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May 15, 2004 Baby Frisky was bottle fed because his mother had abandoned him in a nasty, box filled garage in the Oklahoma Spring of 1994. He had a brother that only managed to survive two days because he didn’t accept the bottle. There was not much we could do. Frisky, on the other hand, took well to the bottle; feeding like a champ. He started growing like a weed. We never saw his momma again. “Frisky” actually became his name because that’s what he became. Jumping on the furniture and ripping newspaper to shreds (before they were read by me) were favorite Frisky pastimes. Clawing chunks of flesh out of my arms and back got him de-clawed quick enough, but that didn’t slow him down. Getting him neutered only made him more ornery. But that cat could be friendly too. He picked his spots and wasn’t friendly for very long during any of them. Yet, every once in a while he would tolerate me being in the same bed he chose to sleep in. I guess having bottle fed the beast; he might have been confused as to his own species. For all I know, he believed I was his momma. If I had ever bit my momma like he’d tear into me? All nine of my lives would have been used up in a week! He was just a beast though, doing what beasts do. Frisky loved children. A child could get quite rough with him before he’d send out his growling warnings. With me, most times, I couldn’t get within ten feet of the beast. I guess if Frisky had to take out his occasional kitty temper tantrums out on someone, it should be me. After all, I was bigger than he was. Frisky believed himself the boss of his entire domain. Since he was de-clawed, (the real boss did that) he was an indoor cat. Oh! He retained his hindquarter claws, but it was funny, every time, to see Frisky attack with his forepaws, thinking he was going to draw more blood from my ankles. NOT TODAY CAT! Frisky would not be denied however. His repeated frustration at not being able to scar my legs led to new tactics. He would begin playing with me. He pretended to be my friend. He would even let me pet him, then, he would sink his teeth into one of my fingers and run like a rabbit to safety under the sofa! I fell for it every time. Here was a beast I had brought up from bottle- hood; changing some extremely stinky cat litters: “Dad, we promise we’ll take good care of the cat.” Well, you’d think with five children, one of them would love the beast enough that “Dad” would never see a litter box. Here also, putting out food and water every time I saw the cat on “empty”: (that cat drank gallons of water) “Really Dad, let us keep the cat. We’ll take care of it.” Yep, for at least the first two weeks, until the novelty wore off. I’m not really griping though. Frisky and I had a relationship. It always bordered on war and the death of a cat, but I understood my limits. Frisky’s domain was whatever he believed it to be at a given moment and he was never afraid to let me know when I was encroaching. I was very saddened the other day. I called home to say hello and catch up the family news and my wife told me that Frisky had finally died. He was the “million-dollar cat”. Later in his life he had developed kidney problems, abscessed teeth and a whole gamut of elderly kitty ailments. The Vet got rich, but Frisky pulled through all the worse illnesses every time. Frisky actually had about 15 lives. Frisky was family. He protected my wife and children, giving them comfort and surety of his presence. He watched me all the time. I never knew just what that cat was thinking, but, with me, just seeing the cat we’d saved from certain death 10 years ago in a hot Oklahoma garage, gave me the upper hand. Frisky always owed me one. Thank you, Beast. Thank you, Frisky. You were a great cat. ------------ About the Author: Independent, Conservative, Christian. Married 29 years with 5 children raised and two grandchildren. 30 year Army Veteran and published poet with www.poetry.com since Y2K. Email Michael John McCrae: michael.mccrae@us.army.mil Tell a friend about this site! ------------ |
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