Now that the heat of summer is gone, they make little sniffing attempts to explore the backyard whenever I’m outside. Gizmo’s the most brazen, totally living up to the gender stereotype of being a boy as he rolls around in the dirt and eats grass while prissy little Jem doesn’t want to get her paws dirty.
A few weeks ago our boy cat Gizmo got out. Our cats are totally spoiled indoor cats, so we panicked at the thought of him out on his own without any street smarts. He’d probably take up with the first cat who looked his way and spiral downward to start trading his body for kitty snacks.
When nighttime came and Gizmo still hadn’t found his way home, Bear went out to walk the neighborhood and try to find him. As he walked he met this little kitty, who followed him down several streets. At one intersection Bear paused to decide which way to go, and the cat bumped up against his legs until he turned right. On that block he found Gizmo, looked down, and the cat was gone.
In Mormon folklore we have this story about “the Three Nephites.” The Book of Mormon tells the story of three disciples of Christ who asked to live until He came again, and amongst ourselves we tell stories, sometimes serious, usually joking, about run-ins with mysterious helpful strangers being The Three Nephites. So when Bear found Gizmo he called me and told me about this disappearing cat, my reaction was a jokey, “Oh my gosh! It was a third Nephite Cat!” Of course, then he popped back up, but the joke remained so we named him Sam, which is a name that appears in the Book of Mormon.
I checked Craigslist, called the pound, looked for fliers, but nobody seemed to be missing this cat. Then we found another cat that looked just like him show up in our backyard. It seemed that someone had tossed out a litter. He was ours.
Normally we’ve been very picky about the breed of cats we adopt. We have had the greatest cats and we have high demands from them. I kept trying to explain to Sam that in our family, cats snuggle. But he kept wanting to just rub up without being held. Still, he was such a sweet guy and so playful, I was charmed completely.
But, every time we opened a door, Sammy would dart out and we couldn’t get him to come inside for hours and hours. One night we went on a family walk and found him playing with another family. They said he was theirs, but we could have him if we wanted him, and he was obviously not being taken care of very well. Sammy followed us on the rest of our walk home and we decided we’d keep him and get him properly looked after.
Sammy had other ideas. He had the call of the wild in him, and nothing I could do would keep him inside. And once outside, he’d be gone all day. Sammy was a desperado, refusing to be domesticated.
Ever since Cheetara died, I’ve been needing a cat to love. Jem only loves Jared, Gizmo loves Atticus, that’s part of what’s great about that breed. I was so hoping Sammy would be the cat that loved me, but he loves the great outdoors more. Sigh.
And don’t get me started on the belly fuzz happening over here. It’s like the best thing ever got twice as good.
We came home from our Christmas vacation to find my beloved Cheetara had died. She was a purebred and I feared she had kidney problems for a long time, but the vet said she was OK. I never felt great about that, but we weren’t in the position to deal with kitty dialysis, so I tried to hope for the best. She just ran out of best.
Have you ever seen anything so ridiculous? Poor Cheetara. If you’re grossed out by facts of nature, you may want to stop reading here.
Over the last couple of heat cycles, Cheetara has started having, well, a period. It’s very common for in tact animals to emit drops of blood during estrus, but neither of our girls ever did until just now. We’re taking it as a sign that her breeding years are behind her and it’s time to get her fixed, but with the move and neverending heat cycles, we haven’t had a chance to do it yet.
Which means that I have a teenager having her period wandering unprotected through my house. And that is just not OK in my book. I know it’s just biology and this is how the miracle of life happens and all that, but seriously, ew.
Luckily she and Atti wear the same size.
I totally poached this little sculpture from my inlaw’s house.
Well, I couldn’t bring myself to outright swipe it, so I really just wandered around their house for a day saying, “Wow, I sure do like this sculpture! It was just sitting in a drawer in the guest room. It sure would look nice at my house….” Stopping just short of saying, “Hint. Hint.” Finally my mother in law just told me to take it. Most likely so I would shut up already.
It’s a metal casting with a really cool patina on it, and while I’m already so perilously close to crazy cat lady territory I really shouldn’t be bringing cat-themed knick-knacks into the equation, it was just too cool to resist.
When we lost our sweet Lobo last year, it was a major loss for our family. We hadn’t had him that long but he was such a good boy with Atticus we loved him twice as hard.
Back in July we bought our newest little Gizmo. We picked a brand new kitten because we knew that we would be asking a lot from this little cat, and we thought that if we started young, we may be able to train him. As much as a cat can ever really be trained.
When I look through the photos from 2009, it’s amazing how often some little part of Gizmo pops up in all the pictures I take of Atti. Particularly when a mess is involved. They seem to egg each other on somehow.
Gizmo never ventures far from his boy. He eats his table scraps, chases the balls Atti throws, sniffs at the robot Elmo while he wiggles, and supervises any therapists that come to the house. He’s very protective.
Atti’s often covered in cat scratches, but never anything painful. Just little warning jabs when he gets especially rowdy. This sweet cat puts up with an awful lot. When Atti starts to pull his fur too hard, Giz will reach out and put a paw on his forehead and push, just like a bigger kid on the playground saying, “Try and get me. I dare you try and get me” While Atti flails away getting nowhere.
People often ask me how I get so much done in a day, and the truth is that Gizmo handles most of Atti’s therapy. Atticus chases him from one end of the house to the other, and when he catches him, Gizmo just gets up and moves a few more feet away.