November 5, 2002
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She’s fat and lazy and not too bright, but she’s beautiful and I love her. I daresay that many men have voiced similar sentiments over the years; I, however, am talking about my cat. Her original name was Miss Prissy, but now she answers to Muffin, or the Muffin-stuffer, or the Muffledy Cat. Call her anything, just don’t call her late for dinner.
She does love her goodies. She doesn’t hunt wild prey like our other cats do, but she is indefatigueable when it comes to stalking lunch meat. But not just any lunch meat. She will turn up her pretty pink nose at, say, olive and pimento loaf. If the sliced turkey breast isn’t fresh enough, she will spurn it. But let her get hold of some sliced ham, or raw chicken meat and she is in hog heaven. Yeah, she is a tad overweight (but no violet eyes to die for!). In repose, she sometimes has a pear-shaped silhouette, and resembles nothing so much as a furry Thanksgiving turkey.
And it must be noted that she is not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer. Last winter, we had a little mishap with the wood stove. We had a stack fire (this happens when built-up creosote catches fire, usually not a problem, but in this case, it got so hot the ceiling caught fire); the other two cats streaked out of the house as soon as we opened the door–Muffin hid under the bed. No wonder Kathy sometimes refers to her as the blonde.
Actually, she is a short-haired calico, brown and tan and black and orange on her back, white socks and belly and chest and lower face. Plus the cutest pink nose on the planet. And for reasons known only to her and God, she has chosen to bond with me.
Of our three cats, she is the shyest. It took her the longest to get used to our new dog, and when I’m not home, she spends a lot of time in my room, napping on my clothes. Sometimes, I am told, she suffers from separation anxiety when I’m gone, and sits back in the hall and cries. When I do come home, and go to my room to change, she is on my chair looking for strokes and giving lavishly of head butts. Sometimes she’ll head-butt my hand when I’m trying to do crossword puzzles, and when I’m eating, I have to watch everything closely, lest she dip a paw into my milk. Boy, she loves milk.
At night, she will wait patiently as I get undressed and ready for bed. Once I get settled in my sleeping bag, she will come padding up onto me, looking for a comfy spot. Sometimes she will curl up at my feet, sometimes she’ll snuggle up against the back of my knees (I always sleep lying on my right side). Still other times, she will be asleep when I go to bed, and I will wake up in the middle of the night with a cat on me. Amazingly comforting.
Know this–I am by no means a tough man, but I am a hard man. Disasters leave me unmoved, and there is a long list of people I could cheerfully gut-shoot and smile as I watched them writhe in agony as they died. But I do love critters in general, and my Muffin in particular. Sometimes when I can’t find anything else unpleasant to think about, I wonder how I will get along without her when she dies. I do know one thing–it will break my heart.
“There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats.”–Albert Schweitzer
“Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened.”–Anatole France
“I never met a cat I didn’t like.”–Greyfox
Comments (11)
I love my cat, too. He’s a Siamese named Brownie and sounds like a baby when he cries. At night, if I don’t give him enough room next to me in bed, he crouches over me and stares until I get the hint and move over.
How ’bout a picture of the loveable ‘Muffin’? ~Spot~
Whaaaaa! this makes me miss all my past kitties. I’ve been with out a cat for the first time in my life this past year, and it’s killing me- I think I’m going to stop by the pound on the way home..
Thanks to Susu for the pics!
Spot
aww…. i miss my little gunmetal grey Krishna. I was *forced* to leave him behind when I went to college, and I miss having my little shadow trail behind me wherever I go.
Amen, and an ohellyeahsureyoubetcha!!!
Pax~Z
She sounds like my Lucy
Nice distinction between a “tough” man and a “hard” one. My life now makes sense, bless you bless you!!! 
She’s precious.
I wish I wasn’t allergic to kitties. 
I think the majority of people prefer to sleep on their right sides rather than their left, though many, most especially when young, have a tendency to alternate a lot. And my grandfather used to teach me (and the Buddha agrees) that you should at least begin to sleep on your right side. Sometimes I self-consciously sleep on my left side to try to balance things out. Is there a reason for this sleeping on the right side bit? I used to sleep on my back a lot when young, and one guy I knew told me he slept on his stomach, it’s just that sleeping on the right side is so definitely the norm. One so-called spiritual guru whose book I looked at, said to sleep on your left. He’s the only one I ever heard (read) say that. They ALL have to say something, don’t they?, as if they know something special. Since I do think the Buddha and my grandfather knew a thing or two, I consider this thing.
Another conundrum is why our pets wouldn’t like old food, since they love old buried bones with a glazing of moldy old meat to bring out the flavor. I suspect they may be telling us of the chemicals therein. Of course, hound dogs will eat just about anything. And cats can be fussy. I wonder if she’ll eat old fresh cooked turkey. I’ve long been suspicious of pressed turkey meat, while I like fresh cooked turkey. Oh, well, a little poison here or there makes us stronger, doesn’t it? I’ll pass. Or, maybe once in a while, just to make me stronger.
I knew a guy once, a fellow worker, who said he hated cats, couldn’t stand ‘em, and when I found out he had a cat, he assured me his cat was different from all other cats.
Cats have a way of knowing just the right person to own. And of knowing just the right way to win that persons heart. Your little lady is beautiful.
*grins* I’m owned by a 3-legged one myself. He used to have 4 legs and be named Tackle, but now he’s down to 3 and named Gimpy. I couldnt live without him. It’ll break my heart when he’s gone; thats the toughest thing about having them….you eventually have to lose them.
~Jason