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Vendaval -> RE: It's the cats house (2/18/2007 12:46:19 AM)
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My first female kitty was the Queen of the House. She would avoid
the other pets if possible. If they ventured too close to her perch
on the stool in the kitchen they were reprimanded with a hiss and
a Swat! right to the snout. She was also the Supreme Huntress
of the neighborhood. My parents had a car inside the garage
with the windows rolled down. Well, they went to take it
for a drive one fine afternoon and found that Queen had
taken the dark interior of her car to be Her Domain. It was
filled with...bird parts and feathers, whatever she could not
eat.
My smallest female dog was the Head Bitch of the back yard.
She bossed around the medium sized female spitz type,
and would keep the retriever/shepherd cross from getting
anywhere near her food dish. The retriever/shepherd cross
was a neutered male who defended his humans and his territory
from any and all male dogs. He also jumped the fence and chased
the mail man twice, and got pepper sprayed for his foolishness.
I had two neutered male kitties who were like litter mates,
they played and slept together and cleaned each other.
Both were incredibly affectionate, one was shy and skittish,
the other was confident, friendly and being part Siamese,
a real "talker".
The kitty that "talked" the most was my mother's cat,
following her everywhere around the house, chirping at
birds through the front window, trying to stalk the squirrels,
and hissing at other cats who would venture into the yard or
front porch.
As you can probably tell by now, I had a lot of rescue animals
over the years. One of the tom cats was absolutely hell on wheels!
He would fight with anything of any size. He got out once through
a window that had been left open and got into a nasty fight.
I never knew for sure what he fought with, but it required a trip
to the veterinary and he had a piece of torn off flesh in his mouth.
Yeah, all this at the tender age of 6 months or so. We referred to
him as "Satan's Little Helper", a la Bart's dog on The Simpsons.
Nothing says, "I own you human slave!", like the early morning
shuffle to the bathroom, when all the cats are complaining that
you moved the covers and you have to walk around the dogs,
who might twitch an ear or open an eye. When they realize
that breakfast is not forthcoming, they start snoring again.
Then you get back to "your bed" and the cats have moved into the
warm spots under the covers and on your pillows.
Human love and devotion are fickle, animal love and loyalty
are much more dependable.
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