I am cat person. Not that I don’t like dogs; they’re okay, except for the ones who feel the need to stick their nose in my crotch and the nasty one who bit my butt when I was a teenager out running. Our neighborhood dogs – Atticus, the famous hiking dog; Bailey, the dog who reminds me of Disney’s Tigger; and Abigail, the one-eyed dog with a nice grandmother who lives in Florida (more on that some other day) are very sweet. I adore my chiropractor’s beautiful Pearl and not to be forgotten our ex-neighbor, Tonka (RIP) who was a great dog despite the fact that he wore a Yankee’s neckband. And, I must admit that Jack, Lianne’s dog, is starting to grow on me. But I am a cat person. My dad, the son of a veterinarian, was a cat person.
Here’s a photo of Grampa (Dr. Charles G. Hall) inside of his operating room at 228 Main Street in Malden, MA “fixing” my apparently very sick toy dog in the 1960’s. The rear of the photo says that I paid a penny to have the dog operated on…
If you lived in the Linden area of Malden, Massachusetts and your cat disappeared one day, you can rest assured that your cat wasn’t hit by a car or mauled by a rabid racoon, as you might have imagined; he simply joined our family. If a cat walked through our yard, my dad would assume it was a stray and would feed it day after day. The cat wouldn’t be allowed inside the house, at least not initially. But after a few months, there would be leg rubbing when dad arrived home, a cute meow, purring and a scratch at the door. There might be a frost or a thunderstorm.
Once they were “in” and “named” they never left. At one point they outnumbered the humans – Mom, Dad, 4 kids, 11 cats. Knowing what I know now, these weren’t feral cats, they must have all belonged to neighbors. Only one original family “The Beasley’s” tried to claim their cat who we had named Tiger (almost 3 years after he “adopted” us). He went home with them. The next morning they let him outside; Tiger returned to us and never left.
I named my first kitten Daisy. One of Grandpa’s clients had kittens. He surprised me with one. I was elated! She was cute and playful and fun. A few years later she had four kittens, we got to keep Squeeky the runt.
Daisy & Squeeky circa 1970
Then there were the strays. Tiger and Splat and Orphan. Splat because my sister (who was 6 or 7) announced at dinner one evening that she hated cats because it meant we couldn’t have a dog, and she hoped that the cat ran across the street and “splat” as a car drove by. I guess my parents thought she was funny, because the name stuck to the latest stray.
Fast forward a bunch of years.
I move into my own apartment at 22, two years later I adopt two kittens and name them Dewey and Sneakers. They are adorable! Within hours of their arrival I can’t breathe. My throat closes, my eyes become itchy then swell shut, the uncontrollable sneezing begins. I am allergic! I visit the local allergist, “How can this be” I ask exasperatedly, “I lived with 11 cats ?!?!?” He dispassionately responds that he does not know, but recommends shots 3 times a week for a year. Is he nuts? Two more cats are added to my dad’s collection.
Ten years ago my sister has twins, Makayla and Zack. When they are 7 months I babysit while my sister heads off for “date night” with her husband. The kids and I sit on the front stoop and suddenly Makayla begins to shake uncontrollably. I think she is having a seizure. Then she giggles and says what sounds like “kitty” (her first word), I am ready to call 911. I instead turn and see a cat. Relieved I scoop him up and bring him to my niece’s waiting arms. Within minutes I can’t breathe. My throat closes, my eyes become itchy then swell shut, the uncontrollable sneezing begins. My sister’s date is cut short.
Eight years ago my soon to be husband John and I begin house hunting. As we approached a house, the realtor warns, “They have a cat, I have been instructed not to let it out”. Short story? Door opens, cat bolts. Future husband and realtor chase cat for an hour. They corner it. It scratches the heck out of future husband. We depart and I am confined in a small car with a man who just held a cat. Within minutes I can’t breathe. My throat closes, my eyes become itchy then swell shut, the uncontrollable sneezing begins. Houses with cat residents are crossed off our viewing list.
Fast forward to 2009.
We move to Jackson, an idyllic town, population 800, in the White Mountains of New Hampshire; majestic pines, subtle hills, and a wooden-covered bridge – a place where you never stop feeling as though you are taking part in a “Lifetime Movie”. We are invited to the Scheupps’s, our new neighbors, for dinner. Their house is lovely. Great mountain views, wine, pool table…..two cats. Two cats with radar. Cats who instantly identify the visitor who is allergic to cats. They attempt to jump on my lap. No worries says my neighbor. I am allergic too. Frankie and Sammy are Devons, you will be fine. And sure enough I was.
The Scheupp’s put us in touch with their breeder, Patrice Dorsi of Pepitas, in Winthrop, Massachusetts. They warned us that she was very strict when selecting parents for her Devon kittens, but based on the Scheupp’s recommendation we were quickly accepted and placed on the spring waiting list.
On Saint Patrick’s Day, Patrice e-mailed to ask if we wanted a “point boy” from the latest litter. I had no idea what she meant by “point boy” other than perhaps it was a male cat, but I excitedly responded, “Yes!!” Our kitten had been born on 1 March 2009 and Patrice named him “Rascal”. When my husband and I married in 2008; our wedding song (which he painstakingly selected – his only “wedding responsibility”) was “My Wish” by Rascal Flatts, it was fate – the name stuck. Little did we know that the name would fit our little guy’s personality perfectly.
We waited in anticipation for 10 very long weeks. I had doubts. As a child, John hated cats. We love to travel, would this limit us? What if I were allergic? What if John “forgot” to put the toilet seat down and he drowned. I was a wreck!
While waiting to become a “Mommy”, I did extensive “Devon Rex” research, kitten proofed the house, bought toys, a giant scratching post/playhouse and a pet carriage.
What is special about a Devon you ask? Boy were we in for a surprise!!
This is from the Iams Cat Breed Guide:
This breed has a special personality all its own. If you’re looking for the mythical aloof, independent cat, don’t get a Devon Rex. Devons want to be with you every moment of every day, taking part in every activity, huge ears cocked in curiosity, large eyes glistening with love, agile paws reaching to tap you if you aren’t paying them full attention. When they’re in a playful or affectionate mood (which is most of their waking hours), they wag their tails with delight. For highly active, inquisitive cats, however, they tend to be even-tempered and adaptable.
In a household of these pixies, you’ll find that the Devons stick together but will readily cuddle with other cats if no other Devons are present. Devons tend to get along well with cats, cat-friendly dogs, and even parrots. They Extraordinarily social and people-oriented, Devons don’t do well if left alone; at least one other cat or other sociable animal companion is needed for those times you can’t be with them. But their favorite playmates are humans. Devons are not content to sit by your side or on your lap; they sit on your shoulders or drape themselves around your neck like curly-coated scarves. Some fanciers say Devons believe they are human. They love to play fetch or participate in just about any activity that can be performed with their preferred people.
Devons will keep you laughing. Highly intelligent and keen observers of human nature, Devons are known for getting into adorable mischief. Because of their curiosity and ability to fly through the air with the greatest of ease, no shelf or cupboard is safe from the inquiring mind and agile paws of the Devon Rex.
Devons communicate when they have something to say. Their meows are distinctive chirps and twitters.
Devons are also known for their insatiable appetites—after all, it takes a lot of energy to race around the house without touching the floor. Unless you want your Devon Rex clinging to your leg like a huge, wavy-haired tick, you’d better be on time with the cat food. They also have peculiar appetites and will snack on uncatlike foods such as pasta, corn, cantaloupe and even bananas. Eager to sample what you’re having, they’ll steal food off your plate, your fork, and sometimes even out of your mouth.
You can read all that, but you don’t really “get it” until they move in with you.
Rascal became a member of our family on 16 May 2009. Life changing? an understatement!!!
Rascal and I were inseparable for the first 6 weeks.
We quickly fell into a routine. We curled up together in my bed at night. He rose with the sun every morning, climbed up on my face and meowed a few times, while swatting my nose, to be sure that I was awake. Once he had my attention, he would return to the foot of the bed and with utmost concentration leap for the chain of the ceiling fan, which was just out of his reach. He was quite persistent, jumping again and again, never giving up, yet never succeeding. After several minutes, he would happily let me scoop him up and carry him to the kitchen for breakfast.
I work at home for a large computer software company. We had just moved into a new house and I didn’t quite have an office yet. Day after day I sat on the couch, computer on my lap, cell phone in hand, Rascal at my side. He alternated between napping on my lap and attempting to walk across my keyboard.
Looks innocent, right? Not so much. Hence the name, Rascal – quite fitting. Each evening at exactly 9PM (bedtime for us old folk), Rascal would become crazed. Really crazed. He would run around the living room, jumping from the couch to his “cat tree house” to the floor, again and again, running in circles at what seemed to be 90 MPH. We could tell that the “witching hour” had arrived when his bright blue eyes turned red and his pupils dilated. He was entertaining, yet exhausting. Our lives were changed forevermore.
Rascal and I had bonded. I became his true mother; his birth mother all but forgotten. We hadn’t been apart for more than an hour at a time. When I ran to the post office or went for my afternoon snack (a brownie and Diet Coke at J-Town Deli), he would sit at the door and begin a constant, distressed meow. John would pick him up in an effort to comfort, but the meowing wouldn’t cease until I returned.
The July 4th holiday was fast approaching. John and I had booked a 5-day trip to Acadia National Park, in an ocean front suite, at the lovely Saltair Inn, long before we considered getting a cat. I considered cancelling. How could I be away from the little guy so soon?
The Scheupp’s offered to keep him for a few days. They assured me he would be fine. We had been having “playdates” so Rascal was used to Frankie and Sammy. Narla (their daughter’s 20 pound adopted stray), who had a bit of a mean streak, would also be spending the weekend. My brother Mike, and his wife Lauren, agreed to drive up from Boston, stay in our home, and kitty sit their new baby nephew for the last few days of our long weekend.
