Tigger

Familiars – Day 615

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Spartacus – A Happy Boy – Photo: L. Weikel

Familiars

I adore the four-leggeds with whom we share our life. In fact, I cannot imagine my life without having at least one of them in the family. Luckily for both of us, Karl shares my need to be surrounded by my familiars.

Nothing proves that point more clearly than that we honeymooned on Cape Cod – and adopted a gorgeous solid gray kitten at the ASPCA in Brewster, Massachusetts. Yes, our very first official act as a married couple, on the very first business day of the week following our marriage that weekend, was to drive through Cape traffic instead of going to the beach to see if we could find a kitten to adopt.

Brewster was his name and he was a trooper. While he ruled the roost for a year on his own, he oversaw Karl’s birth and eventually schooled him on the proper way to sneak hard cat food when I wasn’t looking. He gamely and not begrudgingly shared our laps with his ‘little brother’ Karl.

Fast Forward to Today

At the moment we, as you’ve occasionally been made aware, we share our home with two dogs, Sheila and Spartacus, and three cats, Precious, Cletus, and Tigger.

I could write about our beasts every night. Especially lately, they’ve been providing me with an abundance of fodder, some amusing and some sort of hard, but I’ve been trying to hold off.  Last night, however, brought a message that was hard to ignore.

Messengers

After completing my post for the evening, I made my way upstairs. Usually Spartacus is already upstairs with Karl, making a warm spot for me. Sheila, no longer able to navigate the stairs, sleeps downstairs in her soft furry bed. That makes me sad, but she doesn’t seem to mind, so I’ve become resigned to it.

Cletus religiously makes a pest of himself while I’m writing my post (every post, every night) by stomping around if he’s inside, howling to be let out, and then after he’s been outside for about 20 minutes, hurling himself against the screen door out front and sticking to it (with his claws) like Velcro – until his claws slowly rip the screen. That’s how he demands to come back in. He does this a couple times while I’m writing.

Precious is our paranoid one. If anyone came to visit (pre-Covid), she’d disappear and not be seen or heard from again. Not until the interlopers left. She’s mostly a loner, but every once in a while she’ll become frantically affectionate. It’s weird. But we love her. Even if she is a cellar-dweller.

And then there’s Tigger. We inherited Tigger from Sage after he (and his fiancé Sarah, truth be told) adopted him from a pet rescue place in central Pennsylvania. It ended up not being a great look for an RA to be harboring a fugitive kitty, so Tigger relocated to Bucks County. I think I’ve relayed the story of his name elsewhere.

Message to Mommy

Which leads me to the scenario that greeted me when I went to bed last night:

Mouse with Dog underneath – Photo: L. Weikel

I know; right? It’s as if they were lines up perfectly, in some surreal real-life enactment of a Medicine Card* pick! Mouse reversed with Dog underneath.

So freaking weird.

The only one who could’ve set this up would be Tigger. Had Precious participated in this macabre message delivery scheme, she definitely would’ve eaten the head off the mouse. Especially if she wanted to convey is as a ‘reversal.’

So. Tigger? Was that you? Were you behind this message to Mommy?

Tigger – Avoiding My Gaze – Photo: L. Weikel

Hmmph. Good thing I’m not squeamish. Poor mouse.

*affiliate link

(T-496)

Any Port in the Storm – Day 553

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Tigger and Spartacus snuggling – Photo: L. Weikel

Any Port in the Storm

Hey, sometimes it’s just nice to have somebody at your back. Or as my mother used to say, “Any port in the storm.”

Clearly that had to have been what Tigger and Spartacus were thinking the other day when I happened upon this surprising snugglefest taking place on our bed. When I walked up the wooden pie-shaped steps from our kitchen into our bedroom, I fumbled for my phone to capture the unexpected cuteness of the moment.

You can sort of see that Tigger woke up during my effort, which annoyed and disappointed me. They were so cute.

The photo above is ok, and it almost captures the magic – but not quite. If you can imagine it, when I initially walked into the room (in my defense, the wooden stairs do squeak), they were laying in that same position, spine to spine, but Tigger’s head was down and they were both very obviously completely at home and at peace, and deeply asleep. Surprisingly, their trust in each other was complete.

How Rare Is That?

All of which sort of makes me wonder. How rare is that, really? We hear talk of cats and dogs being natural enemies, but I think a lot of that is hype. In fact, in a lot of ways, that supposed rivalry seems more like propaganda that’s oddly based in human gender stereotypes than true feline/canine rivalry or inherent dislike.

I’ll bet almost everyone reading this knows of cats and dogs that have lived beyond peaceably within their own home. Heck, I’ve even witnessed Cletus (who we can all agree is beautiful but a real jerk, what with all his hissing and biting and unwarranted lashing out with claws at no provocation) walk up to Spartacus (who can become wild-eyed and a jerk himself if you try sticking your muzzle into his food bowl) and first flaunt his tail directly in Spart’s face and then turn around, chirrup at him, and groom Spartacus’s ear.

