think that he would stay a runt. But no. He ate, and ate, and ate, and ate. Soon he passed up his sisters in size and despite his only being 8 months old, he is approaching the size of the other adult cats in the house. Feeding time is still a treat, as he usually butts the other cats out of the way for the first available bowl, and has shown no fear while we are eating dinner ourselves. You see, the other cats generally avoid the dinner table and kitchen while we’re eating dinner. They know their place. Yes, if something is left out they will investigate but 9 times out of 10, all it takes is a single look to scatter them from the carnage. Not so with Pooky. This cat has the audacity to try and steal your dinner while you’re eating it. Repeated beatings have not helped. The trashcan is not safe. An open coke on the counter will be soon be on its side. This animal has even helped himself to our vitamins, which I laid out for the kids in the morning. He might die young under my wrath, but the fish oil pills he ate will make his coat look great at the funeral.

He also has a particularly annoying habit of moving the water bowl before taking a drink. This is really fun when wearing socks, since your feet are nice and soggy the rest of the day. I have actually had contests with him, where I will shoo him out the kitchen when moving the water bowl, which will carefully be put back in its place. He will then creep cautiously back in, lay in front of the bowl and start moving it again. Water spills on the floor, again, and wet socks, and well, you get the picture. Recently, I’ve been putting a towel under the water bowl, to no avail, and my next solution is to velcro to it the floor. Try to move that you vampire.

Speaking of vampires, he also has another annoying traits, this time affecting the other cats; he likes to suck on necks. Now at first, we thought he was trying to mate with one of his sisters. After having his, uh, reasons for wanting to mate removed, we found he continued this bizarre behavior with not only his sister, but with Fuzz. Now unlike his sister, Fuzz was not receptive to this action. In fact, it has made him downright hostile towards Pooky. Does this stop Pooky? Of course not. It is actually quite amusing to watch this smaller cat attack Fuzz, and actually keep him defensive. In truth, Pooky tries to do this to several of the older cats, which only invoke hissing and general ill-will. Like I said earlier, loved and hated at the same time.

He also several other annoying habits. The first of which is to find his way to any available hand for scratching; he is one of the most needful cats we’ve ever owned. Imagine you’re reading a book, watching TV, or just merely resting from the day’s labors. This cat will make his way into your lap, whether or not it is occupied or not, and will proceed to shove his head and body underneath your hands, whether they are holding something or not. If it’s food or drink, you’ll be wearing it. If it’s the TV remote or a book, well, they will simply have to move out of the way for his highness, or become an instrument of self-imposed feline rubbing. But I have not mentioned his favorite time to gratify his feline desires; either right when you’re falling asleep or about 3:30am when you’re already deeply engaged in sleep. For Pooky, your time is his time and he has no problem letting you know this. Not only that, he will crawl under the covers to find your hand if you don’t oblige him when he’s in the mood. It’s a terrible habit for such a young cat and I can only imagine what a tyrant he’ll be when older. That is, if I let him live that long.

He also likes to wrap himself around the coffee table legs and scratch like for all it’s worth. And it must be very worthy since the coffee table legs now look like every doorframe in my house. I suppose it just adds to the décor I’ve grown used to. He is also part of the feline NASCAR team, speeding through the house at horrific speeds at all hours of the day, moving from flat sprawled-out to after-burner in less than 5 seconds. I believe the experts call this the “evening crazies”; I call it insanity at any hour.

Needless to say though he is low, by cat-standards, in the pecking order, no doubt he’ll continue to rise in the popularity polls at our house. For now, Fuzz can still whip him but probably not for long. There’s always a neck to chew or a trash can to disperse across the floor...

