Soooooo, Mr. Jefferson, our cat, has been badgering me for months on end to let him write just one column. He says I am cheating all the kitties out there who don’t have a cat column to read. Honestly, he has worn me out. I’ve thrown up my paws, headed to the kitchen and turned the keyboard over to him.
I am not responsible for the content.
Mr. Jefferson has a meow or two
Hello to all my kitty friends, and of course to all Puppy Stout’s doggie friends. I know you want to know all about me. Well, I came to live here a few years ago. My human sister, E, found me at Walgreens not pleading for food and water, but demanding it.
I was caterwauling at the top of my lungs.
I had wandered off from my previous home, been lost for what seemed a lifetime and finally stopped at a Walgreens figuring they had cat food and bottled water … maybe even a kitty bed if I were going to become a homeless street cat.
Shudder the thought.
Next thing I knew, E scooped me up in her arms, gave me a big kiss, and said, “Oh, you poor thing, are you lost and starving?”
“Yes,” I meowed in my sweetest voice.
“Well, we’re going to fix that!” she said.
Next thing I knew, she had a bag full of kitty food, wet and dry, and took me home, gave me my own food and water bowls and said, “You poor boy, eat all you want.”
I was a bit of a glutton, I do admit. The sticky part of being with E was she already had a cat named Bailey (who was none too fond of a new kitty in the house) and two dogs, Mattie and Maizie Grace. They were all rescues, so they cut me some slack for a day or so.
Then E said, “I’m taking you home to my mom. You will love her, and she will love you.”
Into the car we went, and a quick drive later, we were in Mom’s kitchen. OMK (oh my kitty), she was so sweet to me. She immediately gave me a kitty kiss and introduced me to her fur children, Puppy Stout and Mattie, both rescue dogs. They seemed nice enough.
She agreed to let me stay at her house until E found my rightful home. To E’s credit, she put up posters and called vets, the shelter, etc. No one claimed me.
“Well, my kitty,” Mom said a week or so later. “Looks like this is your new permanent home, and I swear you will never go hungry again. (She was doing a bit of a Scarlet O’Hara bit from “Gone with the Wind”, but I got it. As everyone knows, cats are very smart.
“We must name you,” she said. About this time, Puppy Stout chimed in and barked to her to give me a proper name. It seems when E rescued him and brought him straight to Mom she had said, “No, honey. I can’t keep him. I have Sally (her beloved rescue dog), the cats, a lot of work and your grandmother is so sick. I need to be with her. So, don’t name him; if we name him, we’ll keep him. Just call him Puppy until we find him a great home.”
Best I could tell that had been a dozen years ago. Puppy was here, loved and adored. Mom gave him her last name to give him a proper name, thus Puppy Stout.
As to me, it was near July 4 when I became a permanent resident. Mom decided to name me Thomas Jefferson Cat, an important name, she said.
“Maybe you’ll be president someday,” she said.
Well, since that day I was christened, I began the needed take-over of the house. I will give Pup this: he had Mom pretty well trained. She did just about everything he barked to her.
But it was child’s play next to what a ruling cat can do, as all you kitty friends know.
I started giving the marching orders to both dogs and Mom. When I wanted to go out, I stood on my hind legs and pounded on the door. If no one showed, I wailed at the top of my lungs.
To Pup’s credit, he’s not tall enough to reach the door knob. Mattie could do it, but she’s so wild and willful. I readily admit I have miles to go to get her under my paw.
When I was out and wanted in, same drill.
Except for Mattie, I have this house and its inhabitants way down the road toward servitude. A cat’s work is never done. If Pup will let me write another column, I’ll tell you more.
Meows and kisses,