I was still a bit nervous leaving my baby with “giant-sized” older cats, especially Narla.
My fears were unfounded. We checked-in with the Scheupps the first evening. They reported that Rascal had Frankie, Sammy and Narla trapped under the bed. Rascal had assumed a strategic position on top of the bed. If any of the other cats attempted to make a run for it, he would “pounce” and force the cat back under the bed. This continued for 3 hours.
“The witching hour” lasted 24/7 during Rascal’s time with the Scheupp’s. Every time Frankie or Sammy attempted to catnap, Rascal would pounce. He was fearless. He spent hours chasing them around the house making more of a racket than three galloping horses. The Scheupp’s were NOT happy. No one in the household got much sleep that first night. Rascal spent his second night alone, locked in the spare bedroom. To this day, Sammy has not recovered. He associates my voice with Rascal and runs for the hills whenever I visit.
Mike and Lauren arrived – they fell in love. Rascal got plenty of play time. They loved how he wanted to be part of everything they did, trotting around the house following them like a puppy. They laughed when he tried to drink from their water glasses, he loved to shove his head into a glass of water with ice and chase the ice cubes with his teeth.
Our drive home from Acadia lasted a VERY long 6 hours. I knew that my brother had to leave early Sunday morning. Rascal would be alone for 4 hours. Traumatizing for us both. John didn’t “get it”. “He’s just an animal.” “He has no feelings.” “He doesn’t care if he is alone”. Really John? A year later do you still believe that?
We finally arrived. Rascal sat at the door waiting for us. He meowed happily with a hint of anxiety, then jumped into my arms and began to “paw”. Some of my childhood cats “pawed”, but nothing like this. Rascal closed his eyes, swung his head back and forth looking like Ray Charles – nose buried deep in my arm, purring wildly, claws digging sharply into my soft skin. Back and forth, back and forth, for what seemed like eternity.
This was the start of what would become a daily ritual. He won’t paw clothing, a pillow or a blanket. Rascal will only paw bare skin, his preference is arm fat or a belly Each morning when the alarm clock sounds, he lets out an excited “good morning Mommy” meow, bounds to the top of the bed and begins his “pawing” ritual. After breakfast, he sits patiently outside of the shower door until I emerge naked, smelling of lavender. He allows me to towel dry, and then sits by my feet meowing incessantly, until I pick him up and give him access to my bare arm.
On rare occasions Rascal will “paw” John. The first time it happened, tears came to his eyes, and John elatedly exclaimed, “Look honey!! He loves me!!”
Hmmm…. was this the same man who claimed a cat couldn’t love?!?!
I read that Devons liked company, so we asked for two. All of Rascal’s siblings had been adopted, so we waited until the next litter’s arrival.
I met our second little guy when I picked up Rascal. Patrice called him Pilot – a cute ball of grey and black fur, with a quiet little voice. He barely filled the palm of my hand. He would join our growing family in early July.
John and I struggled with the name. Pilot didn’t seem to fit. I suggested “Flatts” so we would have Rascal & Flatts. Didn’t quite work for John.
One of my many obsessions is collecting Christmas ornaments. My collection includes ornaments with meaning (like a seahorse as a reminder of my grandfather’s fish tank, and my horror at watching the seahorse parents gobble up their young, while my grandfather worked to invent methods of rescue).
Naturally while in Bar Harbor, we had to visit the Christmas Shop where we found rows of floor to ceiling pet ornaments. After much deliberation, I selected two – a white cat and a grey/black cat. As I approached the cash register, the clerk mentioned that prices included the engraving of pets’ names on the ornaments.
Panic. We had less than 30 seconds to decide on a name. John quickly announced that he liked “Jackson”. Jackson is the name of the town where we have lived since 2008 and our most favorite place on earth (beside Disney World of course). Jackson it was!
John was in Boston working the first week of July, so he “rescued” baby Jackson from the orphanage (as John likes to remind Jackson every so often). I impatiently waited at home, mistakenly thinking that Rascal would be overjoyed.
Frankie and Sammy visited often during those first weeks and Rascal loved them, especially Frankie. Rascal was smaller that the Scheupp boys. In one leap they would jump to the kitchen counter (primarily to escape from Rascal). Poor little Rascal was still too small to make the jump. He spent hours trying – jump, jump, jump – thumping on the floor each time. He tried standing on the bottom step and jumping from there…he tried the second step. On one occasion he was able to jump and wrap his paws around the corner of the granite. He hung in mid-air for several seconds until slowly slipping back to earth. He tried only once to leap onto bar stool, thinking perhaps that would get him to the counter. His attempt left him hanging in mid-air, belly on the stool’s foot rest, tiny legs hanging on either side, stuck and waiting to be rescued.
I couldn’t wait to give Rascal a full-time playmate!!!
John finally arrived with Jackson. He resembled a little black bat. His body hadn’t yet grown in proportion with his ears. He was a cutie!
I’d rate the boys first interaction as “really poor”. In an instant, Rascal was aware he was to permanently share my affection with this little creature. He lunged at Jackson fangs first, claws fully extended. They had to be separated. I started with a 5 foot high screen, duct taped to a doorway – one cat on each side. Jackson climbed up and over. I tried a doggie playpen. Jackson climbed up and over. I covered the playpen with three pieces of plywood. This worked. The boys sat for hours at a time looking at each other, swatting at each other through the pen. Rascal’s tail angrily beating back and forth. Jackson gleefully thinking this was a fun game, already infatuated with his new big brother.
A few times a day I would conduct closely supervised “fence-less” visits. Each time more of the same. Rascal would grab Jackson by the throat in a vicious attempt to kill him. Jackson was athletic, faster and smaller. He would leap out of Rascal’s arms and escape to a tiny space leaving Rascal unable to follow. This went on for three weeks. It was exhausting, I cried at least once. I was angry at Rascal’s jealousy and was thinking we may have to return Jackson…but I was already in love. (side note – had I only watched Jackson Galaxy on Animal Planet, I would have learned that I was doing it all wrong! – https://www.jacksongalaxy.com/blog/cat-introductions-part-2/)
Although unhappy with the situation, Rascal eventually accepted his brother. By early August they began napping together. Jackson was ecstatic; you could see the adoration in his eyes. Rascal was his new mother.
All is not perfect, Rascal was (and is) very jealous. If I am holding Jackson, Rascal pouts. If I play with Jackson, Rascal will give him the evil eye and a certain “meow”; Jackson will immediately sit down and refuse to continue our play. If Jackson tries to join us at night, Rascal pushes him off the bed, banishing him to the floor under the bed until we are sleeping.
But, when no one is looking, Rascal “secretly” returns Jackson’s love. They playfully chase each other around the house, they groom one another and on occasion nap together. They collaborate to find and steal food. They are copycats – Rascal teaches Jackson how to “paw” and in exchange Jackson offers new methods to reach the highest spots in the house. If Jackson wanders out of sight; Rascal will circle the entire house meowing anxiously until “baby Jacks” reappears.
Jackson had been part of the family for about a week when I finally had the nerve to leave him alone (separated from Rascal of course) while I went grocery shopping. While I was gone, John would be home with the boys; not all that comforting since he couldn’t seem to remember to close the toilet seat or keep the door to his workshop closed.
I would only be gone for a few hours; 1/2 hour drive each way to Hannaford and an hour to shop. I must admit that I was anxious.
I shopped in record time. When I arrived home, John’s car was gone. Rascal ran to greet me. I went to see Jackson. His “playpen” was empty. My stomach sank, where was he? Then I noticed that the cat carrier was also missing. I panicked, there must have been an accident. I prayed for something minor.
I called John’s cell – no answer. I tried chain calling him – 5 times (okay maybe 25), no answer. I called North Country Animal Hospital – they had not heard from John nor did they have Jackson. I wondered if John had perhaps taken him to a different animal hospital. I paced. I called John’s cell again and again.
Rascal and I cuddled while we anxiously waited for some news.
An hour later, in strolls John with Jackson in his cat carrier. I freak out. Totally freak out.
John is honestly bewildered, “Why are you so upset? The cat is fine. I brought him to Lucy’s Hardware, pushed him around in the shopping cart, and then brought him to J-Town Deli to meet “everybody”, I didn’t want to leave him home alone, I thought he would be scared; I rescued him from the orphanage you know, he is special to me”.
You are kidding me, right? A cat in the hardware store? And I am the crazy cat person? I think not!!
Drop off was at 8AM. Castration is day surgery, so I would retrive Rascal by 3PM. The morning of the scheduled surgery, I bundled him into the cage, strapped the seat belt around him and proceeded to become very emotional (yes, I cried). I took a deep breath and attempted to pull myself together. I was a mess. John happened to be leaving the house at that moment, observed my emotional state and offered to accompany us.
Ironically, I have assisted with literally hundreds of castrations. Every Saturday morning from the time I was in 5th grade, I would catch the 6:30 AM MBTA bus in Linden to my grandparents home on the other side of the city. My grandfather, who was semi-retired, would begin at 7AM. It was the same story every Saturday. Every middle age woman who dropped off a pet would be bawling her eyes out.
Once alone, Nana and I would laugh at these woman. We would roll our eyes and wonder what they were so worried about! It was such a simple operation. At 10 or 12, I was confident that I could perform it myself without ever attending veterinary school (okay, so maybe not a hysterectomy – that appeared to be a bit more complicated).
My grandmother would moisten a giant cotton ball with ether and place it on top of a cylinder like contraption over the animal’s face, speaking softly to the little guy until he went under. My “job” would be to hold the animals’ legs. My grandfather would first drain the urine from the animal’s kidneys and then quickly perform the procedure. The animal would be “just fine” within a few hours…….
One Saturday, Grampa and I were in the operating room alone (Nana was upstairs instructing my siblings on the art of baking). He was struggling to untangle a cat’s matted coat, with a giant metallic comb. Suddenly, Grampa drew his hands to his heart, and withered back in pain. He soon recovered; looked me in the eye and sternly said, “DO NOT tell your grandmother”. I kept his secret. He died that night. I was in the 8th grade.
