DAWGS

Halle Berry had a traumatic early childhood from which she never quite recovered (too long a story for tonight). She’s very sensitive. And tiny. She still looks like a kitten.

Here, she’s making a rare appearance on my desk. And Starring Christopher Walken as the Continental steals every scene, though. He’s a nutjob (and a ham. And a great dancer). It took us weeks to trap him.

He was probably six weeks old when he began climbing the screen next to my desk and crying incessantly. I’d go outside to get him and he’d run away. I’d go back inside, he’d return to the window. And so it went; over and over and over, again. Every freakin’ day and night. Twice he escaped the trap. Third time was a charm, but resulted in an extended apoplectic fit. It took both of us to get the trap into the house, and there we set him free.

He made friends with several others, immediately, but didn’t want us anywhere near him. Until we were petting someone else — and then he’d jump in for some lovin’. As long as we didn’t approach him directly nor look at him, we could catch him. He’s gotten a bit easier over the years. But just a bit. He’s an attention hog, but he only wants others’ attention. And that’s hardly his only idiosyncracy. Lucky for him, we like ‘em weird.

This photo was taken in 1998, at the first Thanksgiving in Bad Cat Cottage. Three turkeys, four rooms, six tables (one measuring 8′ by 4′), and almost two hundred cats in attendance.

We had no idea where this was going, but they’d been through so much we wanted to spoil them rotten. Don’t know why that feels so good, but it does.

Thanksgiving is just a Thursday when everything’s closed, for us, but we didn’t mind throwing the feast. It’s not like they expected mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, and pies. We haven’t baked a turkey for them in many a year, but they do get a homemade turkey, brown rice, and veg mash after Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter if the sales are good.

In my next life I want to come back as one of our cats.

Trying to keep cats out or off of anything is an exercise in futility when the humans are outnumbered…unless the humans inspire fear, of course. That’s not our style. They definitely mind their manners to a greater degree when dealing with Bro, but by no stretch of the imagination do they consider him the boss of them. They make a few minor adjustments and let him think he’s the boss of them. But that’s their only concession.

Me? There should be a global sigh of relief that I neither had nor wanted human children. If I felt about kids the way I feel about kittens and foals, etc. (and no one should be a parent if they don’t feel about kids the way I feel about kittens and foals, etc.), I’d be the obnoxious mother beaming, “my twelve-year-old just robbed a liquor store! Isn’t she the cutest, smartest thing?!?”

All I wanted to do was make soup. So I grabbed the pot from the cat-proofed cupboard, put the celery in the pot (because the sink was full of cats), turned my back for three seconds when grabbing some onions, and Paul Newman was spoilin’ my broth! Fortunately, the camera was in the drawer at my hip. He really does have the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. And looks as though he spends his time under the hood of a car…

How do cat photographers do it?! 90% of the pictures I shoot capture those just passing through. Or else the cats are being so cute I could eat them but the camera’s in a drawer or another room. Wish we had studio space. Bring in a few at a time and keep the rest at bay. These cats are hams…

When not trying to take photos it’s a blast. Cats are far more entertaining than anything on tv. It’s sweeps every day, no reruns (though we do have our share of cliffhangers). In the first Bad Cat Cottage they could do laps around the whole house, but here they run into the walls, so we try not to let them get too worked up or the fighting begins. Cats and excitement aren’t the best of all possible combinations, unless they’ve got room to move.

We found this lizard in the carport in January. At first we thought he was dead. Bugs were crawling through festering wounds and he was turning black.

But then he moved, just the tiniest bit. Neither one of us wanted to whack him, but neither could we leave him like that. So into a carrier he went and then into the house he came. We cleaned him up and sprinkled an antibiotic pain-relief powder into and around the gashes on his shoulders, legs, and belly.

He spent his days caged outdoors, with access to direct sunlight; his nights were spent in the pantry.

Approximately two weeks later he was feeling better and getting antsy, so we placed him at the base of the mango tree and up he went. Stayed at eye level with us for a few minutes, so we weren’t sure he was as ready as we’d thought…

May we believe he was saying, “it’s been real?” He sure seemed to be looking at us and feeling unafraid. We love lizards, and have had a few iguanas pay visits over the years. They’re not as cold-blooded as you’d think.

Gramps was “ours” because he belonged to someone who despised him (though he was one of the sweetest cats on earth). A long-term couple broke up, and the “cat lover” left him behind with the bird lover.

He’s another long story I’ll tell, one day. Lived to be 26 years old and we had proof in the form of time-stamped photos from his kittenhood.

Happily, he died in his sleep having never been ill. That was actually a shock, as he used to take naps in high places and had many falls onto concrete. We can’t believe one of those long drops didn’t kill him. I can still hear the thuds in my head. It was so sweet to find him spooning one of the toys we used to make.

Sasquatch came from one of the rescue vets. She and her sister were week-old balls of angry-red mange, with both eye and upper-respiratory infections, and maybe three hairs between them.

We still couldn’t stop kissing them all the time, which totally grossed out pretty much everyone we knew. But to us they were so cute! We didn’t see mange and snot and crud when we looked at them.

After their fur had grown in they were two of the most beautiful cats we’ve ever seen. Maine Coons, for sure. Sasquatch had four front paws (hence, the name)!

She and her sister (David Spade) went out for adoption three times but were back after each in a matter of hours.

As with Cindy Crawford, not one of the adopters would say anything more (as they ran to their cars, engines left running) than something on the order of “it’s just not going to work,” so we have no clue as to how they behaved when not with us. We’re guessing “badly.” All three of the aborted adoptions were “annulled” by people who volunteered for an adoption agency. Then one of the directors told us we shouldn’t send them out again. All we could get was, “they’re just not adoption material. But you don’t have to keep them.”

David Spade grew up to be Drew Barrymore. She has terrible problems with allergies every Summer and we’re a little worried about her at the moment. Sasquatch died of liver failure during “the bad food crisis.” We still miss her. Can’t wait to see her again when we go Home…