Socks

This is Socks, aka the Wench. Not merely a wench, mind you; the Wench. Before describing this ill-tempered she-devil, let me speak my piece about cats in general, a sort of racial profiling for felines. Male house cats, as opposed to the semi-feral beasts who distribute garbage up and down your front lawn on trash days (for those foolish enough to leave food trash outside of a container), and who drag small children away in the night, are generally well-behaved. By well-behaved I mean a simpleton who sits in your lap, occasionally eats leftovers off dirty plates, and meows pitifully when wanting to go outside. She cats are different, and give truth to old adage that the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

There are two categories of female cats; the wench and the idiotic sweet. The idiotic sweet is usually a petite cat, loves people, is hated by other cats, runs from her own shadow, and divides her time between running another cats or hiding from other cats. They look perpetually guilty, which they are, since they're always breaking things in an attempt to avoid other cats or any noise louder than a pindrop. The wench, on the other hand, doesn't like anyone. She is often a mid-size to large beast, distains larger males, tries to eat kittens, and hisses. Constantly. Sure, she feigns affection for humans, but this is merely a ruse. She acts as though she is the real center of the universe, hates all other cats, is generally hated by all other cats, and acts paradoxically around people. These creatures, as recently described in the movie Constantine, really are halfway in hell and halfway on earth.

Socks has been with us since she was very small and why we decided to keep her is still a mystery of Providence. She is about 5 years old, so she's not old and cantankerous yet, but she despises the younger cats energy, especially at 11:45pm or 4:45am, when suddenly the feline NASCAR season opens. She is famous in our house for being indecisive when going outside. For example, she will sit at the front door and whine to go outside. You let her outside. 1.7 minutes later, she's at the backdoor, scratching the glass to get in. What gives? Or, my personal favorite, she'll paw the back glass door and after being let in, she will promptly sit at the front door until let back outside. Lazy animal won't walk around the house but expects me to be a doorkeeper. Who is more stupid I don’t know. Rainy and cold days are especially humorous and she will go outside and immediately realize what a dumb decision that was. Michelle and the kids will let her back in; I am the mean one and won't. Of course, nice people wouldn't write blogs like this.

Socks is the house huntress; she is the bearer of headless rodents and leaves bird carcasses strewn about the yard. She is really quite skilled and I understand why male lions let the lioness do that job. A male would settle in for the patient wait of their prey and simply fall asleep. Anyway, it was not always such. An incident very early in her career should suffice to explain. She couldn't have more than a year old and ran outside into the front lawn. Now previous to this, for at least 5 minutes, I had been watching an old female cat we had, Bonzee, quietly stalking a squirrel. She patiently and cautiously alternated beween slow forward motion and statuesque stillness, slowly inching toward the unsuspecting rodent. Bonzee was also a good hunter and surely that squirrel would have been meal fit for regurgitation on top of my car (yes, one of our cats unloaded across the entire top of my car after a meal of…of something). But poor Bonzee; no rodent puking that day. Socks took one glance at the squirrel and ran head long towards it like a bull charging a fighter. The squirrel easily avoided her and made fun of the silly cat from the branches of the tree in his chattering fashion. Needless to say Bonzee looked at Socks with a cool disdain, but she has since learned the art of hunting and the giving of dead white elephant gifts.

She is also a cover-hog. Most of our cats have a favorite bed, couch, or location whereby they can get comfortable and leave dander on. Socks is no exception; hers is our bed. She is very possessive as she will hiss and growl at the other cats who like to be under the bed. But the bed in general would not be accurate description. Much more to the point, she likes sleeping in between Michelle and I. This is akin to putting several college-level anatomy books in the middle of your bed, and seeing what happens when you try and turn over. Because the fat lard just sits there, the covers are held in place and ride up the edges, letting in all that cold air underneath, which kind of defeats the purpose of being covered in the first place. When you pull the covers towards the edge of the bed and yourself, it lifts her up a bit, though not much because of her size. And naturally it doesn't last because gravity must be allowed to work. The long-short of it is that every time I want to be comfortable in my own bed, by simply rolling over or covering up, she hisses and growls at me for disturbing her. I'm in the habit of throwing her off the bed, but she just returns and we start the process over again. Sometimes it's not between us, but at my feet and the same thing happens. She hisses and growls at me for moving my feet. How dare I.

Socks is one of the few cats in the house that I truly loathe. She is rotten, selfish, and will probably be annoying until her end. Just like a wart that won't go away and cutting it off will bleed too much. So you deal with it. In the meantime, if anyone needs a good rodent killer who likes to steal covers, let me know. I've got a bargin for you.