Not a memory that I wish to relive or discuss (except perhaps with my future therapist). So, back to Rascal….
By the time we arrived at the animal hospital with Rascal, I had pulled myself together (somewhat). I did remind them at least 5 times that he could not be given certain anesthetics. I am certain they think I am neurotic.
There are a number of anesthetics that are formally banned for use with the Devon Rex.
Ketamine
Imalgene
Clorketam
Zoletil
Halothane
They reassured me that they would administer Propofol and Buprenex.
I worried all morning that I would never see my baby again; after what felt like an eternity, I finally got the call that it was over and he was ready to come home.
I was instructed “to keep him quiet” for a few days. “I would try”, I said aloud, thinking that it would be near impossible to keep this monkey-like creature “quiet”.
Earlier that afternoon (to make myself feel better) I had visited Four Your Paws Only and purchased a new toy for my poor baby – a feather on a spring that made bird noises when swatted.
When we arrived home, Rascal was acting crazy. More crazy than his usual crazy. He pounced on the new feather toy like he was a fierce cougar seeking today’s fresh kill. I had a conference call at 4PM. I locked him in my bedroom so that (1) he wouldn’t try to kill baby Jackson and (2) so he wouldn’t hurt himself; he was literally bouncing off walls.
An hour later, I returned to check on him. He was nuts! Every last grain of kitty litter had been “flung” out of the pan and now covered the carpet. The wicker toy ball that I had left in the room was literally torn to tiny shreds. His focus had turned again to “killing” the feather.
I quickly contacted Alfred, our vet. I knew that there was a chance that Rascal’s personality might change after losing his “manhood”, but this was ridiculous! Alfred reassured me that it was probably just a reaction to the anesthesia. Alfred was right. After 6 hours of “hellish behavior” Rascal was back to his “normal craziness”… and he has ignored the feather toy ever since!
Every Sunday, I bake healthy muffins and freeze them. I microwave one each morning for a quick breakfast treat. One such Sunday last August, I pulled the hot fragrant muffins from the oven, carefully extracted each from the muffin tin and placed it on the cooling rack. I headed off to shower in preparation for church.
On my return to the kitchen, I found that one of the cats had grabbed a muffin and carried it to the living room where it lay half eaten… Who was the culprit?
We were soon to find out!!!
Rascal loves food, but Jackson is obsessed with food, any food, all food. He is particularly enamored with zucchini muffins. Regardless of where he might be – playing, sleeping, bird watching – the buzz of the microwave brings him bounding toward the kitchen. He sits on the edge of the countertop as close to the microwave as humanly possibly in the hopes that a muffin is being defrosted.
Once the muffin is extracted from the microwave, he is relentless. He follows in pursuit. He sneaks up from behind while we relax on the couch, pounces teeth first towards the succulent muffin, grabs a bite and runs for the hills before either of us realizes what hit us. Chasing him is useless. He outruns with ease. He crawls under the couch, careful to perch in a spot just out of reach and greedily gobbles his prize, squealing like a piglet.
The first time I discovered the cabinet open (the one that holds our trash barrel), I blamed my husband. He took the blame the second time, and the third, perhaps even the fourth…he is notorious for leaving cabinet doors open. If he got a vote, we wouldn’t have doors. He has expressed his feelings on a number of occasions that doors lack a purpose. Then, to my dismay, I found Jackson sitting inside the trash barrel, happily munching on cucumber peels. We got a child proof lock. Jackson tried to outsmart the lock to no avail. After 3 days he gave up (or so we thought).
A few days later, John awoke and began his daily ritual of brewing the coffee. He heard a muted “clank” from inside the cabinet above the fridge. Mice, he pondered? He cautiously opened the door – out rolled Jackson, fat and happy. It seems that sometime during the night he had jumped from counter to fridge, opened the cabinet and climbed inside. The door swung shut behind him. He didn’t seem to mind. He ripped a hole in the bag of dried cat food and feasted to his heart’s content.
Jackson had been diagnosed with gingivitis and pre-surgery instructions specified that Jackson have only water after 8PM the evening prior. With a thick black felt tip pen I created a a sign. In read in large block letters “NO FOOD FOR JACKSON“. I taped it to the door of the fridge, “duct taped” the cabinet door shut and headed for bed.
The next morning, the duct tape had been ripped off the cabinet; cat food was scattered on top of the fridge and all over the floor. We were unable to determine which cat was the culprit, but most likely it was our “food monger” baby Jacks.
I made a call to the animal hospital to reschedule his procedure. My guess is that the staff had a good laugh at the story of “a cat breaking into the cupboard”. They had to be thinking, “Hmmm….yet another client who “forgot” and fed their cat in the morning…..why can’t they just be honest!”
We “re-duct taped”the cabinet door, but this time secured it tightly with the rub of a butter knife. A few minutes later, Jackson leapt to the top of the fridge, grabbed an edge of the tape and pulled with all his might. Within 30 seconds he succeeded. “Right in front of us!!”, exclaimed John, “Has he no shame?!?!” We couldn’t believe our eyes!
I bought a large rubber container and sealed the food inside. I placed the container on my kitchen counter. A few hours later, I heard a crash. I ran to the kitchen to find the container upside down, food scattered all over the floor – two cats happily feasting.
After cleaning the mess, I returned the food to the counter and added a heavy can to weigh it down. This seemed to work.
A few days later, John and I departed for 12 glorious days of hiking, food and wine in rainy Tuscany (yes, it rained for 12 straight days in May! – not just rain, but torrential downpours, thunder and lightning). My neighbor was to feed the boys the first evening and the following morning; then the “nanny” would move in and take over. I warned Lynda about their food obsession and the weight having to be left on top of the food container. I taped a “reminder” note to the container. She “yes’ed me”.
Lynda fed them Tuesday evening before heading out for a fun “Cinco de Mayo” celebration where she overindulged (just a bit). She returned to my house the next morning, very hung over, …you guessed it…to food all over the floor! Not a fun cleanup when you are a bit “under the weather”.
After Italy, I returned to the zucchini muffin making ritual (except nowadays the hot muffins go directly into the freezer). I took a quick trip to the J-town Deli to grab a few ingredients – 2 sticks of butter, milk, brown sugar, vanilla…. I returned home and found in my bag only one stick of butter… I swear I bought two! I must have left one behind on the deli counter. I sent John down to retrieve it. I proceeded to make, bake and freeze the muffins… Then I was off to relax in the living room… What do I find? A half eaten stick of butter in the middle of the floor!!
On another occasion we had guests for dinner, the leftover bread was bagged and left on the counter. The next morning, John rose first and found the bag on the floor. The boys had chewed through the plastic and eaten half the loaf. He shook his head, placed the remaining bread in a new plastic bag…and what next? Put it back on the counter…. I woke up an hour later and found the bag on the floor. They had chewed through the plastic and eaten half the loaf When I relayed the story to my husband, his response? “Oh yeah, they did that to the first baggie too”…. Are all husbands dense? 🙂
I have only shared a few of the many times that they have outsmarted their parents – there was the chocolate in our Christmas stockings (luckily not enough to poisen them!); a few times when we have had company and mistakenly left the dining room (and butter dish) unattended to enjoy an after dinner drink on the porch; an empty DQ Blizzard container, left on the table – stuck on Rascal’s head during his attempt to lap up the few leftover droplets of sugary melted ice cream….
Then there are the moths and flies who unknowingly allow themselves to be seen by one of these little cats. With great hand/eye coordination, the bug is stunned with the first swat and then swallowed alive and whole before he (or I) is aware of what is happening.
We can’t leave any food out, dishes can not be placed in the sink or left on a table. I can’t turn my back when cooking or when putting the groceries away. Bread must be kept in the freezer or microwave. To eat a muffin in peace you must lock yourself in the bathroom.
Last week I fed the Scheupp’s Devons. For two days there are two loaves of bread on the counter. The bread sits. Neither cat is interested.
I keep an eye on Petfinder.com in the event that a Devon Rex appears in an area shelter. Not that I need the chaos of three cats (and a husband), but…..
One morning I came across a posting. In New York City. A 9 hour drive each way, but do-able.
His name was Leroy.
I immediately emailed the shelter:
Hello,
My husband & I are not really looking for another cat but ran across Leroy’s photo and fell in love. He is a cutie!
I am allergic to cats but have two Devon Rex’s, Rascal & Jackson ages 5 1/2 months and 7 months and my allergies seem fine. I was very excited to find this breed.
Anyway, I am wondering what you think about adding a 3rd cat to the mix since you know Leroy’s personality.
My Rascal (the older one) was very upset when we brought home Jackson but now they are best buds, sleeping together, grooming each other, wrestling, etc. Rascal does get very jealous and a bit stressed and pouts if he sees me holding or playing with Jackson. Overall he is a really loving cat but a bit needy. He wanders around the house meowing if he can’t see me or Jackson. We have had many “playdates” with the neighbor’s 2 older Devon Rex’s and Rascal loves visiting and gets along great with the other cats.
Jackson (the baby) just loves life, he is excited to wake up, run, eat, play; he is just happy in general – he purrs 24/7. He doesn’t like to be cuddled as much as Rascal but would chase bottle caps forever. Jackson is a bit skiddish. He doesn’t like when other people visit and doesn’t seem to like the “playdates” with the neighbors.
So with Rascal’s jealousy and Jackson being skiddish I am on the fence about a third. But Leroy seems so loving and mine are still just kittens, so maybe it will work. I hate seeing the little guy stuck in a shelter.
The response was almost instantaneous:
You sound just terrific.
Did you notice that Leroy (his street name) is diabetic.
That is totally do-able. but it is a chore.
I love Lee, because he is this quiet adorable guy who doesn’t seem to know there are any other cats around.
He is adorable.
Be in touch.
