This week on the Kitten and the Restless…
Kit Furcoat purrs her way into the Paws Club but not before Henrik Fuzzington confronts her about her long lost brother, Mewvius Furcoat. He was lost in the Amazon river basin with Jed Whiskerly, Xing Mew, and Catherine St. PurrMewSniff. Meanwhile, the mafia boss Scratch Biting and his henchmen, Hiss Growlsly and Narrow Eyed, sneak into the back of the Paws Club. Furcoat owes Scratch a few cans of wet food and he won’t take lounging in a sunbeam for an answer.
Whereas in my house the kitty is coming closer to her trek across the country. Everyday involves a dose of the kitty calming drug and a trip in the cat carrier. The treatment seems to be working. During the first few days, I am pretty convinced she thought she was going to be dropped off at the local Nazi War Doctor Clinic (like the Mayo Clinic expect run by Nazi War Doctors). Now, she is only mildly annoyed with going in the cat cage once a day.
The strange part of the ordeal is the cat has bonded with me. I’m pretty sure for the same reason hostages form connections with their terrorist captors. During other parts of the non kitty get ready to go in the cat carrier parts of the day, she seeks out my attention. She even attempted for a solid petting while, gasp, the dog was close by.
Normally, Serena, unlike her name suggests, deals with the outside world with two emotions, fear and anxiety. Now she seems to enjoy the kitty existence. The cat carrier is probably the worst fate she will ever encounter in her life so a giant slobbering dog and a vacuum pale by comparison.
Are the drugs a source of her improved mood? The Vet did say to practice the cat carrier combo everyday until her flight. Or is the cat carrier experience a character building method? I’m not the cat expert. Though I do wish I had discovered this method with my cat Rose.
She was frightened of the world. When I first moved in with my wife (my girlfriend at the time), she turned to the kitty and in a sweet voice said, “Hi Rose.” The cat opened her mouth in terror and couldn’t even make a sound. She was terrified with abject horror. There was a safe in our closest. Rose used to hide in the safe, crunching herself as close to the wall as possible when Felicia would say hi to her.
Rose was my departed grandfather’s cat. During the last years of his life, he was rarely mobile, quiet, and had a nice big arm chair for petting. Rose had every terrified kitties’ dream home, a human to pet her and throw mouse shaped objects around the room. When Rose came to live with me, she moved into a house of three dudes. A house with three dudes, is almost like an thrice nightly apocalypse from a kitty’s point of view.
Sadly, when my girlfriend (now wife) and I bought a bed together (jokingly referred as our love is now quantifiable as $1000), Rose ran away. The bed movers left the door opened. We called the shelters and asked around. We never saw her again. I’d like to think Rose wandered into a little old lady’s house and is living her life of luxury. But realist in me knows what she is really doing: hiding in a secret base on Mt. Everest and planning to flood the world. The world will then at least give her some quiet.