Part three of the kitty saga: Cat is my co-pilot

Well, it’s been a year now since we took in five hungry cats from behind the plaza here in Altamont. Since that time, three have gone on to other homes, our aging dog went to the great field in the sky, and we’ve added a third furry terrorist to the mix in the form of Sylvie.

As you may remember, we kept Lemon, a large yellow and white male, and Nibbler, a very petite female calico. For a long time, they were best buds and spent their days ignoring the dog, eating house plants, and letting us know, in no uncertain terms, that they were in charge and it was our job to feed them, clean their kitty boxes, and keep them entertained.

“Wield that laser pointer, pink person!” you could hear them saying.

And then things changed.

My son, in his infinite wisdom, went out and bought a kitten. He and his girlfriend named her Sylvie and we only found out about it later, after she’d been in his room a few days.

He told us in his inimitable style: “Dad, you’re going to kill me, but….”

No murder ensued and the tiny little furball was truly very sweet. Fast forward to he and his girlfriend moving out to Seattle and then onto Arizona and, of course, we end up with three cats. Thus is life with cats and kids.

Anyway, so now we have the house to ourselves unless you count the three mouseketeers who have taken up residence in our son’s empty room and spend their days sleeping, eating, playing, and trying to run the house. Around 3 or 4 a.m., they’ll subtly suggest it’s a good idea that we get up and open a can of cat food for them. (I can just hear them, “Damn our lack of opposable thumbs!”)

They usually do this by jumping on and off the bed, the dressers, our bladders, knocking over things, meowing or using our bed as a scratching post. After a bladder attack, someone usually gets up to deal with that issue and, if we’re lucky, the intrepid food beasts follow us out of the bedroom.

Then the half-asleep person starts to head down to the kitchen, and then doubles back, closing the door and locking them out till the proper wakeup time of 5 a.m.

“Help” at work

Now if you think mornings are interesting, you should see work time around the house (since I work from home). Sylvie, in particular, has taken it upon herself to be a supervisor to all activities that take place.

I’m not sure why she feels the need to help me replace the door-closing mechanism on a screen door, but she is right there in the middle of it all. I figure she probably has her sights set on learning to use power tools. Instead of running off when I fire up the power screwdriver/drill, she gets up close and personal with it, to the point where she gets dangerously close to getting tightened or loosened.

If I’m working at my computer, she’ll climb up my chair, over my shoulder, down my arm and onto the desk, hitting the keyboard and eyeing the mouse suspiciously. She has not yet attempted to write anything coherent, though she does sometimes look a bit askance at my prose.

When I was washing windows the other day she seemed fascinated by the rags and probably would have grabbed one and dragged it off for some nefarious purpose. Alas, I think the smell of ammonia caused her to back off and content herself with just general supervision.

If I’m working on my jewelry bench and repairing a watch or something, I have to make very sure to put things away lest they get added to Sylvie’s growing collection of shiny objects. At the moment, I’m still missing a formal ladies’ watch suitable for evening wear but I haven’t seen her sporting it yet. Perhaps she’s waiting till she has the right dress to go with it.

Management

If Sylvie is into the work scene, Lemon has taken on the mantle of leisure director. If I’m sitting at the kitchen table watching TV, he’ll hop up and sprawl out right in front of me, strongly suggesting I do some serious neck and ear scratching if I know what’s good for me.

At meal times, he’s been known to stealthily reach up from a chair to whatever we’re serving in order to taste and approve our dietary choices. Very thoughtful guy is our Lemon.

Of course, when it’s their mealtime, the three of them alternately hop on and off the counters, table, meow loudly (“Open that can faster, pink person!”) or wander between the legs of the feeder. I figure it’s an attempt to trip them and cause extra food to go flying everywhere.

And finally, overseeing local wildlife management is Nibbler, who loves to sit in windows and watch the local squirrels, chipmunks, birds, and other livestock do their thing. I’m not sure if she’s creating a shopping list for future meals or just doing a census, but the one time a squirrel came close to her near the back door (there was a glass window between them), she nearly ran through a table leg getting away.

So there you have life with the three furry terrorists. I’m sure they see themselves as vastly superior to us in all ways but dependent nonetheless due to that pesky opposable thumb issue.

Most of the time, they seem pretty content to run the house and sleep the rest of the time. But now and again, they get a certain look in their eye that would indicate they’d like to get into the great outdoors and take up their rightful mantle as masters of the universe.

We, on the other hand have decided to keep them indoor kitties for health and sanity reasons. Our vet concurs and we recently got a very nice thank-you note from the Local 327 Brotherhood of Squirrel and Chipmunk Nut Gatherers.

So for now, things are reasonably peaceful among the furry ones. Oh wait, I just heard a crash….

Editor’s note: Michael Seinberg is a lifelong dog owner who says he now spends his days cleaning cat hair off his keyboard and defending the houseplants; the cats indicate these are pointless activities.