Joan Victor
I called Joan. We hit it off immediately and chatted for almost an hour about Leroy. Someone left him on the street, he was in rough shape. He had been under close supervision at the vet for quite some time, but was ready to find a “forever home”. It was very clear that Joan was completely head over heels for this little guy. He was special.
She takes homeless animals in her home, an apartment in NYC, she is not allowed to have pets. She invests time and money and truly loves them all – but Leroy was very special to her…
John and I talked about Leroy for hours. Was it fair to take this little guy away from the only people who ever loved him? And what about medical care – at that point we didn’t really know the vets in our area and we were a 3 hour drive from Angel Medical in Boston…. It wasn’t an easy decision. I was already in love with him even though we hadn’t met. I wrote back to Joan…
We thought a lot about Leroy over the weekend.
I guess we imagined him living in a shelter inside of a cage for the rest of his life…. Since most people that we meet think Devon’s are not cute we were afraid that he would never be adopted and the poor thing would spend life in a cage.
What we found out is that he is now in your home (not in a shelter), you really love him, your husband is a doctor and you have a vet in a big city….
I have only known our vet for 3 months, I like him but don’t have much experience with his practice. I feel like Leroy is better off with you. I would feel awful if we took him and something happened that wouldn’t have happened in your care because of your support system with the vet & your husband. We would love him as much as you would but we don’t think it is fair to take him away from what you are providing 😦
This was her response:
Linda,
I sat at the computer last night and could not email you.
Now I will, having read your last email.
LEROY died Friday.
I and Dr. Marv are shattered;
we did not realize how much we cared about his well-being.
I wanted him to live long enough to feel loved and that he had a home – either with me or you.
Remember Leroy, please.
You will, because that picture of him is unforgettable.
I want Leroy to be cared about, have his little life important.
Joan
I couldn’t believe it. I cried. John cried. I will always remember Leroy and Joan, they have a special place in my heart.
I responded:
I am so so so sorry to hear that and very sad. I am crying as I read your message and write this and I did not even know him. I can’t imagine what you are going through. It was clear to me from talking to you last week that you loved him very much, so I am VERY sure that he also felt your love.
I will remember Leroy. He really was a cutie. Leroy was cared for and his life was important. I guess I didn’t realize how much we had become to think of him as ours even though in the end we decided he would have a better life with you. It was very hard for me to send you the email earlier today, I didn’t want you to think that he was not wanted, it was not an easy decision for us, we had already come to think of him as ours and were telling Jackson & Rascal that they were getting a brother – I even showed them pictures 🙂
A week later I wrote:
I can’t stop feeling sad about poor little Leroy – my kitties have definitely gotten some extra love this week. John and I would like to make a donation to your shelter in Leroy’s name. Please forward me an address and let me know to whom I should make out the check. Hoping it will help some other animals until they can find good homes. If you do not accept private donations I can do something for our local shelter in his name please just let me know.
Joan responded:
Your caring makes me cry.
There are few people like you.
Our charity is
2000 Spays and Neuters
863 Park Ave.
New York, NY 10075
and we are way poor.
So thank you.
I am still SAD about Leroy.Very painful.
Donald Ortiz rescued Leroy – Leroy was a fixture in the Harlem neighborhood.
People fed him because I guess they felt sorry for him, but he had an air of nobility about him that made people notice: a cat that looked like he did had dignity. Leroy was an urban legend! People would say to him, “Let’s go around the corner and get something to eat….” and he would follow them.
A memory that makes me smile about Leroy: he never acknowledged any other cat in my home; he just didn’t see them. Maybe he did not know he was a cat.
But – I have this large dog (who loves cats) – and everytime Leroy saw Bernie-the-dog, he stopped in his tracks, and went “Whoa” in utter amazement, even if he had seen the dog 10 minutes before.
I was hoping to get a nice shot of the boys inside of a soft box, so that I could “Photoshop” them into a Christmas card.
No such luck!
The bears are finally hibernating so the bird feeders can go back up! Jackson finds them fascinating. He waits until 6 or 8 birds are at the feeders, then he “jumps” to scare them, causing them to fly away. He repeats this game over and over for hours!
Their first Christmas present!! (from their cousins Zack & Makayla) – box is a bonus!!
Bailey is our neighbor’s dog. She is best described as a ball of bouncy energy. Rascal and Jackson are enamored with this little white fluffy dog. She bounds into our yard every so often, bright yellow tennis ball in her mouth. She bounces up to the door of our three season porch, happily wagging her tail. The three animals sit nose-to-nose, separated by screen and sniff each other for a bit.
Then suddenly, without any warning, Bailey shoots like a rocket to the back yard. The cats run to the back of the porch so that they can continue watching this lively gal. Bailey bounces back to the front; the cats follow. This game continues until Bailey is beckoned home for dinner.
Bailey’s mom Sarah, suggested that I let Bailey inside to play with the cats. “Bailey wouldn’t hurt a fly!”, she exclaimed. So the next time Bailey arrived, after the usual sniffing, I opened the screen and she bounced inside….
Jackson, terrified, headed for cover underneath the couch. Rascal gave a loud territorial hiss and sprang, claws fully extended onto Bailey’s back. Poor Bailey dropped into a crouch and with paws covering her eyes, let out a whimper.
I lifted Rascal off her back, quickly set him inside of the house and closed the slider trapping Bailey and I together on the porch. The little dog was shaking uncontrollably and crying. I called my husband to the rescue! He and Bailey headed out to the backyard to play a bit of “catch” with the tennis balls laying abandoned and scattered in our yard from previous “Bailey visits”.
After a few minutes of play, Bailey had “forgotten” the incident and returned to her happy, bouncy, tail wagging self. I was worried that Bailey would stop the visits that my cats love so much. The poor little dog almost died last fall when a black lab jumped out of a van in front of J-Town Deli and attacked an unsuspecting Bailey, taking out a chunk of her rear quarter while Sarah watched in horror. She’s still a bit afraid of other animals – Rascal didn’t help the situation much.
But alas no worries. All is back to normal. Bailey continues to visit a few times a week, and has resumed her usual interaction with my boys.
They got me again! I returned from the grocery store and proceeded to first clean the fridge before putting the food away. After 30 minutes, I came to realize that the boys were missing. Fridge = Food = Cats Stalking. Where were they?
I beckoned loudly, “Rascal and Jackson, come see mama”. No response.
One of their favorite past times is to take in the coolness of the concrete garage floor by rolling onto their backs and wiggling. Earlier, when I unloaded the groceries, I left the door to the garage open for my little monsters to enjoy.
I quickly strode towards the garage, thinking that perhaps they were stuck on top of the cabinets again.
I found them.
The dry cat food bag that I had just carried inside had been ripped open and they were happily feasting, oblivious to my presence.
I angrily shooed them back into the house.
That’s it I thought. John mentioned this morning that Jackson smelled and it’s been two weeks since the last bath. “Bath as their punishment”, I thought irrationally, knowing in my rational mind that they wouldn’t associate their crime with the punishment.
Usually I feel guilty bathing them, they hate it. But, they do tend to smell after a few weeks without a bath and it helps to eliminate any dander, thus relieving any allergic reaction that I might develop.
On a regular basis, these cats sit on the kitchen counter and bathroom vanity, watching water spew from the faucet, never tiring . But the second I lay a fluffy bath towel on the countertop and pull out the liquid blue colored cat soap, they take off running.
Rascal is always first. It prolongs the trauma if he goes last. Jackson is easy. He sits submissively while I spray, wash and rinse. Once released, he shakes himself like a dog then proceeds to sun himself on the 3-season porch. Not a big deal.
Before the water even begins to run, Rascal attaches himself to me, claws fully extended, paws flailing in an attempt to mount my shoulder and gain access to my back, his head lowered in the hopes that he has become invisible. He lets out a death meow. I try to calm him to no avail. I lower him into the sink. I try to work quickly. He lets out a second and then third sickening meow. He grabs for the faucet, the paper towels, last night’s half emptied wine bottle, the tomatoes ripening on the windowsill. He uses his rabbit like feet again and again to propel himself into the air away from the wetness. This prolongs the agony.
It gets so bad that John (who has consumed a few glasses of red wine) begs me to stop. He begins to cry, calling me emotionless and insensitive – blaming my childhood.
Finally it’s over. I wrap Rascal into a fluffy dry towel, hold him close and softly assure him that I am done. He won’t look at me. Once released, he bolts into hiding. I am unable to approach him for a few hours. He snubs my offer of cat treats.
Once he is fully dry and fluffy. I capture him, massage his head and softly beg for forgiveness. Soon we are again best friends.
Unconditional love. I am his world and he is mine.
Jackson will be the death of me. He is our “stunt” kittie. In his mind, high = happiness, and we’re not talking the illegal type of high!
His first feat as a kitten was to leap from floor to counter to fridge to cabinet top. He soon graduated. First tentatively and now at a run, across the curtain tops to the adjoining set of cabinets. Soon Rascal copied. Crazy stunt cats!
We hired Barbara to paint our living room. The room with 20+ foot high cathedral ceilings. On day one, she set up her steel ladder, completed a bit of edging and set out for lunch. I work from home in an office right off the living room. What seemed to be minutes after Barbara left, I heard a loud “clank, clank, clank” – the sound of someone climbing the ladder. Thinking she had returned from a quick lunch break, I rose to great her. I entered the room to Jackson, on the top rung, hanging by his little front legs; back legs swinging wildly in mid-air. Pushing aside my fear of heights, I rapidly ascended the ladder to save him. Crazy stunt cat!
We decided to add a bathroom in our basement. My husband, “the woodworker”, was designing the mahogany ceiling himself. One afternoon, I headed down to monitor the progress. Upon approach, I heard Rascal’s mighty “help me” meow, echoing from the bathroom. John left a step-ladder a bit to close to the sauna. Rascal was now stuck on it’s roof (an easy save). Jackson however had climbed from ladder to sauna and into the ceiling with the pipes and such. He was thoroughly enjoying his adventure, having no desire to be “saved”. We lured him out with his only love – food. Crazy stunt cat!
