Kitty Fix

At times, Husband will say to me, “Atha, I am going for a kitty fix.”

He does not mean he’s taking cats to have them spayed or neutered.

He does not mean some sort of substance abuse.

Simply, he is going to the pet store to visit the cats ready for adoption into new homes.

He claims they talk with him and share their concerns about being locked up.

“Atha, there was a lovely short-hair named Sheba. She said she wants to come live with us.”

Trouble is, he would bring many of them home to live with us, so I have set boundaries.

No more cats. We already have two sharing a house with us and our dog, Rudy.

As I mentioned in a previous blog, Husband loves cats. His entire family loves and understands cats.

Husband’s brother once discussed a family favorite named Alice – Big Al, Husband called her.  “Al is a great cat,” said my brother-in-law.

I glanced at a large round floor fan where Alice perched, hanging onto the top with iron-grip claws. She had one missing ear – frozen during a previous winter and the other that permanently drooped to the side, eyes that looked in separate directions, and I swear she had tremors and drool dripping off her chin. It was OK about the eyes because she couldn’t see anyway.

Yep, Al was a great cat, Husband agreed.

Husband also claims he prayed that God would open my heart to cats, and he even prayed that God would send us a cat. That was about the time Lady Puddwick, a fantastic Maine Coon, showed up on our doorstep.

“It is an answer to prayer,” he said as she walked into our lives and into my heart.

He even knows how to speak cats’ language. They respond to his prrr with like noise, and when he meows, they rub against his leg.

When they make whatever sounds cats make to communicate, he knows how to talk back to them. It appears to be a real conversation.

Of course, there are times when he never tolerates cats who are spiteful or malicious. After all, cats do have their place.

Once when the children were babies, we got out of the car in our driveway. A cat sauntered across the street in a mosey stroll. It came from the house where two little girls had captured a stray for love and play.

I didn’t hear what Husband said to it as I busily got the babies out of the car. I vaguely remember he said it in Catanese.

I didn’t understand what Cat said back because I do not understand Cat Speak.

However, in a matter of second, I saw Husband’s size 13 shoe connect to the underside of the cat’s belly. He kicked and catapulted it high into the air and into the second front lawn from us.

When the cat finally gained composure, it shook its head as if coming out of a daze.

“No cat speaks to me in that tone of voice,” Husband said.

One thing that cat failed to realize: people with ADHD get angry quicker than other people. They don’t constrain or control it as well as others.

The last I saw, it was running at a sideways  gait out of the neighborhood.