I thought for sure it was going to be curtains for both of them the first time I saw Cletus sidle up to Spartacus that way.

And I’ve seen all three of our cats cuddle with both dogs periodically. I remember having lots of photos of White Satan cuddling with Sheila and Spartacus. And at first, I thought the pups were simply being kind to him, realizing that he didn’t even comprehend that his behavior was socially inappropriate, since he was deaf. But apparently that wasn’t the case.

Makes Me Wonder

So much of what we think is based on stuff we’ve been told all our lives. Much of what underpins our belief systems are thoughts and opinions that we actually have never had to form through personal experience. We’ve simply taken someone else’s word for it. Usually, it was our parents’ word for things, but also our teachers’, our friends’, and the thoughts, prejudices, and assumptions of people on television.

It makes me wonder what life could be like – especially in our country, now, when so many seem to loathe those who aren’t like them – if we could just drop the hype and be real with each other.

Any port in the storm.

If we’re not careful, we may soon experience our own personal ‘any port in the storm’ moment, causing us to care for or be cared for by those whom society, or our parents, or even our president, has told us we should fear or loathe or judge as less than. Maybe then we’ll realize the truth.

What will we do then? How will we love? Will we snuggle up and keep each other warm against the cold?

Sheila, Spart, and White Satan – Photo: L. Weikel

(T-558)

Lost Cause – Day 535

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Waxing April Moon – Photo: L. Weikel

Lost Cause

Well, today was a lost cause. All I did was run around and feel thwarted at almost every turn.

We’ve all had days like this. You know…when nothing turns out the way you intended? When everything you attempt to do ends up not only not happening but turning into its own pile of mess?

I Should’ve Known

Sometimes you don’t need to pick a card to get a handle on how your day is going to unfold. Like when you step in a puddle of kitty barf as you head to the bathroom first thing in the morning. Not a good sign.

Or when you realize that the kitty barf is actually something that they were repeatedly trying to evacuate from their bodies in small, half dollar size puddles of saliva spread out in eerily perfect distances that mimic a footstep. Yes. So when you realize you’ve stepped in something wet and instinctively yet simultaneously recoil and lunge to put your weight on the other foot, you find that foot landing in a puddle of feline gastric-juicy wetness of its own.

I should’ve known, really.

Just One Of Those Days

Hey, I know. I’m sure many people feeling ill or working themselves to the bone caring for the sick, or the people called upon to stock our grocery stores and deal with our cranky, often selfish, asses would love to have the luxury of my lamentations.

Alas, we all have our crosses to bear. I’m in the midst of sorting out feelings that I’ll almost inevitably share here sooner or later. But until I do, I’ll probably persist in making the mistake of hitting up the cache of peanuts I stockpiled for the blue jays and fish crows.

Case in point: Tonight I made the mistake of ‘catching up’ on the news I’d deliberately not followed all day (you know, as I was agitated enough by other stuff going on in my life). Aided by the anonymity and deniability provided by Karl being asleep on the couch, I surreptitiously retrieved a fresh bag of peanuts from our ‘pandemic stash,’ having refilled the peanut feeder before we took a walk this evening. I knew I shouldn’t break it open. I knew it.. Especially after the crappy day I’d had today.

But I did. I planted myself in front of the tv and binged, mindlessly cracking open the shells and plopping the contents into my mouth. The only bright spot is that I think I may have cured myself of my recent peanut addiction because now I feel as decidedly barfy as the cat must have this morning.

Oh brother. And speak of the devil. Right on cue, Tigger just heaved. I kid you not. Crouched underneath the dining room table strategically positioned such that he’s unreachable, I’m subjected to the universally distinct sound of a cat working something up and out. Good grief; what a day.

Time for bed. Some days are a lost cause. Hopefully, tomorrow will not only be a better day, but also a better post.

“I don’t think I feel right, Mommy” – Photo: L. Weikel

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Fame – Day 207

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Fame                         

It goes to the head.

Even though he doesn’t read, he knew. He knew he was being read about, thought about, and admired from afar. He knew people were talking about how handsome a boy he is.

And he likes it.

He likes the attention. Being a very metaphysical cat, he knows energy follows intention. So he could feel all of you energetically stroking his lustrous coat from afar. He could sense your scratches underneath his chin and around his ears. He could hear you murmuring gently in his ear, “Tigger, Tigger. You’re such  a good boy. Such a good kitty.”

Seduction

It’s all so seductive, you know.

He won’t leave me alone now. He’s perched here on the arm of the couch as I try to write a new post. It’s as if he won’t get out of my mind. “It’s about me again, right Mommy?” he asks.

Tigger! Stop asking for, for—

Ugghhh. He wants more.

