The continuing adventures of Furball
Furball does not actually answer to any name. He responds to the sound of running water, the clink of a fork on china or the snap of pop top can. Verbal cues are just not in his repertoire.I see very little of Furball now. Apparently my job is done. I rescued him, resuscitated and fed him. Introduced him to the greater world of catdom and now am a place where kitty chow and the occasional chicken grow.
He has been restricted to the porch because although he used the litter box provided apparently he views the whole world as a toilet. Especially any neat pile of freshly laundered clothes.
And then there are the fleas. It got to the point that I was bathing him everyday to keep him and my apartment flea-free despite diatomaceous earth and myriad other natural non- toxic to Furballs and to Bajan recipes, and then in desperation driven by an inborn dislike of having little creatures bite me on the ankles I bombed the place. Three times.
At least now the little buggers that hop onto my ankle are really little. I think I am killing them off one generation at a time. Keeping Furball in does not work. he yowls. The minute he goes out, the gang appears and they rush off to some cat mall somewhere filled with mice and crickets to be caught and bring home more fleas as presents . So he gets a separate apartment for those time he drops by for a place to sleep and do his laundry.
This morning as I filled the kettle I could see Furball and the fluffy tailed nitwit who is his closest friend playing hide and seek around a tree trunk. Necks stretched as little whiskered faces edged an eye and eartip around corners while the other ear turned backward listening for any approach from the rear.
Paws were lifted and placed with exquisite care not to disturb a blade of grass and give a warning and they circled the tree in both directions, always a tree trunk apart for about fifteen minutes then they suddenly met in the middle and exploded upwards, paws spread wide as if to hug, then chased each other round in kitty orbits that covered the whole of the backyard before they saw me watching and twinkletoed it up the stairs so fast their paws blurred.
The truly fascinating part was by the time I prepared two plates of food and opened up the backdoor, my porch was a seething mass of orange and white cats plus a grey tabby and a calico. it appears my breakfast guests have increased their number to seven.
Someone is spreading the news!
Comments (3)
(And hey, sometimes I view the whole world as a toilet too!)
watch out, or you will become catwoman!