Out of t he Blue By Debora h Sa lomon

Furball Fun

Always up t o scrat ch

By deBor a h Sa l omon Welcome, fellow felinistas, to Cat Column No. 8. I limit myself to one a year, in Januar y, or else you might shred this beautiful magazine for litter. In the beginning I promised only good news, which continues since my two kitties are still spr y in old age, perhaps 14 or 15. Unlike humans and dogs, teeth don’t tell.

So far, they’re not misplacing car keys or forget ting a vet appointment, either.

R ecap: T he saga began in 2011 when a coa l black (even whiskers) k it t y w ith f ur as smooth and shiny as satin t ur ned up at my door. I was w ithout cat companions — a lways t wo, sometimes three — for the first time in 30 years. Of course I fed him and, si x months later, opened the door to the most ama zing anima l I’ve ever met. Neighbors said his family, who took the trouble to neuter and declaw him, had moved away, abandoning him.

L uck y was at home instantly. He k new how to repay my k indness w ith love. He is ca lm, thought f ul, stoic, br illiant. I adore him.

Some months later a fat, lumpy g irl w ith patchwork g rey str ipes against a white backg round came begg ing. Her gait defines “waddle.” She was a neighborhood semi-fera l, fed by many, obv iously, w ith a notched ear sig nif y ing that some k ind soul had her spayed. She was sk it tish, unf r iendly, shor t on smar ts. She hissed at me and, espe cia lly, L uck y. I thought about naming her E dith (Bunker) but set tled on the epony mous Hissy, which became Missy when she w ised up, rea lized her good for t une and became a sweetie. However, af ter nine years she still dislikes the world, loves just me . . . and L uck y. She be came his handmaiden, defer r ing to him, washing his face, follow ing him into the yard, respecting his nests.

T hat’s r ight: nests. Cats are nesters, especia lly my L uck y. T hey find quiet out- of-the-way spots to curl up and sleep, preferably a place w ith a familiar aroma like a ha lf-f ull laundr y basket. L uck y’s first nest, pre-adoption, was under a bush by my f ront door. Once inside, he found a flannel jacket that had fa llen of f the hanger in the back of my closet. A f ter a few week s the fabr ic had confor med to his curledup shape and I had lear ned the hard way not to shut the closet door.

I had a lso insta lled towel- covered perches on t wo sunny w indowsills, which don’t qua lif y as nests because of v isibilit y.

Next came the cable box, which is war m but only semi-pr ivate. He hangs over the sides, so I laid a book of the same thick ness next to it. A hhh . . . his expression conveyed.

To lure him of f that nest I put a round, fleece-lined cat bed in a liv ing room cor ner, under neath a low w indow. Here, t ucked away, L uck y can see what’s going on outside and inside. T his was nap centra l a ll summer, especia lly days cool enough to open the w indow.

Well, Hissy/ Missy wasn’t tak ing this best-nest thing ly ing dow n. She would sidle by, checking occupanc y, claiming the pr ime space when available. So, to keep the peace I insta lled a second fleece-lined bed beside it.

Fat chance.

Nests aren’t just for sleeping I discovered af ter put ting dow n a cardboard box w ith an opening cut into one side, so L uck y could claim his for t, defend it f rom intr uders. T here he sits inside the box, smiling, while Missy at tack s w ith swats and g rowls.

Such f un! Great exercise! Costs nothing!

W hen the game is over, Missy sidles up to L uck y and commences g rooming him — a good thing, since ar thr itis prevents him f rom reaching nether areas.

I feel his pain in my ow n joints.

L ast week, Missy displayed a rare intelligence. I brought out my suitcase in preparation for a quick tr ip to v isit my g randsons for the first time in a lmost t wo years, leav ing my k it ties w ith a pet sit ter possessing enough cer tifications to tend the Queen’s corg is. Missy became ag itated. She napped less, ta lked more, even pooped outside the lit ter box, a sure sig n of distress. Could she have remembered what the suitcase sig nifies? Decades ago we had an A ireda le who went berserk, tr ied to destroy suitcases. A more secure L uck y reacts by curling up inside it, shedding on my new sweater.

A per fect nest, he pur rs, a lbeit temporar y.

But their ultimate nest isn’t a nest at a ll. My k it ties found nir vana in f ull v iew, on the heating pad that eases my shoulder pain at night. I had to buy a double-w ide second pad to accommodate us a ll. Ta lk about smar t: On the first chilly day L uck y, followed by Missy, jumped on the bed, look ing for it.

Sounds cra z y, I k now. Only anima l people w ill understand my anthropomor phisms, let a lone put up w ith L uck y’s insistent paw at 4 a.m. demanding break fast and a spin outside before ret ur ning to the heating pad(s).

I could relate more but he’s sit ting by my desk, g iv ing me that look that says, “lap time.”

A nd people say cats are a loof and unaf fectionate. Maybe, to a loof, unaf fectionate people.

Same time, next year? PS Deborah Sal om on is a w r it er for PineSt r aw an d T he Pi lot . Sh e m ay be re a ch e d at d ebsal om on@n c.r r.com.