Scooter AKA Grumper

One cold December day, this little old man showed up in the backyard.

There was little doubt he'd been raised by a caring human, but for reasons we'll never know, he was abandoned. When I first approached him, thinking he was feral and would run away, he rolled onto his back and looked at me with a pathetic plea of desperation.

I declared I was not going to touch him, but would offer him food and water. Two days later, he did his usual morning routine of rolling onto his back and staring with need. Then he did something new. He walked over and rubbed my ankle. Without thought, I reached down and gave him a pat, and was lost to his charm.

It was a good day for Scooter. He had two serious infections on his face, one inside his upper lip. both had begun to poison him. A trip to the vet proved traumatic for all involved, but treatment saved his life.

We attempted to bring him into the house, but he didn't want to share and fought Graymatter tooth and nail until we knew he would always be an outdoor animal. He moved to the daylight basement and seemed fine with the transition.

However, he is old. He likes a morning walk too, which we do every day. His favorite time is spent on the handrail of the boardwalk, but getting up isn't as easy some days as others.

This leap was on a morning when he was determined to succeed without my lifting him. The previous two days his old hips bothered him too much to even attempt the jump. It is over 36 inches high, which is a lot for an oldster.

I waited, ready to help if needed, ready to give him a final boost, but cats being cats (so much like some humans I've known) stubborn and self-reliant is a way of life.

He succeeded without assistance and proceeded to scratch the railing to mark his achievement. Yes, I'm old, he seemed to say with every gesture, but that's a long ways from finished!

Cats, you gotta love 'em!

Leopold Wins Again

The white mouse Leopold I mentioned earlier had grown in popularity
with his main foe Saysheen. Only now Saysheen tried new tactics like perching atop the scratching post and staring up at Leopold's aquarium.

When boldness failed, since the mouse ignored her and continued to forage through his nest of straw and shredded newspaper, she would make a pitiful noise like a strangled mew.

Leopold glanced up, pretended he was interested in a scratch on the glass, and went back to whatever a mouse does inside its nest.

Poor Saysheen grew desperate. She acted as if she'd been weakened by hunger, and flicked her tongue out to demonstrate her coming demise should the mouse not comply with her needs.

However, Leopold was wise to her ploys and burrowed deeper into his nest, curled into a ball and slept for the rest of the day.

The Hunter and the Hunted

The attack was perfectly planned. Use the giant brown paper bag as a place to hide and watch for unsuspecting prey. Although the attacker was a bit wobbly on his five week old legs, he had the determination of an adult.

While patience could never be called a kitten virtue, this was a play time issue and he would persevere and maintain with the vigilance of an Army scout.

A peek around the corner proved little had changed, but he knew his foe would take the path of least resistance for a five week old kitten counterpart. Weak undeveloped legs kept his adversary on the floor so there would be no air assault.

Unfortunately, his prey had thought differently. A large wicker laundry basket lay between her and the large brown paper bag. A simple leap should get her to the top of the basket and from there, careful planning and skulking would carry the day

A long wobbly run was needed to build enough momentum to crest the rim of the basket, but AWK! She forgot about those quickly growing needle claws. One wobbly leg threw off her balance, a tumble and crash drove her into the side of the basket. Since the leap was planned its execution was inevitable as was the outcome. Blasted hangnail, she seemed to hiss as she rolled onto her back in helpless dispair.



Meanwhile, the attacker decided on another ploy, creep slowly around the back of the bag and head for the kitchen where fresh kitten chow awaited his victory celebration. He ate his fill and hers too, curled up by the radiator after making certain the coast was clear, and fell deep into a kitten nap.

The kitten who stayed . . . for a few months

We named him Marlowe when he strutted into the backyard and then quickly hid in tall beach grass like he knew we would never spot his blackness in the tan and green stalks. He could spy on our activities.

This guy was little too, filled with a kitten's energy and curiosity. He appeared newly abandoned, was clean and shiny. There was no possible way I could ignore that little face in the grass without wanting to get to meet him.

I hesitated and stopped. He boldly walked over and bumped my ankle with his head and began the marking routine. When I gave in about ten seconds later, I picked him up and listened to the loud engine sound of his purr. He weighed around two pounds and was quite hungry.

Since this guy was a kitten, we decided to introduce him to our housecats. Graymatter hated him the instant she smelled his scent. Downyflake hid under the bed and refused to come out into the light as if he'd suddenly turned into a vampire cat, without the ferocity or intent, or an ounce of fearlessness.

And it got worse from there. Marlowe was adorable in every way. We took him to the vet, got him fixed, and vaccinated. No difference to Graymatter. She still hated his scent. Downyflake had lost several ounces of fear fat by then, and Marlowe learned new ways to play that amused the hell out of his humans.

In the end, we found him a home with a terrific couple who'd lost their black cat six months earlier, and peace returned to out house along with a continuous onslaught of cat puke to eradicate Marlowe's scent and to let us know that Graymatter was still pissed off.