Cats on Tuesdays: Mike the Mysterious Episode 5: Feather Love

It's been about a month since Mike was appointed Employee of the Month by the real cat brains of the household, Gretchen, the Queen of Domesticity. Well, all during that time, the Queen has taxed her little kingdom of Fluffheads to the limit. Besides making them find and pick up all of her 84 pink plastic balls, whenever she's through playing with them, I suspect that she's also been having Mike fetch her treats in the middle of the night, while we sleep.

The only clue I have is the little trail of crumbs left behind in the morning. How Mike's getting the jar lid open is beyond me. I know Gretchen can't do it, so he must be using his special, mysterious powers to get the Temptations out of the jar. We buy Gretchen the Salmon flavored Temptations and pour them from the blue foil pouch into a jar with a screw on lid. Otherwise, Gretchen would chew on the pouch until she gets the treats out. I know plastic is not good for her and have to keep it away from her. Besides, once the foil pouch is full of little teeth holes the rest get stale. And she definitely knows which of the jars holds her treats.

Gretchen has been rather moody lately because her boyfriend, who lives in Sweden, can't talk to her on the computer for a whole month; his humans took a very long and far away vacation. So, she spends most of her time hanging out in a windowsill, daydreaming about her sweetheart. Meanwhile, Mike has been forced to do her bidding. The only thing I know for sure he can't do for her, and probably won't do no matter what the prize, is clean out the litter box. I still have that honor.

The other Fluffheads, White Kitten, Zoo Kitty and Beanie Kitty are all lazing about as usual. They give a good show in the beginning but as soon as Mike turns his back they're back in their cozy little bed, sleeping. I asked Mike why he lets them get away with so much? He just shrugged and said, "They have good intentions for creatures with heads full of fiberfill, besides, I can get the job done faster and better by doing it myself."

"Well," I said, patting him on his soft, little head, also picking a few pieces of lint from his crumpled up black fur, "You should be rewarded for all of your hard work. So what would you like this month? Did Gretchen name you her Employee of the Month for July, too?"

Mike's eyes stared at the floor. "I think she's too busy dreaming and thinking up poems to care about what I get as a reward. I suppose it would be nice, to be Employee of the Month again, but it's rather boring, I think." his golden eyes twinkled in the sunlight streaming through the window, brightening his countenance a bit. "Couldn't I have something different this time? Like some feathers of my very own?"

Feathers? I thought about what I had at the moment that had feathers on it that Mike would like. I didn't think it would be nice to take a feather or two from Gretchen's new feather wand. I'm sure that would make her quiet unhappy to share what was now her favorite toy. "How about a change of sweaters?" I suggested. "The bears aren't using them right now and you do look rather spiffy in them. Would you like to pick out a new color?"

I pulled out the craft drawer where I keep the bears things, placed it on the kitchen table and showed Mike a few sweaters. Mike looked interested for a tiny moment, and even picked out a red and tan colored sweater; I think just to please me. But I could see he had his hopes set on feathers. Mike was about to don the new sweater and cap when he spied the Halloween costumes for the bears. A witches hat with orange under the brim and a vampires cap, black on one side and orange on the other. "Oh!" he exclaimed excitedly, "Orange! More orange! I like orange. I look good in orange."

I said, "It's not Halloween for several months, why don't you wait. "No!" he said a little more forcefully than I think he intended. "Please excuse me," he said more quietly, "I really like the orange and if I could have some orange feathers on the hat…wouldn't that look great?" With sparkling eyes and upturned whiskers, the best thing he could do for a smile, he pleaded, "Please?"

Okay, I thought, why not. Mike does all the work around here for Gretchen; why not let him have what pleases him for a little while. The bears won't mind, after all, they've been unceremoniously dumped into a large, black, plastic garbage bag and stored in the storeroom. Then it hit me. "Go ahead and pick out what you like," I said to Mike, "I've got an idea. I'll be right back." While Mike, and now Gretchen, were going through the bears clothes in the craft drawer, I slipped off to my bedroom closet where I have hat's stored in boxes. In one of them was a bright, orange straw hat from Hawaii with lots of fluffy orange feathers on it. Mike nearly cried when he saw me come back into he room with it. So we pinched a few feathers from places that wouldn't show, from the brim of the hat, and I glued them on the little witches hat that Mike had picked out.

