This week I had a pleasant chat with Homie Finethy, a lovely lady of the feline purr-sway-shun, with a pretty, fluffy fur coat with lotsa colors, cats call Catlico.
Homie’s Dad was in the front yard to greet me an my assistant. Homie remained by the front door.
“Good morning, Mr. Bonzo,” she said with a smile, as we approached. I think it was a smile. (I can’t always tell with cats: Her fur wasn’t up and her ears an tail were, so I’m pretty sure it was.)
“Come along,” she said. “We’ll go inside where it’s cooler.”
She swished inside an hopped onto a pretty pink chair. “Good morning to you, Miss Homie,” I said, sotto voce. I’ve learned lowering my voice is the way to go when conversing with cats.
“This is my Dad, Shaun. Dad’s fren Cynthia’s at work. Next to Dad, she’s my human BFF. It is my understanding that you desire to write about my life, how I met my Dad, things of that nature?”
“Exactly. You tell your story an I’ll write it all down.”
“I was born in Boston about 8 years ago,” she began. “It’s much farther up and way colder than here. I was very young when I found myself alone and cold, with only fuzzy memories of a warm Mama an other kittens like me. I was on a porch curled in a ball behind a tool chest to stay warm.”
“Oh, for Lassie’s sake,” I exclaimed. “You must have been so scared.”
“Indeed. But then this human, who I later learned was Dad’s brother Shane, found me. (It was his porch.) He knew Dad was A Cat Man, so he called an explained about me an my sit-chew-a-shun. Well, Thank Garfield, Dad came an fetched me. He took me to Dr. Dan, who checked me out an said I wasn’t more than a year old.
“Dad brought me to his house, decided to call me Homie, an said, ‘We’re gonna have a talk. It’s up to you whether you want to stay. I can’t make the decision for you. YOU haff to decide.’
“Well, there was No Way I was going anywhere. It was the first time I’d felt safe since being on that cold porch behind that cold tool box. Dad was kind, but not mushy/gushy, which is purr-fect for me. So I’ve stuck with him. I NEVER leave my yard. I am content. It’s my DoMAIN. When Dad walks up the road to the beach, I wait for him right here. I understand Dad an he understands me.
“There WAS this one time when I couldn’t stay with him. Although he tried. You see, I am terrified of cars an trucks when they’re turned on. Terrified! Such dreadful noise. About 4 years ago, this scary hurry-cane was coming an Dad had to e-VAC-you-wait, which I found out means LEAVE RIGHT NOW! He was going to North Carolina: It’s sorta north but not as north as Boston. He tried really hard to get me to go but I couldn’t make myself get in the truck. I ran. I hid. I howled my ears off. So, finally, he had to leave me. He didn’t WANT to, but there was NO WAY I was gettin’ in that truck.
“Finally, he said, ‘Homie, you’re gonna haff to stay.’ I had the run of the house. Dad left plenty of food an lots of water for me, an all my comfy stuff.
“Well, the hurry-cane didn‘t hurt us. I was fine. But when Dad got back I didn’t want to let him out of my sight.”
“That’s an amazin’ story, Miss Homie,” I told her. “What’s your life like now, day-to-day?”
“I like to sit on (not in) Dad’s boat, or truck or Cynthia’s new car, when they’re in the driveway. I enjoy observing the goldfish in our pond, sometimes take a liddle drink, but I NEVER grab them or anything. I mean, how rude would THAT be? (Besides, though Dad is a fisherman, I don’t like fish for dinner anyway.) Same with birds an squirrels. I simply enjoy observing.
“As to the neighborhood dogs, I also observe them as they walk by. If one should decide to come too close, I have a Strategy. I puff myself up into what I like to call The Puffball of Fury. Then I hiss and make this Extremely-Scary-To-Dogs screeeech. Works every time. Shall I demonstrate?”
“No! Thanks, though. No need. I appreciate the offer, but I get the picture,” I hastily replied.
“As a matter of fact, there’s a very sweet dog who’s just moved in next door. Sally. She’s a Labrador. We’re slowly getting to know each other.
“Oh, and another neighborhood cat, a Siamese (can’t recall her name), is quite pleasant, but we don’t hang out or anything. I’m pretty much a loner.
“The humans, ’specially the kidlets, always like saying hello to me an telling Dad how pretty I am. I can’t really blame them for that.” She gave her paws a smoothing lick. “But when the nice ladies walk their liddle dogs, it’s better if they walk on the other side of the street, so I won’t scare them unnecessarily.”
“I noticed those Seriously Crispy Biscuits wooden stairs, with the Cool Kibbles open backs. I expect you enjoy those,” I said. They looked like a big piece of artwork an appeared to me, as a dog, something a cat would love.
“Indeed. Although it took me 4 years to figure out how to go all the way up. I’d master, like, 2 stairs atta time. Now I’m quite acrobatic on them, if I do say so. I can hang way over the edge, which sort of freaks Dad an Cynthia out.” Homie definitely flashed a sly liddle smile.
Heading home, I was smiling, thinking about pretty, ladylike Homie, the free-spirited feline who can peacefully observe goldfish or employ her notorious Puffball of Fury to scare the kibbles outta anything that threatens.
Till next time,