First of all, we have to believe that Misty Blue, heretofor known as “Cat”, had to be born on the University of California at Berkeley campus. That’s where the center of the social protests began in the late fifties, early sixties. She is an expert protester and her favorite form is the passive lay-in. Or is it lie-in? Whatever…
She will intentionally lay down in the middle of human traffic, inside the mansion and refuse to get out of the way. She actually tripped my wife, late in her MS battle. I do not kick animals. I have however, been known to ease my foot under her body and propel her to the side with enough effort to lift and replace her about three feet away. Most of the time, she just looks around, blinks a few times, yawns, and (imagine “Thought Balloons” appearing over her head), “WTF just happened?” then she’ll probably put her head on the floor and go back to what she does best. Close her eyes and conserve calories.
I can’t count the times I’ve asked her to do the dishes. She refuses. Just lays there and stares at me aloofly. Or I can talk to her about what needs to be done around the mansion. She’ doesn’t seem to care. She won’t volunteer to do anything. She’ll lift her head, yawn, and go back to calorie-caching. When she steps out of the cat box, I have asked her to do a simple little thing for me, like shake her feet and wipe them off on the towel provided just for that purpose. She’ll TB me, “What’s the point? They’ll just get KL on them next time.” Have you ever stepped barefoot on a couple of grains of kitty litter (KL) on a hard floor?
For something smaller than a sixteenth of an inch across, those little suckers sure hurt the bottom of shower-tenderized feet. And to top that off, she’ll leave the bathroom (where else would you put the cat’s potty?) and jump right onto the bed. So we have grains of KL infused in the cover. I have drawn the line on her attempts to get on the sheets. One time she TBed me, “What? You expect me to sleep on a blanket with KL in it?”
Cat likes to go outside and explore, of course. She’s a big cat, probably the biggest in the enclosed complex. She eats like a bird … (no no, she doesn’t eat a bird, she eats like a bird… and not a vulture, either). Shes 19 pounds, and gets a third of a cup of dry food in the AM, maybe a tablespoon more in the afternoon when I have my snack, and a single pouch of Whiskas cat food in the evening, right at happy hour. When we got her she weighed 20 pounds. So she’s lost a whole pound in a fifteen-month period.
When K was alive, we grounded Cat for a few months because she was spending more and more time out. When she didn’t come home until after dark, she was locked in. Being inside for several months during the winter didn’t make any difference, weight-wise. So I don’t think she was cadging meals off a neighbor. But who knows? Again, she is mum on the issue.
We have a friend who has a cat just as big. She says the breed, an English Shorthair, is a big breed. Supposedly predominantly black and white with an identifying white tail-tip. She has a white tail tip. She’s black and white. She has a little dark rust color in her black section, especially on the top of her head. Doesn’t matter that she TBs, “But I’ve got big bones.” In her case, the calorie conservation has worked conspicuously well.
One of the good things about having a Bobcat-sized feline is that people with small apartment dogs, lthose annoying iittle tiny yappers, go to the other side of the street when she’s out. Specially if I’m wearing my “My cat eats small dogs” t-shirt. Makes cat proud when I wear it.
How do I know? She lays down in the middle of the mansion and smirks when she
sleeps… conserves calories.