I've never seen a happier fluffhead. We turned the little cape to the orange side out and Mike posed with his new duds and the orange straw hat that my mother had bought in Hawaii over forty years ago; it's been in a hatbox in my closet for the past ten.

"This makes me look mysterious, yes?" Mike grinned as he posed for the camera. "I like to look magical and mysterious, you know."

I thought about it for a moment and realized that Mike did look good in the black and orange costume, but I think what he really needs is a black and purple wizards outfit, with sparkling glitter and a shiny moon, and some stars on it. Then he'll really look mysterious. Perhaps next month I'll get around to it.

After scolding Gretchen and the Fluffheads about getting into the treat jar, they all agreed not to do that anymore. Once peace was restored, I played a rousing game of feathers and pink balls with Mike and Gretchen, and now, all are off in their favorite napping places, sleeping away a very, very hot afternoon. This is the kind of day I pray the AC doesn't fail. DBB

Thursday Thirteen

Thirteen things about Gretchen

My Thirteen is going to be about my cat, Gretchen. She came to us 3 years ago today. She was born on May 1, 2004 but we took her into our hearts and home on June 13, 2004.

1. Gretchen was an answered prayer cat. See the whole story

here.

2. Gretchen is a soft as silk cat with pale tortoise markings, bib and booties. I wanted to name her Peaches because of her patches of peach fur, but it just didn't seem right. My husband insisted that we call her Gretchen and for some reason I gave in. I've never allowed him to name any of our cats before. I've usually named them, or the girls when they were home, and he'd approve because he was outnumbered. But when he said her name should be Gretchen, it just seemed like that had always been her name. It fit her.

3. Sometimes I call her Princes Gretchen because she's so picky about what she eats, where she eats, and when she eats. She has two feeding stations and prefers the toilet for her water bowl, even though I keep a clean bowl of fresh water on her place mat at all times.

4. Gretchen is an inside (apartment) only cat. When she was six months old we took her to the vet for the first time. She had all her shots, was spayed and had the front claws removed. I had that done to another one of my cats once (on all four paws), and swore I'd never do that again. Removing Gretchen's claws was a difficult decision. My husband is a Brittle Diabetic, that's the worst kind, and he can't afford to have scratches from the cat. I had just had a bilateral mastectomy and have no lymph nodes under my arms, so scratches were also bad for me. Plus, the apartment lease stated that all cats had to be de-clawed. I don't think that's necessarily true now, but when I first got her, it was stipulated that I comply. I had taken her to another town, all the towns pretty much run together around here, at the recommendation of a friend who had three cats and that's the only vet she liked. It was an awful experience for both Gretchen, my husband and I. She had to be taken in a cat box for a thirty-minute ride, she cried all the way. She had to be left overnight, that was horrible also, and she came home heavily infested with fleas. When the vet first examined her before they admitted her, she was clean as a whistle, and the vet even remarked on how clean she was. They denied the fact that she got the fleas from their clinic. I had to clean the house, wash all the bedding, clean the carpet, while we treated her with that Advantage? (I can't remember what the name for the cat stuff is, but it worked and we've never been infested with fleas since.)

5. To top it all off, within five months, the middle claw and dewclaw on her right paw grew back. At first the vet told me that they wouldn't fix it for free, but after I had given them a few well-placed words, not bad ones, mind you…just well placed, the vet relented and said they wouldn't charge me again. But then, my husband and I just couldn't put Gretchen through that awful experience again, and would never take her, or recommend any cat we knew of, to that clinic again. We decided that Gretchen wasn't bothered by the dewclaw. She was quite happy to have a tiny tool to rip things to shreds with, and the middle claw never stays long. It grows in soft and comes off regularly. We talked many times about having it removed by a vet here in town, but always talk ourselves out of it. We've decided that if it ever becomes a problem for her we'll have it removed. She's happy and we're happy, so all is well on that front.

6. Life for an apartment cat is not all that much fun sometimes. Gretchen has a great imagination and invents friends. The Sofa Bear Club are, or rather were, among her favorite friends. They have been removed now, put in the storage closet, at least for the summer. When the stuffed bears sat around since Christmas without their clothes, I said it was time for a change. They have sat on the back of the sofa for nearly ten years. (Six craft bears had a set of clothes that I changed regularly for years. Their place was on the back of the sofa. Gretchen often spent time with them there, blending in.)