More attention. More photos. More soft food.

Oh yeah. Here it comes. The look. Those eyes…

Ok, I get it. Sure. Yep. Well, it’s not as if we couldn’t have seen where this was headed.

Catnip. Top of the list.

He wants catnip. For being such a good boy.

Photo: L. Weikel

This’ll have to do.

(T-904)

Names Matter – Day 206

Posted on by Lisa Weikel Leave a comment
Photo: L. Weikel

Words Matter                                  

I’ve written a lot about the importance of words. The impact words have on shaping our reality is huge and filled with responsibility.

Often we do not fully realize the power of our words until we witness first-hand how we often manifest, quite literally, usually, precisely what we tend to repeat over and over in our everyday conversations.

Anyone who’s spent any significant amount of time with me knows how I tend to pay attention to the words that come out of people’s mouths. Because I was taught manifestation techniques early on in my metaphysical studies (I’m talking back in the late 80’s here – yikes), I’ve tried to live my life with awareness of what comes out of my mouth.

Words Hold Power

As a result, we also taught our sons the power of words and encouraged them to take responsibility for what comes out of their mouths. And for the most part, they tend to be careful in the words they choose (OK, with maybe some profanity not getting ‘canceled,’ since, well… I don’t know. Bad example?)

But it wasn’t until our youngest son adopted a cat about four years ago that we all learned just how powerful names are, too.

While in college, Sage adopted a mature cat from an adoption agency associated with a local pet food and supply store. He immediately dubbed the cat “Wally,” after a friend’s cat he’d known who had a similar laid back attitude and luxuriously soft coat.

Wally was obviously pleased to have been liberated from his caged existence. He was always happy to see Sage when he’d get back from class, and he was a welcome addition to Sage’s life, for the most part.

But after a month or two, Wally seemed a little different than when he’d first been adopted. He became noticeably more shy. He would duck when anyone reached out to pet him, as if he might get hit. And while he was always glad when Sage returned to his room, he was starting to hide in places and not come out unless we went looking for him.

Within another month, Sage was frustrated and it was discovered by housekeeping that he was harboring a four-legged, which wasn’t exactly within the rules of the residence in which he was living.

Happy to Reclusive

“Mom?”

As soon as I heard the precise tone and inflection of that “Mom?” I knew I was going to be asked to cat-sit. Of course, I was right. Within days, Wally was delivered.

We all started giving Sage a hard time, because this cat was such an anti-social beast. Indeed he almost rivaled our psycho-kitty, Precious. But he didn’t howl or act bizarre. No, Wally simply hid. We teased Sage as to why in the world he picked him out to adopt. Sage swore he hadn’t acted like that when he’d visited the cat in the store several times before taking the plunge.

That may have been the case, but he wouldn’t come out from under beds. At all. He didn’t sleep with us. He never seemed to be in the same room as us. We didn’t even see him at mealtime. We knew he must be eating after our other cats ate their fill, but they weren’t fighting.  Wally was in full-blown avoidance mode.

Annoyed Tigger – What’s with this “Wally” garbage? – Photo: L. Weikel

Pleading with his eyes

When I would occasionally have a chance to talk to him one-on-one and pet him and scratch under his ears, I started noticing a really weird vibe from him when I would call him by his name; when I would coo “Sweet Wallys” in his ear. He looked like he was pleading with his eyes for me to figure something out. Something that would ease his pain.

I started mentioning to Karl (Sage was back at school by this time) that I felt like he didn’t like being called Wally. I told Karl the cat got a weird look in his eyes when I’d call him by that name.

(Karl gave me a weird look when I said this to him; so I was getting weird looks from everybody.) But still, weeks went by, and Wally was very seriously miserable and reclusive.

Eventually, it was time for us to take Wally in for his booster shots. Sage brought home Wally’s paperwork so I could provide his history to our vet. There, in the paperwork, I discovered Wally’s PRIOR name – the name he’d had when he was left at the shelter: Tigger.

Tigger it was!

I swear to you: as soon as I saw that name on his paperwork, I turned to the cat and asked him if that was his name. Tigger’s eyes lit up. His body language, which I’d not realized was the equivalent of hunched shoulders, immediately relaxed.

That cat morphed before my eyes into his true self: his Tigger self.

It turns out he’s extremely affectionate and wildly astute in understanding when you’re calling him by his correct name. He gained weight; his fur took on a sheen and softness that is irresistible. And he can now be anywhere in our house – and if I call his name, “Heeeeeeeere, Tiggety Tig!” he comes running. To me. A cat. Running to me when I call his name.

It’s been a long time now since he came to live with us. He’s part of the family now.

But one thing I can tell you is that he will always and forever love me like no other. Because I figured out how to call him by his ‘real’ name.

Names matter.

Happy Tigger – Photo: L. Weikel

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