On warm summer evenings, Jackson is enthralled by the moths, who, attracted by the inside lighting are fluttering near the window and door screens. Thinking of them as yummy treats to be caught, Jackson crawls to the top of the screen and just hangs there – he’s not picky, either door or window screen is fine for this hunt. Therefore, most of our flimsy window screens are now secured by an attractive band of silver duck tape. Those without duck tape must remain closed. Crazy stunt cat!
His newest trick? Jumping to the top of the 1 inch wide railing at the top of the stairs, 20 feet above ground to enjoy an unobstructed view of the living room. The first time I witnessed this exploit, I didn’t want to run to the top of the stairs to grab him; I feared he would become frightened , lose his balance and fall to his death (or a few broken legs).
I yelled for John. He stood below, open arms, ready to catch his baby kittie, should he fall. I tentatively ascend the steps, speaking to Jackson calmly, until I reached a point where I could nab him. I scolded, “Never do that again! You scared mommy”. Our adventerous cat is not a good listener. Once or twice a week he repeats the act. When Jackson performs this feat, Rascal stands just below, gazing upward, his paws on the railing, meowing, “Brother help me get up there too!” Luckily Rascal is less adventurous. We believe Jackson has 9 lives; crazy stunt cat!
We have a unenclosed deck off of the second floor living room. The cats can visit the deck only on leash. The Scheupps thought this a bit overprotective. “Our cats go out on the deck and lounge in the sun; they won’t jump”, said Lynda. “Don’t worry about them so much, they’re not stupid!”. I tried a few “without leash” trials. I would sit on the deck with my morning vanilla chocolate chip flavored coffee from Mary Lou’s while the boys explored, enjoying the varying view of the birds and chipmunks. Three weeks passed without incident. All was good. I was about ready to give them free reign. Lynda was right.
One morning John opened the slider door and let them out on the deck unsupervised. I rose from my position of comfort on the couch to keep an eye on them. “Their fine”, he stated exasperatedly. “Let them be. Sit down”. As I approached the exit, I watch in horror as little Jackson slipped off the deck backwards. Like a movie in slow motion his little paws fluttered helplessly as he attempted to grab hold of the deck. I screamed, then I yelled “he fell!!!” and took off running to the basement. Poor Rascal bolted into hiding, under the couch. Either my scream scared the wits out of him or he was fearful that he was fated to follow his brother in a backwards dive off the edge.
I reached the backyard and found a stunned little black cat, frozen in a crouched position on the grass. I scooped him into my arms, held him close and brought him inside, my heart pounding. John grabbed him, checked for broken legs and announced he was fine. I coaxed Rascal out from under the couch and gently assured him that everything was fine. Sigh of relief. Crazy stunt cats (who are no longer allowed on the porch)!
Very long day. Eight hours in the car back and forth to Boston for a medical appointment at Dana Farber – no worries, all is good. Quarter end at work. Despite exhaustion I have to respond to the 70+ emails that are in my inbox at 8PM when I arrived home.
John and baby Jackson head off to bed at 9. Rascal and I retire at 11. I can barely keep my eyes open.
The usual routine at “bedtime” is this:
Rascal plays “attack kitten”. He hides under the covers, we play peek-a-boo, he bites my feet through the blankets. Jackson leaps onto the bed and joins us. Alpha kitty Rascal chases him under the bed. I shut off the light. Rascal jumps back into the bed and curls up between my legs. Jackson waits patiently until we are both asleep and then curls up in Rascal’s arms. The sun rises, the wrestling begins. I yell at them to stop. They return to slumber. My alarm sounds; all hell breaks loose. Meowing, pawing, more meowing…
Rascal has learned the hard way that Mommy does not like to be woken up. Wake Mommy up = banished from the bedroom for the remainder of the night. Two nights of banishment is all it took (good thing, because “mommy” was laying in bed wide awake listening to the crying and scratching, feeling very guilty).
Last night was different. I was very tired. There was no playtime. Soon after the lights went out, Rascal woke me up. He meowed incessantly while scratching the sheets like a mad man. “Mommy’s sleepy”, I said and pushed him off the bed.
A few hours later he returned. More meowing and scratching. I pushed him off the bed a second time thinking that he must have slept the entire time I was in Boston – He was a ball of energy and just wanted to play. Or perhaps he was afraid of the noisy torrential downpours. I felt a pang of guilt.
Turns out that after my rejections, he headed to John’s room with the same routine. Strange, thought John. Baby Jackson will go into John’s room, but not Rascal. Rascal sits in the hallway and stares in at John. Mommy would think him a traitor should he join John in bed (or at least that’s what I like to believe).
Morning comes, I sleep in. John rises at 6AM to more of Rascal’s meowing. John heads to the kitchen. No Jackson. Strange. Jackson’s biggest joy in life is food. John waking up = food.
All of a sudden, John hears scratching. Baby Jackson had been trapped on the three season porch, with loud rain, thunder and lightening all night. John quickly opens the door. The poor thing is shaking. Rascal runs to Jackson. They are thrilled to see each other! They rub against each other and talk and talk, using that special meow that only they understand.
Rascal had been trying to communicate all night that his brother was trapped! What bad parents we are. I ALWAYS check for two cats before I go to bed. I stopped by to kiss John last night, expecting to see Jackson cuddling with him. He wasn’t there. I woke John and asked “What happened to Jackson?” John sleepily responded, ” I left him in the living room”. I half-heartily looked and then assumed Jackson was simply asleep someplace. I was too tired to look, he would join us later as he always does.
John remembered heading upstairs with baby Jackson in his arms. Jackson squirmed, so John deposited him on the couch and went to close the two sliders. We surmised that Jackson followed John and ran onto the porch without being noticed.
Poor little guys. They had a rough night. Skiddish Jackson stuck in the dark with scary noises. Anxious Rascal in the kitchen, with his face pinned against the glass watching his brother, but unable to help. Today they were “ying and yang”. They never left each other’s side. Proves they truly love and care about one another.
John’s assessment? “Wow, I am starting to believe Lassie was real after all!”
We are borderline “crazy cat” people. The boys have a pet carriage. They go for rides around the neighborhood, to J-Town Deli and to the Post Office. It’s a bright red running carriage that looks like it could be made for a baby. When we walk the Jackson loop, most people assume that we do have a baby. They stop, look into the carriage and exclaim in surprise “Ohhhhh you have cats”. Then they proceed to act like we are perfectly normal.
Except for our neighbor Grace. She is 5. Her reaction was, “Wow, you guys are really weird”. We found her honesty to be hysterical!! Even funnier, was that mom Lisa was embarrassed by Grace’s comments – she too tried to act like we were “normal”. Our neighbor’s, Pam and Glenda, are cat people. They were the second to offer an honest opinion. Glenda was out on her deck when she first spotted us and the carriage. She yelled back into the house, “Pam, come here! You gotta come see this!! Linda and John are crazier than we are!!”
Rascal LOVES the carriage. When he hears the door to the garage open, he scrambles to leap into his carriage, then sits at attention, waiting expectantly. Many days he will sit at the garage door bellowing loud drawn out meoooows, hoping to communicate that he wishes to be taken for a walk.
Jackson’s feelings about the rides are 50/50. He enjoys short walks on the golf course. He doesn’t like J-Town Deli, being on the sidewalk near cars or being “looked at” by people. On one such walk, we had been out a bit too long. Rascal being bored, had started a game of wrestling inside the small enclosure. Our neighbors Barry and Mona were walking towards us. At about 200 yards from the house, they stopped to admire the boys. John unzipped the top just a few inches so that they could get a better look. In that split second, Jackson leapt out of the carriage and began running full speed up the hill. John, a regular runner, took off after him but he was no match for the speedy little guy. I watched in horror as Jackson took a detour into the woods, then popped back out to the road never slowing until he reached the front door of the house. He jumped up and down in an attempt to grasp the door handle, out of breath and scared. John finally caught up and let the little guy into the house; Jackson collapsed, exhausted but elated to return to his own environment.
One particular summer Saturday we decided to walk to the Jackson Farmer’s Market. Jackson opted to stay home. We set off with Rascal. He excitedly sat in the front taking in the sights and smells. While shopping at the Farmer’s Market for fresh corn , green beans and juicy local tomatoes we heard the usual, “Ohhhhh you have cats”.
From the market, it’s a short walk over to J-Town Deli where we stopped for a quick breakfast. We sat outside and struck up a conversation with the woman at the next table, Talia, who mentioned that she works for the Lupine Pet company in Conway. They make collars, harnesses and leads for both cats and dogs. Rascal and Jackson are owners of this brand of leash. Talia asked if Rascal would like to be a model!! (very exciting). We exchanged numbers and then set off because Rascal was giving us the “meow” that he was ready to get moving.
Our neighbor Sarah and dog Bailey were just across the street, John pushed the carriage across the street to join them on the short jaunt to our street. Sarah bent to look into the carriage and exclaimed “it’s empty”. I looked through the mesh, no Rascal!! I unzipped the carriage – empty!! I panicked. How did he get out? Where did he go? Why didn’t we notice his escape?
John ran to the street to stop the traffic thinking that Rascal was perhaps crouching under a car in the Deli parking lot. I looked around wildly. I didn’t see him!
I put my hands inside of the carriage again, to see if there was perhaps an escape hole someplace. At that moment, I realized that the carriage had a false bottom, I opened the flap. There he was! Rascal had somehow climbed between the two layers. I grabbed him and gave him a hug. Relief. OMG! He scared the ____ out of us!
Ironically, a few minutes earlier our new acquaintance Talia had observed, “Many people think of their pets as children”. Our response? “That would be us!”