7. Gretchen divides her time between her furry, stuffed mice, her pink, plastic golf balls, bird watching—sometimes visiting with a cat or two through the window screen, catloafing and sleeping. She loves to chase after bubbles. And will do anything for string. Getting the backscratcher out means we're going mouse hunting. Her furry little mice often disappear under the fridge, dresser and other tight places.

8. Eating, sleeping, and bathing occupy a good portion of the day. She has my husband and I well trained and uses us each in a different way. She sleeps with me, actually she sleeps on my hip (I'm a side sleeper). I find when she's actually standing on my shoulder staring at me that she wants me to lift the covers so she can climb under them. As soon as I depart the bed in the morning she is in my spot. She often sleeps until noon there. When hubby comes home, her routine changes and after a bit of attention from him, and a quick romp through the apartment, they both settle down for an afternoon nap, leaving me to myself, to write, garden, to blog.

9. When evening comes, dishes are done, she know it's time, whether I 'm ready or not, to sit in my lap. If I'm not sitting when she wants me to, she will whine and wind her way through my legs until I get the message. There are some days that she thinks I should be sitting in the afternoon and will follow me around demanding me to stop what I'm doing and sit. She's not at all happy when I'm at the computer a lot. Lately, she forces her way between the keyboard and my body, trying to get comfortable on my lap. I've finally figured out that this means time for a break.

10. Gretchen, like most cats seem to do, comes alive at night. After she's insisted that I'm tucked in bed and have fallen asleep; she starts me getting ready for bed around eleven o'clock at night. If I don't start shutting things down at eleven she starts her whining, sitting on the floor in front of me and staring routine. She'll follow me from room to room, and makes sure I've done everything right. Once I'm in bed and covers in place, she'll come and lay on my side until I fall asleep. After that she's does a series of window-to-window sorties. Especially when it's warm enough to have the windows open at night.

11. Gretchen's other favorite pastimes are tearing up Kleenex boxes, rustling around in tissue paper—she loves to shred it, trying to chew on plastic which I have to be very careful of, flopping on the floor in the middle of my path for an instant belly rub, and just being your ordinary, soft as a peach, cute as bug, loving, adorable cat.

12. Gretchen has participated in stories for Cat's on Tuesday with the pitiful, stuffed black cat we named Mike. Mike has strange eyes and sends us strange brainwaves. There are three other stuffed cats in the apartment, Beanie Kitty, Zoo Kitty, and White Kitten. They all lay in their places quietly like stuffed animals are supposed to do, however, you can never count on what Mike is going to do. In March of this year an aunt of mine died and I inherited some of her things, a white stuffed toy cat and a black one, whose fur melted in the dryer after I washed him. Gretchen and I have a lot of fun with the black lump of melted fur…we've now dubbed him Mike the Mysterious. To see Mike Stories click on the Mike the Mysterious button on the sidebar.

13. Lastly, I've written these thirteen things about Gretchen because of our anniversary, but also to tell you that she's going to have her own site. Hopefully it will be ready by this time next week and I will announce it. My daughter #3, the one who set up Scrungy's Creator for me and still does maintenance on it because I haven't learned yet quite how to do it, is letting me set up Gretchen's site all by myself. If I'm not successful, she'll fix it for me…wish me luck.

Gretchen on June 13, 2007

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Cats on Tuesday: Episode Three - Mike's Day in the Sun

I hadn't noticed anything unusual about the living room when I woke that morning, shuffled past the sofa, on into the kitchen in an early morning daze and spooned Gretchen a teaspoon of her favorite breakfast food, White Meat Chicken and Whipped Egg Soufflé With Garden Greens, into her crystal dish (in reality it was just a pretty glass bowl). I mean, if humans can start their day with coffee or orange juice, then why not let the cat start its day with a few bites of something with such a yummy sounding name. After all it's only eighty-nine cents a can these day. And really, Gretchen only has a teaspoon full each morning, so the cost is divided over how many days she actually eats on it, right?

On with my story . . . like I said, I noticed nothing unusual about the living room until later that morning when I was going through the apartment tidying up. Then it hit me, something was amiss. There was this gnarly, black, furry face with flashing, golden eyes, staring up at me from the edge of the sofa. The edge of the sofa where Gretchen always sleeps. The poor creature had nearly reached its goal, Gretchen's green and purple quilt, when I realized that it was actually Mike. Okay, I know this is spooky to have this stuffed cat with these crazy eyes that follow every movement you make, but now the thing is walking about, or rather seems to be, in broad daylight.

Mike was caught in the act! He was inching his way up the back of the sofa and when I asked him just what he thought he was doing, he only glared at me with those golden orbs and penetrated my thoughts with his answer. "I'm tired of that dark corner behind the end of the sofa and I'm lonely. I thought I would take a walk and see how the world looks from another view." I protested, "But that's Gretchen's favorite place, and I don't think she'd like it much you going there without her knowing it."

Mike's facial expression didn't change (it never does), "I have permission," he spoke rather stuffily, "just last week when we were playing with all her toys on the sofa, she said I could join her on her quilt anytime I chose to. And I'm choosing to now."

Mike inched his way up the sofa and crawled between the folds of the quilt. I went on about my business; I had a very busy day ahead of me and no time to waste on a mentally talented, stuffed cat. "Very well," I murmured, "It's your hide—fur." Gretchen was off sleeping on my unmade bed so I knew Mike was safe for the time being. Gretchen never leaves the bed in the mornings until I make it up.

Time passed by as I continued my activities and I had forgotten where Mike was. I had not even given thought as to where Gretchen had ventured off to after I made the bed. As I passed by the sofa on another trip to the kitchen I noticed a remarkable sight. Gretchen and Mike were sharing a bath. Together, on the same blanket! On Gretchen's special blanket! I was amazed. Speechless, even. Gretchen would never share her blanket. Up until now she'd not let Mike anywhere near her blanket.

"What's this?" I asked of the two cats. "Does this mean you're buddies, finally?" Gretchen just squeezed her eyes and continued her bathing, like I should even have to ask such a question. I turned my thoughts to Mike, "Well?" I tried my best at stuffed cat telepathy. Mike just squeezed his eyes and began to purr. Not a word of explanation did he transmit. "Oh, this is ridiculous!" I threw up my hands and left the room.

I had errands to run and left the apartment. When I returned with armfuls of groceries, Gretchen met me at the door, telling me all the news. She was all over the table as I emptied each sack, carrying on with happy trills, using her best cat language, a language I've yet to master. Then after poking her head into each grocery sack, she found her treat. I've learned a long time ago that a cat knows when you've been shopping and it's better to come home with a goody or two than to incur the wrath of a spoiled cat. Besides, Gretchen's the only one I have left to spoil.

Distracted by her new toy, Gretchen forgot the news she was telling me and pranced off to bat it about for a while. That's when I glanced over at the sofa and noticed Mike was still on the quilt. His eyes dazzling in the late afternoon sun. "Well, Mike?" I prodded, knowing he was better at communicating to me the goings on that afternoon than Gretchen was. "What's been going on here? What was Gretchen all excited about?"

Mike let go the white toy mouse he'd held firm under his paw, "Everything was going great until you left. Then that jealous ol' White Kitten, you let sleep in one of Gretchen's beds, wanted to climb up here and sleep on the quilt with us." Mike narrowed his eyes and lowered his dark brow, "but I promptly put her in her place; said she had to stay where she belonged. The sofa was mine and Gretchen's special place."

I glanced round at Gretchen's bed next to the organ. All seemed the same as when I'd left it. White Kitten in her place, Black Panther Cub (from the zoo), and even gray and white striped Beanie Tiger lay undisturbed.

"You're making this up," I reprimanded Mike. "White Kitten hasn't moved an ounce of fluff since this morning." If there's one more thing I don't need in this place is another spooky, stuffed animal. Then right before my eyes, and Mike's too, Gretchen came marching up between us and dropped the white kitten on the quilt and left. Mike inched backwards, hissed at White Kitten, crouched low, ready to pounce and throw her off, when Gretchen reappeared and sat down in-between the two with the Panther Cub from the zoo.

Whether peace between Whitten Kitten and Mike was ever restored or not, I'll never know. I'd seen enough and went to the kitchen to make dinner. They would all have new places to squabble over next week anyway, when I move the sofa into its summer place.


Who's to say what's real and what's not. Without the imaginings in our life, about the animate and inanimate, life would be so dull. Gretchen's on going relationship with Mike, a stuffed cat with pitiful fake fur and brilliant golden eyes that seem to glow and penetrate your mind, is always part real and part not. Only I, the author of these tales, know the difference. We can't all see fairies, or hear the thoughts of mysterious stuffed cats, but we can all imagine what it would be like to know them. DBB