When the cats come a-knocking

I never knew we had so many cats around.  All it took was a little catnip in the front yard.  

“We’ll grow it for our cat,” my wife said eagerly last spring. “See what she thinks of it.” 

The problem is, we never let our cat out of the house. And just because we have catnip doesn’t mean she can partake every day. As responsible pet owners, we limit her dosage. The catnip consequently grew, and soon we were attracting every furry feline in the neighbourhood. 

First there was the fat old orange one. We’ll call him Carl. He’s a haggard tom cat who prefers short walks. Rarely will you see him traveling further than a block to get his high. Carl’s at that point in life when it really doesn’t matter if he falls off the wagon, if he was ever on it. 

Then there’s the Siamese beauty we’ll call Vicky. Vicky only shows up occasionally, but her pompous gate reflects on upscale upbringing. She’s one of those pampered cats; one that gets a full can of Whiskas every meal. She enjoys a short dip in the ‘nip every now in then, careful not to become too impaired before returning home to what I imagine will be a tasty tuna stroganoff. 

Little Johnny is a bit of a character. He’s a black short-hair, and a friendly one, too.  Problem is, he gets a little too friendly. Every time we opened our front door, he’d be there. I didn’t want to throw my shoe at him (honestly), but he was getting a little too frisky.  

A few months later we found a Wanted poster in our mailbox: Little Johnny was on the loose. He was on a binge, more than likely – wandering the streets, looking for his next big hit of catnip or dumpster fish. Or maybe he finally got into someone else’s house and they decided to keep him. I’m sure not everyone throws their shoes at him. 

Cats have had a long relationship with humans – since the dawn of agriculture, when pest control became an issue. They were so good at this, they came to be revered as deities in ancient Egypt. Some cat owners even wanted their dear furniture-scratchers mummified with them into the afterlife. 

That all changed in medieval times, when cats somehow got caught up in the witch trials and evil-is-everywhere hype. In some places it was believed the only way to exorcise the evil was to throw the devilish felines off of tall buildings. The tradition exists to this day in the city of Ypres, Belgium, where mercifully, toy cats are used instead.  

Today we’re much more civil. We treat cats like they’re one of us. Stray cats are rescued from the street where they receive medical care that's the envy of some humans. 

And for what? Their affection is notoriously selective. They won’t greet you like a dog when you come home – they'll most likely just meow for some food. And they’ll scratch your furniture whenever they please, even the new couch. Don’t try to make them feel guilty, either, for snatching that sausage off your kitchen table. The minute you leave the room, they’ll be back into it. 

All that said, I like our cat more than I care to admit. We’ve recently started a strange hide-and-seek game where I chase her through the house. She also enjoys running up and down the stairs after “space mice” – small, scrunched up balls of tin foil. And there’s nothing more comforting than her warm body snuggling up to you while you watch TV, even though her claws might first knead deep into your thighs. 

A "rescue cat" from the Humane Society, she didn't cost much either. When the vet told us a loose tooth would cost $700 to pull out, I pulled it out on my own. Don't worry, she hardly flinched. It was forcing Gravol down her throat that was the hard part (I later found it on the carpet). 

And her flight risk is zero. While other cats are prancing around the neighbourhood, jumping in and out of our catnip like drunken ballerinas, she watches intently at the window. When we open our front door, she hesitates to even stick her head out. When visitors come by, she can be found in the basement ceiling above the duct work. 

She’s what you might call a scaredy-cat. And that’s okay. Whatever keeps her on the straight and narrow.

Daisy in the duct work