Last evening, I headed for bed at the usual time (much to the dismay of my step-daughter who is with us for the month). “You guys are sooooo boring”, she retorted, “Can’t we do something fun?” I didn’t have the heart to tell her, that I couldn’t think of one thing, that a 17-year old might consider “fun” on a Friday evening, at 9PM, in the Mount Washington Valley (we had already taken her for ice cream, which is about as fun as it gets).
Instead of retiring with me, the boys remained behind, playing with their “sister.” I listened to her half giggle, half scream as Rascal “dive bombed” her legs. I overhear her say to her dad, “that cat scares me”.
I fell into a deep slumber, which was abruptly interrupted at midnight by Rascal’s distressed “help me” meow. I sleepily tugged on light and must admit that I had a good laugh at his expense. “John will never believe this one”, I thought.
I leave a heavy sweatshirt at the foot of my bed. The weather in the mountains is unpredictable; I like to have something warm nearby, as hot August days can quickly turn to Autumn-like coolness after the sun sets.
This particular night it was a bit warm, no sweatshirt needed. At bedtime, I had flicked on the ceiling fan.
The cats don’t particularly like the fan. Devons enjoy warmth. Jackson spends many hours lounging on the warm cable box, pressing himself against a hot laptop fan or inside a recently used, steamy shower stall; Rascal enjoys relaxing in the sauna, soon after a human exits, while it’s still toasty (he would prefer join us, but Alfred our Vet has advised against cats in the sauna – yes, I called him to inquire – so Rascal sits at the glass door impatiently begging – meow, scratch, scratch, scratch, meow scratch, scratch, scratch).
I digress. Last evening, Rascal, in an attempt to escape from the fan’s coolness, had crawled into the sleeve of the sweatshirt. He had dug himself in so deeply that he was unable to free himself.
Visualize Winnie the Pooh, “stuck” in Rabbit’s hole.
Poor Rascal was intently “digging”, in an attempt to exit through the tiny armhole. He then tried to project himself backwards, feet wildly pumping. Perfect candidate for “America’s Funniest Home Video”. But alas, the camera wasn’t handy and even if it were, I could imagine the judges thinking, “It has to be staged, how could a cat do this to himself?”
I grabbed the sweatshirt in one hand, his behind in the other and pulled to release my plump little boy. Laughing, I kissed his head. So much for “cat proofing” the house; but perhaps a new twist to encourage my husband to pick up his “dangerous” dirty clothing and store it in the hamper instead of on the bedroom floor!!
Baby Daisy arrived Saturday afternoon. There was a bit of hissing, a few growls and some sniffing. By Monday morning the boys were chasing her around the house (and vice versa), napping with her and grooming her from head to toe.
She is a tiny creature, the runt of the litter, but quite spunky and fearless. She thought nothing of batting Rascal a few times in the head, biting his tail and diving right in to munch out of his food dish. Rascal doesn’t quite know what to make of it all. The boys both seem to know that she is fragile and for the most part are playing with care. On the occasion when play gets too rough, Daisy runs as fast as little legs will carry, meowing, to my lap for protection.
Daisy is a vocal, crazed, wild (albeit loving and cuddly) baby girl – who has earned the nickname “Crazy Daisy Maisy”. One Saturday (while I was out-of-town) Daisy slept all day and remained uninterested in food or play, quite out of character – She lives for food and play! John (a man who is typically oblivious to details) concluded that something must be wrong.
He mentioned his concern when I returned home that evening. I immediately paged Alfred at North Country Animal Hospital. I left him a message saying that I didn’t want to sound like a neurotic new mother, but that I was uneasy.
Since her arrival, Daisy seemed to have trouble. Soon after she ate, she would gag and choke for several minutes at a time, sometimes puking. We went through this with Jackson as well, so I wasn’t too concerned. He grew out of it……perhaps they were simply eating too fast.
A few days prior to Daisy “being under the weather”, I was awakened at 3AM by the sound of a cat choking. I jumped out of bed and there was Daisy, crouched under my bed, with a tiny piece of colored felt extruding from her mouth. I grabbed it and pulled. Out came a soaking wet 10+ inch piece of a cat charmer. It was longer than she was!! I don’t even want to try to guess how she was able to chew off a piece of the toy and swallow it….
I wondered if this was the cause of her being so lethargic; perhaps her esophagus was irritated.
Alfred instantly returned my call, and instead of telling me not to worry, as I had expected, he retorted “Kittens can slide down hill very fast, I want to see her tonight, tomorrow morning may be too late”.
We were supposed to be meeting friends at a local brewery, so I offered to bring Daisy to see Alfred and perhaps meet them later if she was okay. Daisy seemed to perk up a bit once I got her to the car. I made the drive in 20 minutes; Alfred and Jamie met me at the door, I had interrupted their steak dinner. “No worries”, they said.
Alfred took some x-rays and gave her an IV to fill her petite body with fluid. She was NOT happy. She perched herself on the highest point within reach, Jamie’s shoulder. She mewed angrily if Alfred or I went near her. Clearly she was feeling better!
Based on the x-ray, Alfred seemed to think she had the start of pneumonia. He gave me some medicine and sent us on our way. He thought she would be fine.
I joined my husband and friends at The Moat, sneaking Daisy inside with me. Her soft cat cage appeared to be a duffel bag. It was very crowded and VERY loud. Daisy was sound asleep. I placed her under my chair and checked on her several times throughout the meal, still sound asleep…. I was a bit worried throughout the night (okay very worried), I barely slept, waking up every few minutes to ensure that she was breathing.
The next morning, I rose and headed to the kitchen. There was my Crazy Daisy, back in action, excitedly meowing, jumping into her dish and demanding her food!! She has been fine ever since.
Who ever thought a 2 foot long cat charmer would be a dangerous toy!! Needless to say, all string toys are now stored inside a draw when not in use.
My neighbors Edith & Bob asked if I would keep an eye on their cat Jasmine during their 10-day vacation. I was a bit hesitant as poor little Jasmine wouldn’t get any cuddling for 10 days, due to my allergies, but I agreed.
Day 1 – I arrived, armed with Benadryl, determined to at least pet Jasmine (a long-haired beautiful black cat), then planned to wash my hands quickly, keeping them away from my face with hopes to minimize the reaction. But…Jasmine had other ideas. She wanted to be up on my lap, paws on my shoulder, giving me head butts and rubbing herself all over my face.
I will admit that I was a bit freaked. But….no allergic reaction at all, none!! Well, perhaps a little, but very mild. But, days 2-10 I spent at least 30 minutes a day with Jasmine climbing all over me and had NO reaction.
Wow, crazy….
Perhaps the Devons had slowly caused my immunity! I could now volunteer at the local Conway animal shelter! I reckoned I could begin with cats (and take allergy medicine – given the overwhelming number of cats in one place) and then move on to data entry or laundry if my allergies were uncooperative.
I spent my first day cleaning cat cages in a small room with about 30 cats. I had no allergic reaction at all, none!! Okay, a little swelling where Lulu scratched my knuckle while we were playing, but that’s it!!
I met Bow that first day. Bow was a regal black male Manx who had been at the shelter for several months. He cowered inside his kitty litter pan 24 x 7. His eyes widened in horror when anyone approached or offered him attention. I was drawn to him.
His coloring, eyes and personality reminded me of my baby Jackson. When the doorbell rings, Daisy and Rascal curiously bound to the door to great our visitors. Jackson scurries in sheer terror to a hiding spot where he remains until the visitors are long gone. If something happened to John and I, and our cats found their way to a shelter, I could imagine Jackson having the same reaction as Bow.
For a few days I thought of Bow constantly – I visited daily and soon he responded! He sniffed my fingers, allowed me to scratch his chin, played with a piece of yarn (ever so briefly) and took a cat treat from my hand.
Yes, he was a “regular” cat, but I fell in love anyway. I hated that he was so terrified of the shelter environment. Most of the other cats seemed happy and well-adjusted – some who had been there for 2 years!
One afternoon (perhaps on day 4), in walked a potential adopter. A creepy looking man who was in short supply of teeth. He mentioned that he lived in a trailer park down the road and was seeking a declawed cat to befriend his dog… Bow was the ONLY declawed cat in the shelter. Maybe I was overreacting and the man would offer an animal a nice home, but I didn’t think he would be a fit for MY Bow. Luckily no shelter employees were present – as the man approached Bow’s cage, I fibbed and told him Bow was taken. Hence my start as a foster mom.
Bow accompanied me home that afternoon. We spent his first night in the bathroom. Me on a twin mattress, Bow cowering behind the toilet and Rascal incessantly scratching and meowing at the door, not understanding why his mommy locked him out. At 2AM, I was awakened by a purring cat aggressively rubbing his head against my hand and face, begging for affection. He was so sweet. I petted him for what seemed like hours in the darkness, until he curled up to sleep at my feet…at dawn he retreated to the safety of the shower stall.
Rascal, Jackson & Daisy were distraught that I hadn’t been with them all night. I don’t think they slept. I placed Bow on the 3-season porch and shut the screen door, so my three “crazies” could see him and I could “be” with all four cats as I sipped my morning coffee. I finally let them all onto the porch. Bow hissed a few times, but there was no aggression as I had feared. My alpha Rascal seemed to sense that this cat was fearful and uninterested in robbing his throne.
When Bow hissed at Jackson, Jacks rolled onto his back and flailed his paws in the air as if to say “I just want to play”. Later that morning, Daisy made an attempt at a playful pounce – Bow didn’t hiss at her, but gave her a look like “you’re kidding me, right”? – this caused her retreat. But, within a few days, Bow would tolerate “the crazies” sniffing his butt and nose. He began to sniff them back.
But, Four cats? My husband, friends and neighbors thought I was nuts! I sent out an appeal to my Facebook friends (and mother), hoping to find him a good quiet home. In the mean time, my step-daughter Katie fell in love. She befriended Bow by visiting his bathroom hideaway nightly and soon discovered that he was enthralled with the laser pointer. When the laser was on, Bow’s fears were dispelled and he bounced crazily around my office, shuffling on his belly in an attempt to “catch” the light beam, unaware of his surroundings – he continued for hours, never tiring. He was too cute!
Over the next two weeks we all bonded, except John that is…. John had been in Florida, Singapore and Boston on business. He arrived home exhausted but excited to meet our latest addition. Bow was terrified! I have never seen a cat so scared in my life. Of course we have nicknamed John “Fred Flintstone” (he’s anything but quiet and mellow)…. Bow had begun to venture out of the bathroom shower stall and into my office. But the sound of John’s voice or footsteps from another part of the house sent him reeling back to the shower.
Bow came out of his shell when John was out of his earshot. He would lie by my feet while I surfed the web. I talked and sang to him (he seemed to like “My Favorite Things” from The Sound of Music) and was rewarded by Bow jumping on my lap, purring loudly, giving me head butts and begging to be petted. The first time this occurred, Rascal was a bit jealous and gave Bow a paw slap in the face (which was slightly comical given that Bow is at least three times bigger and twice his weight), Bow jumped down and Rascal assumed his position on my lap. But this only occurred once. As the days passed, Rascal became unconcerned with sharing his mother.
I slept on my office couch at night so that all four cats could be with me (I first tried the bedroom which freaked Bow out!) My three Devons joined me on the couch (a tight squeeze) while Bow relaxed on the nearby window sill in the darkness, returning to his bathroom shower stall at sunrise.
My friend Pam mentioned that she would adopt him. I was torn. I loved Bow. But, whenever I wasn’t around he just laid in the shower stall awaiting my return. Pam worked from home, he would receive lots of love and more attention than I could offer. She had two mellow cats, nothing like my “crazies”. Her husband Chris was soft-spoken, mellow and a “cat whisperer”. Sadly, Pam had recently lost her dad with whom she was very close. I thought maybe Bow would give her some love to help her through the tough days.
After much debate, I decided (with some counseling from my neighbor Pam) that it was best to give up my lovebug. I made the trek to Abington, MA (about 4 hours away), in the midst of tornado warnings (which ultimately destroyed a large portion of the Springfield area). I will admit that I cried for the first 45 minutes of the drive. Bow seemed quite relaxed throughout the journey as if he knew he was headed for a great life.
Upon arrival, Bow planted himself under Pam’s bed. I worried during the drive home and all night. I mentioned again to Pam that I would take him back if things didn’t work out.
Her first message worried me, but she has so much love to give, I had high hopes she would win him over:
Bow is back under the bed, he was laying in the litter box for a while. He had some dust on his nose (not that there is any dust under my bed…ha ha) and he let me wipe it off with a tissue. He ate all of his supper and I put some water under the bed for him. I’ve got a close eye on him. Chris will think I’m nuts but, I’ll try the singing. I’ll tell him you send hugs and kisses.
And the next morning a happy message:
Bow laid down on the couch with me last night and purred away! I was so happy. He and Gizmo were up all night just following each other around. He did come up on the bed a couple of times during the night too. He’s under the bed sleeping now…exhausted from pulling an all-nighter!
and the following day:
He is a little afraid of Chris but I think it’s because he’s not here all day like I am. I’ve been staying up with him at night because that’s when he comes out of hiding. He and Gizmo played with the laser pointer and he took a nap on the couch with me. He sat in the window looking at out for a long time and seemed to like that. He is sleeping under a chair right now. Nothing wrong with his appetite! I think he is going to be fine, just needs a little more time to adjust. He is so sweet!..
A month later:
I wanted to let you know that Bo is out much more during the day . He eats with Harvey and Gizmo now instead of under the bed! At 4am this morning he came up on the bed with us, snuggled right up to Chris! Chris was patting him and he was purring away! I was so glad. Bo seems to be adjusting, sometimes looks like he thinks he owns the place when he’s walkling around. He and Gizmo play everyday together and talk to one another. I think Bo is pretty happy. We love him 🙂
And finally:
Remember when you said that you thought Bo was sent to bring me a little happiness and take my mind off things sometimes? You were right 🙂
I will miss you Bow (now renamed Bo), thanks for touching my life!
While volunteering at the shelter I became attached to many cats – Thumper, Lulu, Kiera, Forest, Abby, Hubble, Kennett, Sam, Sassy, Howie, Tulip, Hunter, Wassha, Kit Kat, Penelope, Blonde, Buffy, Ted, River, Milo, Lucky, Missy, Chico, Buttercup, Swift, Max, Nicholas, Ringo, Linus, Cutie, Spike, Rosebud …to name a few :-).
I was obsessed with finding them homes. I spent 6-8 hours, 7 days a week volunteering – taking photos, creating videos and writing bios for Petfinder, making and hanging posters around town and giving the cats attention, enrichment and love. I neglected my husband and my own cats. I brought home upper respiratory infections. I cried a lot. But the adoption rate went from an average of 24 cats a month to over 90!
Two year old Lulu was one of those cats, she came with her special purple blanket – her owners relinquished her because she tortured their 18 year old cat.
In the first few weeks, she scratched/bit two potential adopters and was placed in quarantine per New Hampshire State law. While there, she viciously attacked seven shelter workers (jumping on their back with full claws extended whenever anyone tried to touch her litter pan). They began letting her out of her cage in the back office and then would capture the terrified creature with a net at the end of the day; I was mortified that an animal could be treated that way. She instilled fear in everyone, except me.
Lulu loved me. She would play forever and then allow me to pet her as she “pawed” her purple blanket, I then could pick her up and place her in her cage. She would yowl when I left for the day.
I (a volunteer) “made a rule” that only I could touch her litter pan, the employees clearly had no “cat training”. Lulu was misunderstood. She hated animal smells. Google, terms her condition “fear aggression”. After a few months, the “no-kill” shelter determined that she would be euthanized for this aggression. I was heartbroken. I tried everything to find her a family.
Finally I “adopted” her, to save her life, knowing she wouldn’t adjust in a home with other animals. For five long weeks I kept her in a spare bedroom splitting my time between her and my Devons. She escaped once and literally almost killed Rascal.
I brought her to the vet because she had stopped pooping. They gave the poor thing an enima. When I arrived to pick her up, they told me that they had never seen such a wild crazed cat. They recommended Prosaic.
I had to find her a home. I created a video to help –
A Facebook friend offered to take Lulu if she got along with dogs. The shelter knew she had lived with a dog, but couldn’t comment on the relationship. I broke into their customer database and found the former owner’s contact information, I called and inquired if Lulu could live with a dog. The man who answered the phone began to cry. He missed Lulu. He regretted bringing her to the shelter. His older cat had passed away. He begged me to bring her back. I drove an hour to bring her home – she leapt from her cage into his arms. Relief.
Another to whom I became attached was Forest, Forest was dropped off with his brother Mufasa “Mu”. Their human mom was hysterically crying when she left them. She had recently gained custody of her 10 month old grandson and the doctor indicated the young boy’s illness, for which he had been in and out of the hospital, was cat related. She was heartbroken.
Mu and Forest were taken to the local pet store near our sister shelter in Manchester shortly after arrival. Mu was adopted by a nice family. Forest was returned to our shelter a few months later, as the muscles in his hind legs were beginning to atrophy.
Forest was a basket case. He was a senior cat, with a heart murmur; he pulled hair out of his hind quarters, with his teeth, leaving a big bald spot and chewed his paws until they bled. He had a “hair fettish” – If you got too close, he would attempt to chew your hair usually instead biting your head. But he was an attention seeking love. He would jump on your back if you were bent over cleaning and just “hang out”; he didn’t like to be held, but adored belly rubs and “spankings” on his hind quarters.
He reminded me of my childhood cat Tiger!
Initially Forest ignored the other cats in the “cat room”, but during one of my visits, he attacked another passive male. Luckily, none of the shelter employees witnessed his aggression, but I feared that like Lulu, he would go on the “kill” list if he was seen as aggressive, especially given his age and medical needs.
I began “selling” him when potential adopters visited. Lots of people fell in love with Forest, he would run to anyone who entered the room, seeking attention – but no one wanted him – he was an older cat, with potentially expensive medical issues.
Because I was at the shelter so often, my husband John would swing by so that we could see each other (sad but true). The first, second and third time hubby visited the cat room, eight year old Forest ran across the room meowing and jumped on his lap seeking love. One morning, John woke and said, “I can’t stop thinking about Forest being stuck at the shelter – that cat loves me – we need to save him!” I loved Forest – I didn’t tell my husband that he jumped on everyone who visited, I let John believe that he was special.
I tried to take my time introducing him to my other three cats, but Jackson knew that Forest was in the spare bedroom and spent hours outside the door hoping for a glimpse. I finally allowed him in. It was love at first sight. Forest groomed Jackson for hours each day. Jackson was ecstatic to have a friend.
The love lasted just 3 weeks. One day, out of the blue, during a licking session, Forest nipped Jacks. Jackson squealed, ran and was suddenly terrified of Forest. They began viciously fighting 10-15 times a day. Forest would innocently walk too close, Jackson would become terrified, squeal and (as Jackson Galaxy puts it) “act like prey” and run, feel corned when Forest chased him, and attack. Jackson was no match for Forest – Forest is a tough guy and outweighs Jacks by four or five pounds.
But, they would eat with their bowls touching, sniffing each other’s butt as I prepared their food. They would, on occasion, sleep together. Forest was fine with the other cats. Every morning when he gets too close to baby Daisy’s “feeding area”, she whacks him in the head and he immediately retreats. Neither seemed to realize she is half his size. He’s never laid a paw on her.
I tried everything to bring Forest and Jackson together using ideas from Jackson Galaxy and other Internet cat advisers. I left queries on the About.com cat message boards with hopes that someone could help.
Besides his other quirky behaviors, Forest howled to be fed every morning at 3AM. None of us were sleeping!
