Gentleman Tom Cat Diary: We return
Dear Diary:
It seems we have been terribly remiss in telling all that has happened this past two months. So many things and so little space to give full time to each item.
First, and truly most important, I am a father! My darling wife gave birth over a month ago to three handsome males and one beautiful female. She beguiled me from the first moment. As for her brothers, hardly had they been cleaned and put to suckle than I found myself wondering which of life’s mysteries to discuss first with them. We have named our daughter Michelle and her brothers are James, David and Timothy.
James is the largest, yet he gave way to his sister and shoved his brothers aside to allow her leeway. All of this before theirs eyes opened. David will have my gray silky coat if the first hair is an indicator. Timothy was the last to open his eyes at fourteen days. The other three took their first peeks at the world on their tenth day.
Though slow to see, Timothy made up for lost time. He will be the one to put gray hairs in his mother’s champagne coat. While the others were putting visuals to the scents previously making up their world, he examined every niche of the box where he was born and attempted to climb the walls to seek further adventure.
My beloved has never looked so lovely. Motherhood suites her. She glows with pride over her accomplishment. When not feeding them, she is constantly bathing one, then the other. I literally have to drag her from the box so that she may relax for a few minutes. Most of my days are spent with her and quite often the nights. Which brings us to Mistress and Master.
Master has had an exceptionally difficult time. Once more he was put into the hospital – this time with bedsores that would not heal no matter how diligent Mistress was in caring for him. Day after day Mistress took care of the house before rushing back to Master’s side. One day she returned home in tears. One of his doctors had made her aware that he had infection in the bone of one toe. If it continued, he could lose the toe and possibly the foot.
“He’s gone through so much. Does it have to continue getting worse? Please, Lord, give him rest and bring him home.” She prayed to her God. I had no idea whether He would help or not, for she had nothing in the house to prove He really existed. Yet she seemed to have no doubt. Whether it was her God or good fortune, I know not, but after two weeks Master came back home – with all toes in their proper places. He had a strange machine hooked to a plastic line that Mistress opened every twenty-four hours to insert a bag of fluid. She called the fluid anti-bio-tics. This process lasted three weeks before the machine was taken away.
I hoped that with Master’s recovery, Mistress would now have time to write the wonderful news of our kits, but I could scarce get her attention. She drifted through the days preforming deeds that must be done. Her attentions were riveted on Master as though she expected him to fall ill again. I could not blame her, for he had been returning to the hospital with terrifying regularity.
Jaimie took up the lead in caring for Mr. Scotty and me. She fed and watered us; more importantly, she took time to play with us and give much needed hugs and scratches. Perhaps that is why I chose her. No matter what else happens in her life, she sees the dog and me.
During one visit to my wife, I ran across the fox. I leapt to the lower branches of a tree and stared in horror as he dragged the body of a cat to his den. Did the cat look familiar? Could it be one of the Woods’ Cats? I had to get closer. Silent as a feather, I landed on the forest floor and crept behind the golden red fox.
He led me through the woods seemingly forever. A rock jolted my attention when I discovered he had led me in circles. Though my attention left him for but a second, that was long enough for the fox to pen me to the pine needles.
“Hello, cat. Congratulations on the birth of your kits. You should watch more closely when walking through the woods. Had I not already gotten my supper, the task might have fallen on you to stem my hunger. Consider it my gift to your family that I let you go this time.”
I rose to my feet, trying to stem the rapid beating of my heart and the weakness in my knees.
“I had to know if you caught one of the Woods’ Cats. Did you?” I keep my eyes boring into his, showing a boldness I most certainly did not feel.
“Ah, yes, the Woods Cats. Alas, they have proven too wiley for me. It would be a delicious feat to capture one of the plumper ones.” He grinned as though keeping a secret.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I could not, however, bring myself to move closer to the body of the unfortunate cat. Holding my head high, I moved back a step before turning to go to my wife. A low chuckle followed me. The urge to cleanse my coat was almost overpowering as embarrassment rushed over me. Common sense kept me moving. For once I was forced to face my feelings instead of covering them. It was not pleasant.
Mistress has returned to her normal self, although the worry over Master never quite leaves her. She picked up her computer, a smaller one than she normally uses. That brings me to yet another problem over the past weeks. The big computer is broken. The repair is taking so long and Mistress is grieved that she does not have the addresses for people. That information is held in the computer’s depths. Slowly, she is pulling the addresses together in this one. The process is slow.
Dear Diary, I have brought you to the present and hope with all my heart that nothing interrupts us in the near future.
Gentleman Tom Cat Diary – The All Too Short Good-Bye
Dear Diary,
It has been so long since last I wrote that you must surely have thought I surrendered and would do this venture no more. That is not the case, nor shall I ever consider such a thing.
In my previous entry, I took the liberty of breaking into a basket of delicious goodies only to discover the contents were gifts for human party guests. In total embarrassment, I banned myself to Jaimie’s room and my bed, wondering how ever to make amends to Mistress for such a horrible misdeed.
