Hello and welcome to the LAST SATURDAY before Christmas here at the Wannaskan Almanac. Today is the 21st, aka just another Saturday if you're not one to celebrate this Christian holiday.
As far back as my childhood memories take me, Grandma Koster always had a cat. Sometimes two at the same time. Always Siamese. Her cats were never nice. They hissed and hid under the bed, always an arm's length out of reach. On the rare occasion I caught one, she (the cat was always female) would growl her warning before scratching her way out of my grasp.
What was the point of having a cat if you couldn't cuddle it, I wondered? My five-year-old self can attest to the wisdom that crabby cats are no fun.
I got my own cat when I was 7 years old. I named him LeRoy (the best boy name for a cat ever, my younger self insisted) and we got him from the animal shelter - likely saving his life, If I recall. LeRoy was already a year old and one mellow dude. He let me rock him and cuddle him 24/7.
Unfortunately, I'll admit to more sadistic curiosities like swinging him in circles by his little kitty armpits and putting him in the washing machine. (No, I didn't run it. I just wondered if he would fit.) That poor cat remained loyal to that little girl despite all her misguided infliction which, I'm happy to say, she grew out of.
Two years ago, a friend of mine called and asked if I'd like a cat. She had managed to save this malnourished but tough little kitten, but between her allergies and her two little dogs, she couldn't keep it. The Oldest, who was sitting at least six feet away engrossed in activities on her iPod, overheard our phone conversation and shouted, "YES!"
We already had two cats, Nicey and Scrawny, whom we had rescued in 2010. A newborn kitty litter had been secretly dumped at the Krahn farm which had its own cat colony. Cats are social creatures, yes, but only when born into their own ca(s)t(e) system. These little runts were sure to perish. We took two. Sure enough, the next time we chatted with the Krahn crew, we learned that all of those other drop-offs had earned their little kitty wings.
The Oldest reminded me of this and insisted we do our duty to save this little kitty's soul. And, well, now that the yes had been spoken aloud, I couldn't find it within myself to say no. (That, and the kids promised to take care of the cat all by themselves. "It's not your cat, mom. It'll be our cat.")
The kitten was tiny - an orange and white fluff ball with green eyes that bugged with curiosity only the young possess. The first thing we did was name it Miss Kitty. The first thing it did was crawl into a hole in the wall inside the bathroom closet where we'd set up a temporary kitty condo. Just great, I thought. We had't even had the cat a day and already she was going to waste away, trapped between the sheet rock. I remembered a mysterious stench in my aunt and uncle's basement once which turned out to be a rotting squirrel corpse. This cat would not die. Not under my watch. I pushed up my sleeve, thrust my arm into the hole, grabbed the kitten by the scruff and pulled it free, ignoring its little mewling protests.
The kids covered the hole.
We quickly learned that this little fluff ball behaved more like a gremlin than the sweet mogwai Gizmo in the film Gremlins. His version of affection was pawing at long hair like it was string and tackling an ankle like it was the ball of yarn. A hand reaching out to stroke his fur was a foe not an ally and would be promptly rewarded with a little kitty chomp. As he grew, the swipes and nips grew with him.
It might be worth mentioning at this point in the story - since I already made the grammatical transition - that we eventually learned that Miss Kitty was not a miss, but a mister. We promptly renamed him Mr. Fuzzy Nuts, most likely to overcompensate for our gross error. However, after a visit to the vet for the requisite operation, his name was shortened to simply Mr. Fuzzy.
I can't remember if it was Jack London's Call of the Wild or White Fang, in which I read about the wolf who grew to love his human companion. The way the wolf showed his affection to his guy pal was by holding the man's hand in his jaws; like a bite, but gentle. The next time Mr. Fuzzy nipped at my hand, I stayed still and let him. His sharp little teeth squeezed, but just a smidge, then let go.
Rather than dispose of this especially prickly feline, we reframed our expectations and set about figuring him out. We realized this was not a cat to be cuddled and yet, he still liked getting a scratch behind the ear. He liked being pet, but only for 3 seconds and no longer. He would tolerate being held, but if too long would twist and chomp like a muskie on the end of your fishing line. We learned he likes to play and wrestle, so a good tussle with a thick leather glove or winter mitten seems to give him pleasure - but watch out because he will still attack when you least expect it.
Why do we bother loving such a nutty cat? First, we kept in mind how he came into this world.His mama either died or abandoned him. He had to fight to find his place in the cat colony that was already established at my friend's farm, and after all that, he lived with two dogs. Mr. Fuzzy, we've gathered, probably came to us believing he was a dog. (He's the only cat of our three who doesn't dig a hole when he goes potty nor does he clean up after himself.) In other words, Mr. Fuzzy is damaged goods.
And that's exactly why we have to love him.
Like my grandma's cats, we had to learn to love Mr. Fuzzy with all his faults and failings. We had to learn unconditional love. And if we can learn to love a crazy cat unconditionally, maybe we can do the same for our fellow man.
As far back as my childhood memories take me, Grandma Koster always had a cat. Sometimes two at the same time. Always Siamese. Her cats were never nice. They hissed and hid under the bed, always an arm's length out of reach. On the rare occasion I caught one, she (the cat was always female) would growl her warning before scratching her way out of my grasp.
What was the point of having a cat if you couldn't cuddle it, I wondered? My five-year-old self can attest to the wisdom that crabby cats are no fun.
I got my own cat when I was 7 years old. I named him LeRoy (the best boy name for a cat ever, my younger self insisted) and we got him from the animal shelter - likely saving his life, If I recall. LeRoy was already a year old and one mellow dude. He let me rock him and cuddle him 24/7.
Unfortunately, I'll admit to more sadistic curiosities like swinging him in circles by his little kitty armpits and putting him in the washing machine. (No, I didn't run it. I just wondered if he would fit.) That poor cat remained loyal to that little girl despite all her misguided infliction which, I'm happy to say, she grew out of.
Two years ago, a friend of mine called and asked if I'd like a cat. She had managed to save this malnourished but tough little kitten, but between her allergies and her two little dogs, she couldn't keep it. The Oldest, who was sitting at least six feet away engrossed in activities on her iPod, overheard our phone conversation and shouted, "YES!"
We already had two cats, Nicey and Scrawny, whom we had rescued in 2010. A newborn kitty litter had been secretly dumped at the Krahn farm which had its own cat colony. Cats are social creatures, yes, but only when born into their own ca(s)t(e) system. These little runts were sure to perish. We took two. Sure enough, the next time we chatted with the Krahn crew, we learned that all of those other drop-offs had earned their little kitty wings.
The Oldest reminded me of this and insisted we do our duty to save this little kitty's soul. And, well, now that the yes had been spoken aloud, I couldn't find it within myself to say no. (That, and the kids promised to take care of the cat all by themselves. "It's not your cat, mom. It'll be our cat.")
The kitten was tiny - an orange and white fluff ball with green eyes that bugged with curiosity only the young possess. The first thing we did was name it Miss Kitty. The first thing it did was crawl into a hole in the wall inside the bathroom closet where we'd set up a temporary kitty condo. Just great, I thought. We had't even had the cat a day and already she was going to waste away, trapped between the sheet rock. I remembered a mysterious stench in my aunt and uncle's basement once which turned out to be a rotting squirrel corpse. This cat would not die. Not under my watch. I pushed up my sleeve, thrust my arm into the hole, grabbed the kitten by the scruff and pulled it free, ignoring its little mewling protests.
The kids covered the hole.
We quickly learned that this little fluff ball behaved more like a gremlin than the sweet mogwai Gizmo in the film Gremlins. His version of affection was pawing at long hair like it was string and tackling an ankle like it was the ball of yarn. A hand reaching out to stroke his fur was a foe not an ally and would be promptly rewarded with a little kitty chomp. As he grew, the swipes and nips grew with him.
It might be worth mentioning at this point in the story - since I already made the grammatical transition - that we eventually learned that Miss Kitty was not a miss, but a mister. We promptly renamed him Mr. Fuzzy Nuts, most likely to overcompensate for our gross error. However, after a visit to the vet for the requisite operation, his name was shortened to simply Mr. Fuzzy.
I can't remember if it was Jack London's Call of the Wild or White Fang, in which I read about the wolf who grew to love his human companion. The way the wolf showed his affection to his guy pal was by holding the man's hand in his jaws; like a bite, but gentle. The next time Mr. Fuzzy nipped at my hand, I stayed still and let him. His sharp little teeth squeezed, but just a smidge, then let go.
Rather than dispose of this especially prickly feline, we reframed our expectations and set about figuring him out. We realized this was not a cat to be cuddled and yet, he still liked getting a scratch behind the ear. He liked being pet, but only for 3 seconds and no longer. He would tolerate being held, but if too long would twist and chomp like a muskie on the end of your fishing line. We learned he likes to play and wrestle, so a good tussle with a thick leather glove or winter mitten seems to give him pleasure - but watch out because he will still attack when you least expect it.
