This week I ventured out of the Canine Zone, into the fascinating world of the feline. Cinnamon Ward is an older gentleman: a sleek domestic short-hair, pale golden brown and white; striped tail; amber eyes. He lives in a big apartment complex with his Mom, Donna.
She opened the door with Cinnamon standing next to her, long tail waving slowly, sizing me up. “Do come in, Mr. Bonzo. It’s a real pleasure. Mom reads your column at the salon. We were pleased to see you interview cats.”
Of course,” I replied. “We are equal opportunity. Plus, I enjoy getting the cat perspective. So tell me how you and your Mom met.”
He curled up and crossed his paws. “It was 13 years ago. I was a newborn fluffball. We all lived with a nice family who knew Mom. She was getting ready to get a new knee, and wasn’t feeling so great. Her little granddaughters, Emily, Hannah and Payge, wanted to cheer her up, so they planned a surprise. They told her they were coming over and, when she opened the door, there they were, with the big surprise – ME! And lots of cat food and toys. Well, she was surprised, all right, but, not quite how they planned. She said, ”I DON’T WANT A CAT! I never asked for a cat! No one SAID anything about a cat!”
“Oh, wow!” I said.
“I know! But it’s been my experience that human grandchildren have a way of convincing their grandparents of pretty much anything, so, after a strategic retreat, my Mom decided maybe having an adorable little fluffball wasn’t such a bad idea. Plus, she had named me Cinnamon on the first visit, and I learned later her husband (he’s in Heaven now) had the same color hair as I. So I finally ended up back with Mom and, believe me, I did every cute kitten thing I could think of to win her over. Where we used to live had a screen porch with a big tree: every day, I’d carefully get a little leaf and bring it to her. Everybody likes a nice leaf, right? And whenever she came home, I’d be right there at the door. I’d purr as loud as I could, and do little head bumps. Still do.”
“Looks like you two are a real team now,” I observed.
“Absolutely! She’s strict but loving. I may be a cat, but I’m not especially aloof. Life’s too short for that.”
“Couldn’t agree more!”
“I follow Mom everywhere. And I’ve become a Lap Cat. Back when I was a kitten, I’d jump on the furniture. When I did, Mom’d squirt me with a spray bottle. Cats hate getting wet, so I caught on pretty quickly.”
“Any pet pals?” I asked.
“Oh, certainly: numerous dogs and cats live here. We say ‘Hello!’ in the halls. The dog right across the hall is quite pleasant, but a bit nervous around me. He heard me hiss once, which can be scary for you dogs – no offense.
“Mom once had this fish named Easter (he was an Easter present). He wanted to be friends but, I mean, I’m a cat. We have fish for lunch, not for playmates. Anyway, he got too much of Mom’s attention. ‘Nuff said.”
I didn‘t ask. Then Cinnamon got a faraway look.
“Sometimes my Inner Lion comes out: I imagine I’m a Jungle Cat, stalking my prey.”
For a moment, Cinnamon was in another world. He crouched down, tummy on the carpet, amber eyes squinting, and started creeping across the room. Made me glad I wasn’t a gazelle. “Yo, Cinnamon!” I cleared my throat.
“Oh! Sorry! It’s just that stalking kibbles simply isn’t satisfying. I’m very particular about my food. Must be fresh. When Mom mixes my leftovers with fresh, and shakes them up, I, of course, can discern the difference. I insist on drinking my water from the shower, so Mom makes sure it drips just a bit. She calls me persnickety. Perhaps she’s right. It’s simply that I have to maintain my superiority. That’s what cats do.” He snickered. “Can you imagine if our Humans actually thought they were in charge? For example, sometimes I hide and don’t answer when Mom calls. She thinks I slipped out. But the cleaning lady always finds me, usually under the bed.“
“I think you could call that persnickety,” I observed. “You’re a cat, after all.”
“So true. And Mom knows I love her. She takes excellent care of me. She gives me my ear drops, and lets me sit on her Important Papers even when she’s reading them. Cats love that, you know. And, naturally, I sleep with her. But only on the left side. If she switches, I gently bop her with my paw, because I need more room. And she reserved a suite for me at the animal hospital in case of a hurricane, isn’t that sweet?”
“Your whole life sounds pretty sweet to me!” I told him.
Heading home, I decided us dogs could learn a lot from cats: self-control. Strategic silence. Being more reserved. Pondering Serious Issues. On the other hand – nah. I couldn’t wait to get home to my Mom and give her lots of wags and woofs and kisses.
Till next time,
The Bonz