The following morning I solved the problem as cats have throughout the ages by carrying head and tail high, marching with purpose from my room to the feeding dish, and ignoring the fact that I had caused stress to the household.
This behavior is expected of cats, therefore we feel duty bound to act thus. Mistress stooped to scratch my ears as I padded past her, murmuring condolences for having scolded me. This is life as a cat. We may do the deed, make the error, but humans apologize to us. It is an odd way of life, but one we cats can abide quite well.
Over the next few weeks, Master was in the hospital twice and Mistress once. Upon her return home, Mistress laughed and brushed away any concerns. She said Master was there so often, she only went to see why he loved it so. She described what I suppose would be an imposing figure of a man and said after getting him as a nurse, she now knew why Master took so many trips to the institution.
Gradually things settled back into our normal routine. Another fox has made itself at home in our yard. It pounces on mice - my mice – and after a satisfactory number have soothed his hunger, he looks at me as I glare at him through the window. He grins before walking quickly to the woods and disappearing. Foxes are a sly and wily lot.
This morning I awoke with a strange feeling of loss, yet all seemed well when I made the tour of all rooms. Still, the restlessness refused to leave even for a moment. I paced like the great cats of Africa Master watches on television. The house, though normally large enough, seemed to close in around me. I urged Mistress to let me outside.
A visit to my lovely wife, who is ready to have our kits any moment, calmed me, though not for long. Something drew me away from my love with which I normally wish to spend every waking moment.
As the day moved into the late afternoon, I ventured to the road that runs in front on our house. Rarely do I visit that area, as there are several dogs immediately across the way with which I am not familiar, thus I know not how they might welcome my presence. Yet, even the possibility of an attack could not keep me from staring at the road, waiting for I knew not what.
A familiar car turned into the side road on the other side and made its way to the last house on the left. An urge to follow surged in my breast, but loyalty to my current family held me rooted to the spot in the tall grasses. I thought to lay down and rest. The urgency coursing through my body refused to allow even that small action.
Time passed slowly. I looked back at my home, but was helpless to attend my humans waiting there. My gaze fell back to the car I felt I knew so well.
The vehicle backing out of the driveway and heading toward me forced my heart to lurch. Why was I so drawn to this car? As a rule, I dislike and distrust the metal beasts. This one, however, meant something to me. I sat like a statue waiting for it to get to the end of the long drive. It turned onto the big road…and stopped. The windows rolled down. Instantly, I knew why I had waited so long for this moment.
A face from my past stared back at me. A little girl named Alivia smiled and waved. I lifted a paw in greeting. Oh, how I wanted to go to her! My allegiance had been given to Mistress, Master and Jaimie. Alivia no longer held the place of my human. It made no difference; she would always hold a place in my heart, as would the humans surrounding her. Something told me she was moving away.
Farewell, Alivia. Farewell, family I once owned as my adopted humans. I know we will meet again, although I feel it will be a long time in cat days, weeks and months. I will love you always.
Mistress whistled and I turned to look at her. For the first time, I did not immediately run to her. There was time for one more look at the face in that car; one more chance to place it in the safekeeping of my heart and mind before the vehicle moved slowly down the road.
I sat for a moment longer before bounding over the grounds to Mistress’s arms. It felt good to be there. It felt right. Though I nestled where I should be, for a flash of a second, I felt the soft arms of a child encircling me with a hug. I hid my face in the arms of Mistress to cover the tears a cat is never supposed to cry.
Gentleman Tom Cat Diary – Interrupted by Mr. Scotty
Dear Diary,
I am coming to you today to tell my side of the previous story. Smokey, who has become a wonderful friend, still sees things from the view of a cat. He has also had the freedom to meet others of his kind and several female cats. My life has not been such that I’ve been acquainted with but one, the beautiful Jubilee in our previous Florida home.
As a pet shop dog, my life began with my mother. However, as soon as I could eat solids, my master moved me to the pet shop. There I had no freedom from an ever-tightening cage unless some kind soul wanted to play with me for a short time. By the time Mistress rescued me, I had outgrown the cage in which I lived with barely room to turn. Glass separated me from others of my kind, thus in a store full of animals, my existence was a lonely one.
My life hung by a single thread, for at the age of six months, I was considered too old to be sold at full price. When the price is lowered and still no one buys a dog or cat, all cannot be adopted by those who work in the shop. I was nearing a time of being sent to a kill center. Mistress, upon hearing this, was shocked at such undue cruelty, and brought me home with her.
Looking forward to a home outside the cage, I could scarce contain my excitement. Pulling toward freedom, I almost jerked Jaimie into mall traffic. The metal beasts meant nothing to me. I had no experiences to tell me how dangerous they were. Mistress saved us both and hustled us to the car.
At home, I met the resident cat, Old Man. I chuckle now to remember the look on his face when I greeted him by sticking my snout under his belly and tossing his thin frame onto a nearby sofa. Leaping down, he walked stiff-legged up to my face and with open claws swatted my nose. Alas, it was he who hurt his paw. My nose, bred hard and unyielding for following prey underground, barely felt his anger. I did, however, understand that he was the pack leader and I was no more than a follower. For the joy of having my own humans and home, I had no problem following that protocol.
He saved me from running to the road on more than one occasion by having me chase him back into the house. I grew to love and respect him as a leader and as a friend. He was old by any standard when we met having already passed twenty-three human years. That did not slow him down when he went on the hunt. As he aged, he grew thinner until there was little left of him but skin and bones. Still, he held such dignity within that body, I could only admire his stamina.
His last day with us, he wanted only to be held by Mistress. At the age of 28 human years, he had led a good life. Mistress held and stroked him hour after hour. With a final effort, he climbed to her shoulders where he always sat when she wrote. There he rested for a few minutes before down her arm and moving to the door. Mistress knew once she opened it she would never see him again. She also knew it was necessary to maintain the cat’s self-respect. With tears flowing down her reddened cheeks, she freed him to the next world. He sauntered down the sidewalk, stopping to look back with his golden stare. He winked at us. I rushed to beg him stay. He tapped me nose gently with his paw, urged me back to Mistress, and took his final steps into the night. Without my friend, the other animals in the neighborhood drew my attention.
In my area there were no females other than Jubilee. Her heart had been won by Honey Boy, a handsome Chihuahua who lived down the street. Though she was nice enough when I visited, I knew there was no chance to win her heart.
Moving from Florida to the thriving rural area of Dover, Pennsylvania, I am only just realizing I am surrounded by the fairer dogs, the females of the species. The sweet aromas flowing from them is like a heady perfume, of which I can scarce get enough. That does not, by any means, make my adoration and love for Jessie any less deep, nor does it hamper my love for her. It does, however, make this new home a far more interesting place for this dog. I know there are male dogs in the area, but we have yet to meet. There is no hurry as I am quite content to meet the ladies.
“Hi, Smokey.”
“What are you doing, Scotty?”
“Just telling my story from a dog’s viewpoint. It seems only fair, don’t you think?”
“Hm, perhaps you have a point. May I read it?”
“By all means. I would very much like to get your opinion.”
Silence reigned for a few minutes.
“Scotty, I never knew how lonely you were and how much you had missed. Forgive me, my friend, for thinking you too light of heart. After reading your story, I am amazed you retain your good humor and bouncing personality. Feel free to occasionally add an entry.”
“Thank you, Smokey. Being a younger cat, you have made my life fuller and more exciting than ever it has been. I’m fortunate to have you as a friend.”
And that, Dear Diary, is how you come to have an entry from me on this day instead of the Gentleman. Perhaps I’ll come to write again another day.
Gentleman Tom Cat Diary – Love and Leprechauns
Dear Diary,
It has taken several days of conversations with Mr. Scotty to usher him into the delicate world of women and love. He understood not one whit why he could not visit Morgan, the boxer almost every day while voice courting Jessie, the poodle. For a dog of eight years, he is remarkably naive. As a married cat of seven weeks, who is soon to be a proud father, it was imperative that I clue the fellow into the fragile world of male and female.
Eventually, he took me at my word and spent one last hour with Morgan. She was not quite so understanding when he broke off their relationship. He fled home with an angry boxer hot on his heels, barking something about promises broken. Once she returned home, I sat with the shaking Scotty to fill him in on the proper method of letting the fairer of the breeds down.
“May I assume from the recent scene that all did not go as you hoped?” I asked.
“I don’t know what happened. She asked me in for a snack and I did not hesitate for a moment to join her. We sat on the sofa to talk and I knew this was the moment to tell her good-bye.”
“And, how, pray tell, did you accomplish that part of the conversation?”
“Morgan,” I said, “you are a fun person, but I’m voice courting Jessie. She’s the one I adore, so bye. An itch on my backside grabbed my attention for a moment or two and when I turned back to Morgan, she was frothing at the mouth and her eyes gleamed in a most unfriendly way. The next thing I knew she was snapping at me and talking about me leading her on and chasing me around the house. If her mistress had not opened the front door to let fresh air in the house, I might not be alive! I hit the screen door, busted through it and kept going. Morgan followed. She seemed to keep up with little effort from those long legs. My short ones took three steps for one of hers. I think I’ll go see Jessie now.”
“No, my friend, you will sit down and listen. Frankly, had I front claws, I might have taken up where Morgan left off. What you did was cruel to her tender heart.”
“Tender heart? I was looking at her snapping mouth; didn’t have time to check the heart.”
“That’s why you saw her anger. First, you go visit almost every day, you eat her food, chitchat, play, and with your general lack of noticing a wall before you run into it, I’m certain you led her to believe you were as entranced with her as she obviously was with you. And today, the day you want to break away from the situation, you still eat her food and cuddle on the sofa? You didn’t even lead up to the good-bye gently. ‘I’m voice courting Jesse. She’s the one I adore, so bye?’ You are fortunate to be alive by all standards.”
“What should I have done?”
“As a married cat, I now know all there is to know of the females. You should never have eaten her food. It would have been better to call her outside, explain you enjoy being her friend, but you can’t come around so often. Assure her it’s nothing she’s done. It’s not her; it’s you.”
“It’s me? Why is it me?”
“I have no earthly idea except females prefer to think they are quite perfect while we lowly minions may have flaws. Never, ever should you have mentioned Jessie. That is most certainly not what she wanted to hear.”
“Oh, okay, lesson learned. Thank you, Smokey.” He jumped from the ottoman to the floor, gave his body a healthy shake and turned back to me, his tail wagging at full force. “By the way, yesterday, I met the cutest little white dog that lives across the street. Her name is Maggie. Perhaps after seeing Jessie, I’ll visit her again.”
I sighed as he ran through the pet door to the deck and out to the yard. Jessie waited in her fenced area barking an invitation. Mr. Scotty bounded across the few hundred feet separating them to his lady love. Maggie? He met another female dog? I moved to my bed in Jaimie’s room, curled into a ball and fell asleep. Worrying about my friend was akin to stopping the wind from blowing. As dear and brave as he could be, sometimes the denseness of his thought processes astounded me.
I woke to Jaimie looking through her a large cedar chest full of her favorite things. With a laugh of discovery, she pulled a tube from its depths. Inside the tube was a large piece of cloth with clover and a strange little man dancing. Dressed in green, he danced upon a pot filled with gold. He held my attention as he looked like no other person I had seen. Noticing my gaze, Mistress, who had joined us, pulled me into her lap.
“So you’ve seen a lucky leprechaun, have you, Smokey? This little fellow is the symbol of yet another human holiday. It’s called St. Patrick’s Day and celebrates being Irish. Even those who haven’t an ounce of Irish blood in their bodies become Irish on St. Paddy’s Day. Hmmm, perhaps we should find you a green hat for the occasion.”
Why would anyone want to be a breed they truly are not? I pondered on this throughout the remainder of the day, even while pushing the horrible hat away from my head. Everyone in the house wore similar attire and other odd bits of green. Obviously the Irish are green people and in trying to mimic them, humans put on green bits of skins. I, however, will not stand for it. I am a Persian cat and quite happy with my lineage. Why would I want green skin and pretend to be an Irish cat? Thinking of any cat being solid green was a bit nauseating, but I suppose somewhere in the huge world of Dover, Pennsylvania, there might be such a creature.
St. Patrick’s Day calls for many oddities as I discovered at the party Mistress and Master threw. The food and beverages are all green. Again, why? I have seen mistress throw out food items that hinted at the tiniest bit of green mold. Yet, here she was, feeding all of her friends the vile stuff.
Early in the evening, groups of four people were given lists of items to find. Mistress assured everyone the first to find everything on their list and return to the living room would receive a prize. At this point, I had enjoyed more than enough of the festivities and decided to move to another part of the house.
A smell drew me to Mistress’ office, where we write these pages. The aroma was most enticing, far better than anything set out for the party, in my opinion. With my curiosity at its peak, I soon determined the smell came from the closet. Although the doors were firmly shut to that area, I learned soon after my arrival, that if I placed my paw in the right area and pulled, one door would fold open.
Oh, my, the most wondrous site met my golden eyes. A basket, wrapped in clear, crackly paper held the delicious aromas that brought me to this point. With a cautious paw, I found an opening through which I could reach a package of marshmallow treats. Though not normally preferring sugar, I lose all willpower when it comes to marshmallow. The goodies disappeared in a remarkably short time. Delving deeper into the basket, I discovered a luscious lemon cake. Another failing of mine, but a dear one. After eating the cake, I felt overly full and a wee bit ill. To preserve my treasure, I managed to enlarge the opening enough to climb inside the basket. There I slept.
“SMOKEY!”
I leaped from my slumber only to encounter the handle of the basket and become entangled in the paper which now hung in tags around me. Finding an escape route, I jumped…straight into the arms of Mistress.
“What have you done? That was the prize basket, you naughty cat.”
I shrank in embarrassment as all the guests literally bent over with laughter at my predicament. Encased in Mistress’ arms, I could not fall back on bathing my coat. I opted instead to hide my face in her neck, hoping all that now went on about me was naught but a dream. Alas, the laughter continued until I was sent unceremoniously to my room. Never have I been so happy to escape Mistress.
How will I face her tomorrow, Diary? I am disgraced.
The Gentleman Tom Cat Diary – Mr. Scotty’s Delicate Delimma
Dear Diary,
My friend, Mr. Scotty, has now been home five days. The mood in the house has changed dramatically with his reappearance. There is levity and laughter. Silence, the enemy, has disappeared and all of us hope it is forever.
As much as I love him, I must say that only Mr. Scotty could get into trouble while leaving the vet’s office. Once the frothing of the mouth was shown to be not a sign of rabies, but more a reaction to a dill pickle, we were told to take him home the next day. We arrived ten minutes before the office opened, so excited were we to have our family member home once more.
The Scottish terrier managed to tangle his life in a royal knot when he engaged in conversation with a beautiful boxer named Morgan. A large dog of sweet disposition, she and Mr. Scotty felt an immediate attraction to each other. He learned she lived no more than two houses down the road from us and she invited him to her home. She assured him that her human, Mistress Tonya, would be as welcoming as Morgan should he take her up on the invitation.
With a foolish grin on his face, Mr. Scotty accepted and told the boxer he would be over the next day. She smiled. For a dog, she had a most engaging smile. Nothing like my wife Francine, yet most attractive.
Only upon arriving home and hearing a welcoming bark from the stunning poodle who lives in a large house behind ours, did Mr. Scotty remember he and she had been voice courting for some time. Voice courting is sometimes funny, and oft times annoying for humans. To the dogs, it is a yearning to be together in an impossible situation.
The poodle is a full-sized black beauty, with the long legs so appreciated by Mr. Scotty. I tend to think it was Morgan’s legs that drew his attention more than her smile or demeanor. Our neighbor poodle is named Jessie. She does not have the show ring cut and that is a huge plus in my book. What human decided the perfect cut for a poodle should be a pom-pom on her tail, with hair removed on most of her body with the exception of fluffy ‘socks’ on all legs and a vest around the chest? Atop this ridiculous cut is a massive pompadour of hair that no sane dog would choose to wear on its own. The crowning achievement to this show cut is a small mat of hair atop the backside of the poor animal.
The poodle once held the valued position of water dog and retriever. It’s tight coat was water resistant allowing it to swim without being bogged down by a heavy coat. In Germany, the poodle was proudly owned by serious hunters. France brought about the ridiculous show dog hair and turned the proud beast into little more than companion to man. What a loss to the breed.
At any rate, to get back to Mr. Scotty’s dilemma, the dog has been going out on the back deck of the house and calling to the Jessie. When she is in her back yard, they converse steadily until mistresses of both houses call them inside. Their courtship gives credence to living on a farm as we do, for in the city, I believe complaints from neighbors would rule the day.
During the voice courtship, Mr. Scotty is dancing along the edge of the deck, running up and down its three steps and wishing he had permission to visit Jessie at any time. That is considered rude behavior, so he must wait for an invitation, or the rare occasion when Mistress walks back to see our neighbors. If Jessie is in the yard, the two dogs romp in total abandon until they must part.
Diary, surely you must know that if he begins seeing Morgan, there is every chance he could break Jessie’s heart. I do not think that is what he would mean to do. Alas, the little dog, not being a worldly animal as am I, knows little of courting, or staying out of trouble with the fairer side of any duet.
I can almost smell heart trouble headed his way. If he is not careful, he may find that neither of the ladies will be speaking to him. He must decide if he is drawn more to the lovely Jessie or the equally attractive Morgan. I would not wish to be in his shoes. He has seen Morgan twice. One of her humans is Jon, a six year old human pup. She smiled when telling my friend about her love for the child. Mr. Scotty is a patient fellow with everyone, but until he figures out his heart, he should be wary of becoming entranced with the boxer or her human charge. Perhaps I should pass along a bit of my courtship wisdom.
I have traveled several times these past two weeks to see my bride. This morning we ate a hearty breakfast together at Ms. Gladys’ home. Afterward we found a sunny spot on her enclosed back porch to take our morning nap. My eyes closed and my breathing slowed, as is the norm. I woke with a start when Francine purred in my ear, “You will soon be a father, dear one. Sweet dreams.”
Me, a father, the patriarch of a litter of kittens? Jumping to my feet, I double-checked to ensure that Francine lay in the sunniest spot. After getting her settled, I left for a brief time to bring her a mouse to celebrate.
She soon settled into her nap while I, with pictures of kittens all looking like Francine miniatures, tried desperately to figure how we would handle this wonderful occasion. Upon my return home, I confided in Mr. Scotty that we needed to bring the kittens and my wife to our home, if at all possible. He listened with a foolish lovelorn grin on his face and I knew he heard not one word I said. With that, I shall say good night, Diary, I must sleep and gain strength to bring my new family together with my humans.
(By the way, a picture of one part of Mr. Scotty’s lovely dilemma is shown below.)
Gentleman Tom Cat Diary – The Tenth Day
Dear Diary,
Today is the tenth day. We have been to see Mr. Scotty every day and he has shown no signs of the dreaded rabies. Tomorrow, he would be coming home. We thought to surprise him with the good news when we visited today.
That, however, was before Mistress answered the telephone during lunch. The color drained from her face as she listened to whoever spoke on the other end.
“But he’s been doing so well. There have been no signs. Is there any possibility you could be wrong? No, please do not do anything until I get there. No matter what happens, I have to be with him when you put him down. I can’t let him die alone.” She replaced the receiver and brushed tears from her eyes as she turned to leave the office.
With the utmost gentleness, she took Master’s good hand between both of hers and told him of the call.
“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but Mr. Scotty didn’t make it through the ten days. When the vet went in to see him a short time ago, he was foaming at the mouth. He’s one the vaccination didn’t protect. Maybe something was wrong with the medicine. We don’t really know why he got the disease.”
“Scotty? Where?”
“He’s at the vet. Bru, we have to put him to sleep. He has rabies. I’m calling a neighbor over to be with you while I go to the veterinarian, okay?”
Master nodded. His hand shook as he pushed it through his hair over and over. A sob broke from his throat and Mistress held him tight. We never knew how much Master understood. This time, however, there was no doubt. He knew his beloved dog would never come home. Mrs. Debbie came over to stay once Mistress had Master settled.
Without asking, I leaped into the car intent on being with my friend in his last moments, regardless of what anyone thought or said. Mistress rubbed her hand over my head and back before putting the car in gear and turning it toward the road.
The trip seemed to take forever and yet, when we arrived, it had passed too fast, for now our friend and pet would die. Why, oh, why did he have to be so brave and insatiably curious? Why did he have to follow every scent and sound? Had he stayed close to the house that day at Ms. Gladys’, he would be alive looking forward to many tomorrows. Anger and sorrow battled within me toward the dog I had grown to love.
The vet walked out to greet us the moment he knew of our arrival.
“I am so sorry, Maggie. He was doing well. I thought for certain he would be going home with you tomorrow. Just before lunch, I went in to check on him and he was foaming at the mouth. You can see him a few minutes. It’s best we get this over with as soon as possible – best for him and you.” He left us as we went into the room.
“Oh, hi, you’re here to see Mr. Scotty? He’s such a great dog. I bet he’ll be glad to leave here after so long.” A young woman mopped the floor around Scotty’s cage.
“I’m afraid that won’t be the case,” Mistress told her. “He didn’t pass the test. He has rabies. We’re here to be with him when the doctor puts him down.”
“He can’t have rabies. He’s such a happy dog. Look at him. Does that look like a sick animal to you?”
We turned to the cage. The beloved face that looked back had the shining brownish black eyes, a happy grin on his face and a tail that wagged madly when he saw us.
“Something is wrong here. Here, hold Smokey, please. I’m going to get the doctor. Something is very wrong.”
“I don’t see how there can be any error, Maggie. He was foaming at the mouth. That is almost certainly a sign of rabies.”
“Or dill pickles.”
“What?” The doctor turned to the young woman.
“He likes dill pickles, so I brought him one today. Something in them makes his mouth foam like crazy. I thought it was funny…until now. Is that why you were putting him to sleep?”
“Dill pickles? You gave him dill pickles? Weren’t you told not to go near that cage until we knew for certain he wasn’t infected?”
“Yes sir, but he’s such a happy dog. And I knew he’d had his shots. I didn’t think he could possibly be rabid.”
“You are on one week’s suspension. Take that time to go over what you did wrong. Because of your kindness, this dog was almost put to death. Care of the animals in this clinic is everyone’s job. You can’t feed an animal or give it anything without permission.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt him. He liked the pickles from my sandwich one day and I didn’t think giving him a whole one would hurt.” She looked at Mistress. “I would never hurt Mr. Scotty or any animal. I’m sorry, so very sorry.” She left the room in tears.
“Jack, don’t be so hard on her. If she hadn’t confessed, my dog would be dead already. I think she’s learned her lesson.”
“Maggie, that’s my daughter. She wants to be a vet some day. To do that, she has to learn their well-being comes first, not necessarily what she wants to do. I may be tough on her, but she’ll be an excellent doctor one day.”
And so, my dear Diary, my friend, Master’s dog, and Mistress’ charge will be back with us tomorrow. If I were not a cat, sleep would be difficult tonight.
Gentleman Tom Cat Diary – A Vet and A Prayer
Dear Diary,
We have waited to hear the veterinarian’s diagnosis for Mr. Scotty. Though brave enough, I remember the look of desolation and fear in his eyes when he realized he had been hurt by friend and foe. I lied to the dear dog when he asked if he would live, for I knew not what the future would hold, or if, indeed, he would have a future. With soothing assurances, I said I thought he would live. That was when I thought he had but a small wound from Ms. Gladys’ Betsy gun. When he told me of the bite from the rabid fox from whom he tried to shield us he knew, when I involuntarily took a step back, that all might well be lost.
“Maggie, this is one lucky pup. You’ve kept his shots up to date. For that reason, there is little chance he will get rabies. However, to be on the safe side, I’ll keep him caged in isolation here for the required ten days.” The vet looked back at Mr. Scotty. “You can visit if you wish as long as no one attempts to pet him.”
Tears streaked down Mistress’ face framing trembling lips that attempted to smile.
“Thank you, Dr. Harris. I know he will be in good hands here. I think you can count on a visit from me and Smokey at least once a day until he’s home again. That’s what I must believe – that he will be home soon.”
“I see Smokey has all of his shots, too. Who is this young lady?” he asked, looking at Francine.
“She belongs to Ms. Gladys. She and Smokey seem quite taken with each other.”
“If she’s one of Ms. Gladys’ animals, I know she’s safe. She gives all the shots herself. I swear, if she thought it necessary, every chicken would be vaccinated for rabies.”
We were allowed one last visit with Mr. Scotty. He had no idea we were there for he slept, a snorting snore interrupting his breathing occasionally. Both shoulders were bandaged in gauze – snowy white in contrast to his coal black coat.
“My friend, forgive me for lying to you. I wanted only to assuage your fears. Until tomorrow, farewell.” I purposely lagged behind to give him that message, not knowing if he would hear. After one last glance at his peaceful face, I returned to Mistress and Francine.
We rode home in silence. Mistress dropped Francine off at Ms. Gladys’ home before continuing along the way to our house. Master looked up, wrinkles of worry furrowing his brow. Mistress paid the helper before turning to adjust his blanket. She settled down to tell him that we had high hopes all would be well with our dog. Mr. Scotty adopted Master the moment they met long ago. I believe he was the first pet in all their years of marriage to do so. Most turned to Mistress and Jaimie.
His good hand nervously rubbed his hair, as he was wont to do when worried or nervous. A sob broke from his throat at the good news. Mistress hugged him tight, murmuring soothing words. I turned away offering them time alone.
The house rang with abnormal silence the rest of the evening. At least once during before bedtime, Mr. Scotty insisted on having toys thrown by Mistress for him to retrieve. I attempted to fill in by batting a faded toy mouse around. It was a half-hearted move at best, for during the toy throwing, my friend and I usually got into a friendly tussle, one tapping each other before dashing to the other end of the house and back. Upon our return, the other, who had hidden, pounced upon the runner. Since both of us thoroughly enjoy racing at top speed, we ensured that each got a chance to tap the other.
Laying down for a catnap, I dream of our first meeting. He was friendly from moment one, while I beheld him with caution. Once out of my former owner’s arms and down on the floor, I knew immediately we would become friends. He showed me all through the house, pointing out who slept in each bedroom, where the food dishes were kept and welcoming me with open paws and heart into my new home.
The doctor’s words seeped into my pleasant dreams, about my friend being safe because he had the shots needed. Shots, which I abhorred until this moment, thinking them a painful inconvenience, now seemed much nicer. If they save my friend, I shall spit and hiss no more when they are administered, for I know them to be a good thing.
Maker of cats and dogs, keep my friend safe. Life would be bitterly sad without his happy face greeting us each day. He’s a dog among dogs, for his heart is as large as his Scottish terrier head. He opens it without reservation to those who would befriend him. He will offer his life to save those he cherishes. Keep Ms. Gladys safe and allow her to never again hit an animal friend. She is devastated that Mr. Scotty came between her and the rabid fox when she first shot the Betsy gun. Give Master peace that his beloved pet will come home. Protect us all in his absence. Your humble servant, Smokey Bones.
Gentleman Tom Cat’s Diary – The Quick Red Fox
Dear Diary,
Mistress took pity on me today. Although pity is not something a cat normally seeks, in this case it meant seeing Francine after weeks. Mistress hired a very nice lady to look after Master while she took me and my friend, Mr. Scotty, to Ms. Gladys’ house. Scotty was off on a sniffing trip as Ms. Gladys keeps a rather large assortment of animals on her farm. I’ve seen chickens (which good cat, Handyman, does not touch), rabbits, a tiny horse, cows, pigs and one feisty crippled rooster who guards his ladies well. Naturally, to my friend, the farm offered a plethora of smells to delight his terrier nose.
Mistress and our hostess settled down to chat after kindly putting us out on the warm, enclosed back porch, where we could be alone. Both of them are thoughtful of our new family and our Woods Cats family as they are of any human one. We curled up close. Would this work? Could she live at one house and I at another? Tonight threatened more snow and ice. Once again we would be kept apart. We talked about it briefly, but as newly weds we were happy being together even if for a short time. Spring would bring warm days and no snow or ice. It was a paradise of which we both dreamed.
Sharp barking tore us apart and brought the women bursting from the kitchen. Mr. Scotty rushed toward something in the tall grasses before turning back toward the house. Whatever he saw pulled his curious self, making each turn back to the house shorter and shorter.
A brownish red head with a narrow whitish muzzle pushed through the grass toward the terrier. A fox! The same fox that had chased me previously, but something looked very wrong with him. He tried to attack the terrier. After a few steps, he lost his footing and staggered, almost falling. The fox I remembered had been clean, light on his feet and sported a cruel grin. All foxes pride themselves on beautiful coats. Friend fox looked as though he hadn’t bothered to clean his coat in a long time.
Mistress screamed for Mr. Scotty. When he finds something of interest, Mr. Scotty’s attention is focused to the point he hears no one calling him. He became lost in the woods on one of our travels for that very reason.
I recognized my friend was neither bluffing nor playing. I also knew he was in more trouble than he realized at this point. I begged Mistress to let me out. She would have none of it.
“One of you out with a rabid fox is more than enough. Gladys, oh, good, you’re here.” Ms. Gladys had her Betsy gun at the ready and slipped out a side door to avoid being seen by the fox, though in its current state, it probably would never have known she was there.
If only she could understand cat speech. Ah, the backwardness of humans. If they but studied foreign languages as much as they care for their homes, we could cease the misunderstandings of both worlds. She needed to hurry. Mr. Scotty was more than ready to protect everyone by attacking the fox.
Ms. Gladys appeared at the edge of the house and aimed the gun at the same moment Mr. Scotty pounced. With a howl of pain he dropped to the ground in front of the fox. The staggers eased and the rabid beast came in for the kill. A second shot put him out of his misery. After the noise of the gun cleared away, the silence was unbearable. An almost inaudible whimper sent Mistress running to Mr. Scotty’s side. Francine and I rushed ahead of her.
“Why did she shoot me? Smokey, I was trying to help. What did I do wrong? Am I going to die?” Big eyes so brown they are almost black looked at me, begging me to explain something I wasn’t sure I understood.
“I think she was aiming at the fox. She fired at the moment you leaped. I think you will live, my friend.” Truthfully, I knew not whether I told the truth or lied. It is unlike animals to lie, but my friend needed reassurance.
“Smokey? Something else happened. Look at my shoulder. The fox bit me when I first found him. That’s not good, is it? Will I be bad like him?”
How do you tell a friend you don’t know what will happen? Did he notice that we moved a step back from him? He noticed. Mistress picked him up and took him inside the house. Francine and I went back to the porch, but only because we were not allowed in the room with Mr. Scotty. How can this happen when we’ve become friends?
Diary, I don’t understand how such a loyal dog can be given this burden. If he does have rabies, we’ll be with him to the end.
“Oh, no! He didn’t get bitten, did he? Gladys, look at his shoulder.”
Ms. Gladys’ silence said more than her words ever could. And now we wait.
Gentleman Tom Cat Diary – REUNION
Dear Diary,
As patches of snow melt in our backyard, the weather heralds, through scents cast about by the winds, that another will be coming almost immediately. Mistress lets me out for a few moments. If I so much as look toward the woods and my dear Francine, who lives on the other side, she brings me back inside. Will this wretched stuff never go away!
While I sat pondering thoughts of escape, Mr. Scotty interrupted me with a cheerful bark. I fear my face was ensconced in a scowl when I looked up to answer him. The dreadful scowl was immediately replaced by sheer delight at the sight of two cats emerging from the woods. They traveled across the stream on long branches the trees had conveniently grown. One jumped lightly to the ground; the other leaped rather clumsily and was caught by the first to steady him.
Bully and Philippe! I had thought never to see either of them again. The last I saw of each, they fought two feral dogs that interrupted my marriage to Francine. Hurt ribs or no, I had to get out to see them. A screech brought Mistress hurrying from the back room.
“Smokey, what’s wrong? You know I’m bathing Master and getting him out of bed.”
Yes, I did know, however, as cat’s are prone to do, I cared about my own affairs at the moment. She looked out the window and recognized the Wood’s Cats.
“I’m not certain I should let you out. They might talk you into leaving the house and you aren’t ready for that yet, even though you think you feel wonderful.” She nibbled at her bottom lip as she often does that when thinking of a serious problem. “I’ll open the glass door and shut the screen. That way you can speak with them.”
As a man on television says, “I head her, but I wasn’t listening.” The moment she opened the glass door and reached for the screen, I slipped through and bounded out to meet my friends.
I heard Mr. Scotty running behind me. Mistress shouted to him, “Make him stay home, Scotty. He’s not well enough to travel yet.”
Scotty barked back to her as though he understood his task perfectly.
We rubbed against one another over and over. How wonderful to see my friends again. I could barely keep myself from turning most ungentlemanly somersaults.
“What happened? Philippe we left you with one of the bigger hounds. How did you ever escape.”
“As you can see, I almost didn’t.” He looked around at his left hind leg. It hung at an odd angle. “We were fighting too far away from the trees for comfort. I sliced his right ear and while he howled and pawed at it, I took off for the nearest tree. It was little more than a tall twig. At least, it was off the ground. The dog, to his credit, forgot his pain and took up the chase. I ran up the tree. It swayed from side to side with my weight. Seeing this, the dog rose as high as possible on his hind legs and pushed my safe haven to the ground. I flew off it before it bent all the way and got a short headstart toward a much sturdier perch.
“I could feel the heat of the dog’s breath as I leaped toward safety. I almost made it. His jaws closed on my foot and no matter how hard I dug my claws into the trunk of the tree, he pulled me down inch by inch. Knowing my end was near, I decided to take him with me. He eased the pressure of pulling for but a moment. I took that chance to release my hold and twist to face my opponent. I heard the bone in my foot crack. It had to be ignored if I was to get revenge on the drooling dog. I sank my claws into his eyes. Screaming in pain, the beast released me. He rolled in the tall grasses. With three good legs, I traveled, as rapidly as three good legs allowed, to see how you, Bully, and Francine fared.”
“I have never been happier to see Philippe than when his crippled body arrived at the area where the dog you and I had fought continued to give me a rough time,” