Well, here we are in the summer months again, when a buncha Snowbirddogs fly outta town with their humans and head Elsewhere, which, no offense or anything, makes it a liddle bit harder to find innerview-ees of the canine variety every week. So I like to call this time of the year “The NOT Dog Days of Summer.”
Of course, I am an equal opportunity kinda columnist, as you know, an in recent years have had the fun of getting to know pets of other spee-shees, mostly cats. This week’s innerview-ee, for example. Oliver the Cat.
Oliver is, for sure, not a fluffy, purr-y, curl up-on-a-pillow kinda guy.
Me an my assistant arrived at the house – lotsa trees and pretty plants an stuff all around – an knocked. A lady answered an invited us to come in an have a seat.
I was opening my notebook when out from behind the couch strolled this hansome gray tabby cat. Big guy. Big paws. Big face. Short hair. An these yellow/green slanted eyes with just a thin, black line smack down the center which, to tell you the truth, was kinda, well, very, disconcerting. Plus, he was slashing his tail back an forth, slowly.
“You, Mr. Bonzo, will be the first Dog I have ever interfaced with under congenial circumstances.”
“I greatly appreciate that, Mr. um, Mr. Oliver,” I managed, scrunching down as much as I could from my already sitting position.
“Hey, no need to get your tail inna bunch,” he said. “I think we can both relax. The past is the past. All seven of those lives are only memories. I’ll call you Bonz, OK? I’m Oliver.
You can call me Ollie. This is my Mom. I call her Mom. Work for you?”
“Absolutely, Ollie. So just talk about whatever part of your lives you’re comftubble with.”
“You got it, Bonz.”
Ollie leapt onto the couch next to his Mom, stretched out, an began his tail, his voice low an raspy. As he spoke, he extended an withdrew his claws in a slow rhythm, occasionally staring, unblinking, into the distance, probably recalling – what I could only guess. Truly a Cat of Mystery.
“It was back in 2007, I found myself in hiding: I happened upon THIS neighborhood. It was quiet and out of the way enough to be fairly safe. My life had always been on the lonely streets and dark alleyways, I was a tough guy, a fighter, my task so secret I can only say the safety of the free world had depended on my success, an I can say no more.”
All I could manage was a small “Woof!”
“My job done, I was layin’ low, fightin’ only when I had to, huntin’ an garbage divin’ to survive. Then I happened on this place. The lady, now Mom, wasn’t scared of me at all.
She would knock on the windows at me an say, ‘You’re MINE!’ An then she’d set food out for me. Too-na. I, of course, was suspicious. But, after about four months, I began to trust her (an then there was the too-na). One day I took a chance an entered the house to eat the tuna which she had set just inside. After successfully doing that for a while, my instinks took over, an I did that macho Tomcat Marking Territory thing all over the house, whereupon she gently but firmly tossed me into the yard. A lesson learned.
“I thought I had blown my chances for good. Then one night it was pouring rain an I was under a bush getting’ drenched an wishin’ I had not behaved so badly. Then I heard her window open an Mom hollering ‘CAAAAATTT!’ Well, she didn’t hafta ask twice. I ran over an jumped in the window. An that’s how I found what I thought I’d never have. A Furever Home.
“Mom took me to the vet for all the required procedures an, surprisingly, even to me, I was fine with the vet, relaxed even. Go figure.”
“It must have been a, umm, challenging transition from your, er, former lives,” I ventured.
“You got THAT right, Big B! Even now. I’ve still gotta be outside a lot. ‘Specially at night! If I can’t get out when want to, I get a liddle, well, loud. I stay on the property, tho. An, speshully when I was a younger tomcat, I got in a lotta fights. Got pretty scraped up. Broke some fangs. Mostly won, tho.”
I didn’t doubt him for a second.
“Now that I’m Getting’ Up There (the vet thinks I’m about 15 in human). I’m not as much of a fighter. I can sit calmly an watch the neighbor dogs go by on their leash walks, long as they don’t get too close.
“As far as other cats, forget it! No way! No how! I’m a loner, always have been. Except for Mom, of course.
“An I’m fond of hangin’ out on my rockin’ chair on the back porch an just watchin’ my fellow critters, mostly birds, do their thing. We’re good with each other. I also like to nap on the cool earth, an not hafta worry about gettin’ snuck up on. I’ve even learned to enjoy zoning out with catnip, an I have this piece of string me an Mom play with. I have been known to leap – you heard me – LEAP – into the air after that string.
“Might as well confess, Bonz, I CAN get snuggly an wuggly, but Only With Mom.
However,” he added with a Cheshire grin, “if you tell anybody, I’ll Totally Deny it.”
Headin’ home, I was thinkin’ about big, intimidatin,’ mysterious Oliver the Cat who has, against all odds, found his Furever Home, out of the rain, with no fightin,’ an lotsa snuggles an too-na. I love my job.
Till next time,