He continued to pull his hair out and gnaw on his paws – I took him to my local vet, then the larger veterinary office in nearby Maine and finally consulted a specialist in Southern New Hampshire who worked with us and another local vet. All I learned was that his heart murmur wasn’t an issue at present. In the long run it might shave a few years off of his 20 year life expectancy. None of them could help with the pulling/chewing or behavioral issues.
In desperation, I booked an appointment at Angel Medical in Boston.
We first visited the dermatologist. Within a few seconds, Forest was diagnosed with a household allergy (perhaps something like dust mites) and was prescribed Atopica. His behavior was likely a reaction to always being itchy, the Atopica (a $70/monthly prescription), dulls the itch and works in about 50% of cats. It worked! Within a few weeks, he stopped biting and pulling. His hair grew back thick and full, wounds healed and he gained a few pounds. His liver is tested every six months to be sure there are no ill effects. Two years later, we have weaned his dosage by 50%, and his medical results continue to be excellent!
Next stop was the behaviorist (for a mere $400). It was quite traumatic. She required attendance of all four cats so she could see them interact. She left us in the waiting room for over an hour because she was behind schedule – all were stressed. Jackson, always the “fraidy cat” did not disappoint. When I took him out of his cage, he ran to the only available open cage – Forest’s. He squirmed over Forest’s head and huddled behind him shaking in the small cage, completely oblivious of Forest’s existence and instead terrified of the behaviorist. It was clear that she didn’t believe that these two cats couldn’t get along and alluded that my lack of cat knowledge was the likely problem.
She offered a list of suggestions and eyed me skeptically when I stated that I had already tried every one of them, and more. Yes, I had used a dish towel to rub them with the other’s scent, separated them for weeks and reintroduced them slowly, gave Forest extra playtime in the hopes to tire him out…. etc., etc.
She finally agreed to drugs. Prosaic for Forest to put him in “la la land” for a period and Bupropion for Jackson to build his confidence while Forest was in “la la land”. It worked, the fighting stopped! As a bonus, the 3AM howling stopped. But, poor Forest just sat on the couch staring into space, as if he had had a lobotomy.
After a few months, we cut back on Forest’s dosage – instead of one full pill a day, he gets 1/2 a pill every other day, just to take the edge off.
On rare occasions, the boys still fight, perhaps twice a month. The other cats run to Jackson’s rescue when there is an altercation. Little Daisy will jump on Forest’s back to stop the madness. Rascal will chase Forest away, hissing and meowing at him giving Jackson time to run to his cage or under the couch. I’ve never seen anything like it!
Soon after we adopted Forest, I found his original family on Facebook (the shelter had forgotten to black out their names on the adoption paperwork). I wrote, letting them know that he found a good home.
They responded, ecstatic; we invited them to dinner. As soon as Forest heard their voices he bounded to the front door like a dog and jumped in their arms. That cat was so happy. But when they left, he sat by the front door for two days….waiting. My heart broke for him. How could we do this to him, maybe visitation wasn’t a good idea.
But we tried it again and again. By the third visit, Forest seemed to understand that they were just visiting. Three years later, they still visit, we’ve become good friends. They shared kitten photos of Forest – he is the product of two California street cats; Forest and two of his siblings (Mu and a sister who passed away) drove cross country with them at about 10 months of age – Forest howled for 3,000 miles. To this day he despises car rides.
Turns out his former dad gets up for work at 3AM daily – that is when Forest was fed – hence the 3AM howling!
They nicknamed him buttttaaaa-man (that’s Boston speak for butterman) because their daughter deemed him “sweet as butter”. We learned that Forest had fathered a litter of kittens and the mom wasn’t a very good mother. Forest decided he would take on a “mothering role” and spent hours laying with them, grooming them and attempting to feed them!
Oh yeah, and he LOVES catnip! As discovered when I accidentally left a package on the counter….
I no longer volunteer at the shelter (It was just too heartbreaking and taking too much time from my own herd) but I am grateful that the experience brought us our crazy little guy; we love him, and are happy to have him as part of our family!
Today we lost a very special member of our family 💔💔💔
Forest was born in California and made the trek to New Hampshire as a kitten. His first family nicknamed him Buttaman because he was “as sweet as butter.” After he joined our family (when he was 8 years old), they visited many times and there was no doubt that he remembered and loved them.
Forest adored belly rubs, chin scratches, pats on his hind quarters, and rubbing his face on door jambs (leaving brown marks everywhere). He was obsessed with human hair and inadvertently bit more than a few heads while attempting to grab a mouthful. Butta loved the taste of plastic bags and Christmas ribbon–despite our attempts to keep them out of his reach–potato chips, Doritos and of course catnip.
He was the alpha cat, and a bit of a brat, regularly booting the others out of their sleeping spots, although his favorite napping place was a small wicker basket. The boy was smart – he broke into the dry cat food bin with ease, quickly learned how to give a high 5 for a piece of kibble, and one of two cats who could manipulate food out of the “cat maze”. Like a puppy, he would run to the door to greet us whenever we came home. If you said, “Hi Forest” he would respond with a friendly “chirp, chirp.”
He loved squirrel and bird watching, fancied giant tennis balls and instantly destroyed more new feather toys than can be counted. At feeding time, he would gallop like a pony to the kitchen, meowing incessantly in excitement. He would position himself in his sister Daisy’s “eating spot” which resulted in their daily (very cute) boxing session. He never met a human he didn’t love, and he was content to snuggle on the lap of anyone who offered chin rubs or butt pats.
He spent his days mostly lounging on mom’s keyboard or mouse pad seeking chin scratches. If she tried to ignore him, he would gently swat her nose as a friendly reminder that he required attention. At night you could find him under the covers spooning with his mommy, until about 5AM, at which time he would position himself on daddy’s chest as a cue that it was almost time to eat! He was a sweet lug of a cat with a big personality who gave us over 8 years of unconditional love, lots of laughs and loyal companionship. We will love and miss him forever.
Daisy, named after her mom’s childhood cat, was born at Pettipas Cattery on 20 June 2010, the runt of six. She was a tortie with the cutest tufts of hair on the tips of her ears, a gorgeous fluffy tail, a furry face, huge expressive green-yellow eyes, very little body hair, and the sweetest voice. Daisy was a tiny creature, but quite spunky, VERY talkative and fearless, with loads of catitude! She adored her brothers, especially Rascal, but they were well aware she was the “Queen” of the pack. Anytime her mom yelled “DAY-ZY” she would excitedly make eye contact, meow, and speed walk the cutest two-beat gait to mom’s lap. When cradled like a baby, her large luminous eyes gazed directly into yours. Daisy’s intense, unbroken stare could leave you feeling both mesmerized and understood, as if you were truly seen and unconditionally loved by this wise and perceptive feline.
She had the smelliest poop, was a bit klutzy, and far from dainty. At bedtime, Daisy would crawl under the covers and body slam herself into a spooning position against her mommy, then sweetly wrap her little paw around mom’s finger. Each morning, she would position herself on her mom’s chest for a face and neck massage, purring fervently. At breakfast, she would initiate a very cute boxing match with her brother Forest when day after day he naively sat in her designated “eating spot.” Daisy spent her days inside her mom’s hoodie, expertly balanced on top of a heater, outstretched in a ray of sunlight, or snuggling in front of the fire with her brothers. She allowed them to groom her, but would give a brazen whack to the head when she’d had enough. At night, Daddy was her chosen human for lap sitting, neck rubs and butt pats – but not butt rubs!! – her loud screech and glaring eyes let him know if he crossed the line. When strokes were delivered just right, she would would express her contentment by emitting a deep, resonant purr and swishing her tail vigorously from side to side. She was Daddy’s little girl.
Daisy was not to be ignored! She would sit at your feet and meow incessantly until she was the center of attention. If you were sleeping, she would swat at your head continuously until you acknowledged her presence. Despite having cardboard and cat tree options, her favorite pastime was shredding every piece of furniture we owned. She had the eyes of a hawk! If you tossed a piece of kibble, she would dramatically jump, slide, or somersault to catch and eagerly gulp down her prize. Her favorite foods were cheese, butter, and spaghetti. She enjoyed bird and squirrel watching, fish swimming videos, string toys, select small bouncy balls, the automatic toy feather machine, digging in kitty litter, and pushing cans and pill bottles off the counter. Occasionally, she enjoyed chasing her brother Jackson–she would stalk, crouch, wiggle her tiny bum, and pounce.
Some of Daisy’s antics included settling into a warm pot just out of the dishwasher, charging at her dog nephew Clipper who was 10 times her size, causing him to retreat (luckily there was a screen between them), and pouncing on our friend Rosemary’s belly while she lay on our gym weight bench. We once took her to our Boston condo alone for the night, and she wandered around for awhile meowing, clearly distraught that she could not locate her brothers to join the cat pile. Daisy resided in multiple homes and frequently traveled between Jackson, Boston, and Arlington, VA, seemingly unfazed by long car rides. She loved to greet visitors and made many feel special when she chose their lap. She was adored by all who had the privilege of knowing her.
In 2018, Daisy was diagnosed with cecal lymphoma, and then in 2022, with congestive heart failure and cardiomyopathy. She had a strong will to live and fought very hard to stay with us. She was our miracle kitty and remained active and snuggly despite frequent ear infections, two surgeries, several hospital stays, numerous doctor’s appointments, and loads of medications invading her body. She kept her spunk and most of the time we “forgot” she was sick. On 10 February 2023, after a two-week viral illness, she departed this life peacefully in the arms of her sobbing mom and dad. Her final evening, seemingly knowing the end was near, she switched laps between mom and dad a few times, despite being unsteady on her feet, then spent the morning snuggling with Rascal and Jackson while they simultaneously groomed her. We are grateful to have had 12 ½ years of unconditional love from this quirky little girl who kept us laughing and did it her way. Our home feels empty. Baby Daisy, you will forever be in our hearts. It’s not goodbye, it’s see you later Bubsee.
Daisy & Squeeky circa 1970
My Devon Rex Kittens 
