Cat--tastrophe!

Last summer I adopted a couple of abandoned kittens. I knew that at 67, I was too old for kittens but there didn't seem to be anything else to do. I bought the milk replacer, a bottle, ear mite meds and named them Zinnia and Zilphia. (I was planting zinnias when I found them.) I have taken them to the vet, had them spayed at the beginning of their wild teenage tears, and put up with their high jinx. How do they pay me back? Comfort in my old age? Hell, no.

One of their fav jinx is to cling to the screen door and wail when I start to make a meal. On Sunday they almost killed me. I had enough of their howling so I tossed a pan of water on them. They ran into the garden, shocked at Mom's bad temper. I busied myself making a stew. A couple of hours later, I decided to make corn bread but saw that my cornmeal was outdated--2016 to be truthful. So I stepped out onto the deck to discard the cornmeal. Only it was 11* and the cat-scattering water was now a frozen lake. I hit the deck, hard. Hard enough to have to call my daughter for help.

Like the cats, she has no sympathy for her aging mother. She cracked up and told me that I have more cats than Jesus. She says this a lot. I don't know where she got this. I'm pretty sure Jesus didn't have a single cat. St. Francis maybe, but not Jesus. Anyway, she had her car keys and wanted to take me to the county ER-- in another town. I have my pride so I flat refused, but this morning my arm is kind of wonky so I'm driving myself over to see the doctor. His wife has a thing for cats too, so I will have a sympathetic ear.

Anyway, this is not the first time a cat has tried to kill me. Any one else with a cat story?

I heard a good one in the faculty lounge about dog poop and a Roombah. The dog had been perfectly house trained for years but on this particular day had a cranky bowel. Unfortunately that was roombah day. The family came home to wall to wall dog doo. --s6

When my kids were young we had a cat named Daniel. He was a white cat with a black tail, black ears and two black spots on his back. My husband's family did not keep pets, not even a goldfish, not ever. He simply did not understand the concept of pets. Our bedroom was on the second floor. There was a roofed patio with a picnic table below. Late at night, when Daniel wanted in, he would climb to our window, hang on the screen and yowl. My husband would jump out of bed, yank the blinds, open the window and then empty a squirt gun that he kept under the bed, into Daniel's face. Daniel would yowl. Gill would curse. Daniel would yowl louder but continue to hang on. Sometimes Gill would refill the squirt gun but Daniel never let go. Eventually Gill would raise the window and let him in. Daniel would stalk off to sleep with one of the girls. Gill would stomp back to bed. In the morning they were friends again. Sometimes I mis the drama--s6

I had to replace my keyboard this summer because Zilphia clawed some of the keys out. My fault for trying to forcibly remove her from her favorite nappy spot--my laptop. By the way, my arm checked out, nothing broken just a deep bruise. --s6