Why do we bother loving such a nutty cat? First, we kept in mind how he came into this world.His mama either died or abandoned him. He had to fight to find his place in the cat colony that was already established at my friend's farm, and after all that, he lived with two dogs. Mr. Fuzzy, we've gathered, probably came to us believing he was a dog. (He's the only cat of our three who doesn't dig a hole when he goes potty nor does he clean up after himself.) In other words, Mr. Fuzzy is damaged goods.
And that's exactly why we have to love him.
Like my grandma's cats, we had to learn to love Mr. Fuzzy with all his faults and failings. We had to learn unconditional love. And if we can learn to love a crazy cat unconditionally, maybe we can do the same for our fellow man.
On This Day
Historic Highlights (credits)
1995 - Palestinians take control of Bethlehem
Isreali troops withdrew from the city under the Interim Agreement on the West Bank and the Gaza Strip signed in September 1995. The city was under a British mandate from 1920 to 1948, and then it was captured by Jordan during the Arab-Israeli War in 1948. Most recently, it was taken over by Israel during the Six-Day War in 1967.
1988 - Lockerbie Bombing
A bomb exploded on Pan Am Flight number 103 on its way from Frankfurt, Germany, to Detroit, United States, over the Scottish city of Lockerbie. The terrorist attack killed all the passengers and crew on board and 11 people on the ground.
1965 - International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination adopted
The human rights convention was adopted by the United Nations' member states and was put into force on January 4, 1969. It attempts to eliminate racial discrimination in the world.
1937 - Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs released
The movie made by Walt Disney Productions was the world's first full-length animated feature film and it was based on a German fairy tale of the same name by the Brothers Grimm.
1872 - Phileas Fogg wins his wager
The fictional character created by French writer Jules Verne for his book, Around the World in Eighty Days, finished circumnavigating the world and reached London to win the wager he had set with his friends. The date also coincides with the publication of the last of the series that ended up becoming the now popular science fiction novel.
Isreali troops withdrew from the city under the Interim Agreement on the West Bank and the Gaza Strip signed in September 1995. The city was under a British mandate from 1920 to 1948, and then it was captured by Jordan during the Arab-Israeli War in 1948. Most recently, it was taken over by Israel during the Six-Day War in 1967.
1988 - Lockerbie Bombing
A bomb exploded on Pan Am Flight number 103 on its way from Frankfurt, Germany, to Detroit, United States, over the Scottish city of Lockerbie. The terrorist attack killed all the passengers and crew on board and 11 people on the ground.
1965 - International Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Racial Discrimination adopted
The human rights convention was adopted by the United Nations' member states and was put into force on January 4, 1969. It attempts to eliminate racial discrimination in the world.
1937 - Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs released
The movie made by Walt Disney Productions was the world's first full-length animated feature film and it was based on a German fairy tale of the same name by the Brothers Grimm.
1872 - Phileas Fogg wins his wager
The fictional character created by French writer Jules Verne for his book, Around the World in Eighty Days, finished circumnavigating the world and reached London to win the wager he had set with his friends. The date also coincides with the publication of the last of the series that ended up becoming the now popular science fiction novel.
Happy Birthday to You!🎶
1982 - Philip Humber, American baseball player
1966 - Kiefer Sutherland, English/Canadian actor, director, producer
1940 - Frank Zappa, American singer-songwriter, guitarist, producer
1804 -Benjamin Disraeli, English politician, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom
1118 - Thomas Becket, English archbishop
1966 - Kiefer Sutherland, English/Canadian actor, director, producer
1940 - Frank Zappa, American singer-songwriter, guitarist, producer
1804 -Benjamin Disraeli, English politician, Prime Minister of the United Kingdom
1118 - Thomas Becket, English archbishop
Remembering You
1963 - Jack Hobbs, English cricketer
1945 - George S. Patton, American general
1940 - F. Scott Fitzgerald, American author
1935 - Kurt Tucholsky, German journalist
72 - Thomas the Apostle
1945 - George S. Patton, American general
1940 - F. Scott Fitzgerald, American author
1935 - Kurt Tucholsky, German journalist
72 - Thomas the Apostle
May you find some moments to practice unconditional love and make it a great Saturday!
Kim
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| Mr. Fuzzy lovin' |
For years, scientists have been proving that cats merely tolerated us. They just use us so they can enjoy a warm house and fresh kitty litter. But new studies prove that cats love their host families as much as dogs and babies do. I'm gone from home for extended periods so having a cat or dog is impractical. I have to content myself with squirrels and birds, which take care of themselves when I'm gone. I keep checking the online journals for studies that prove the wildlife around our house really do care about us.
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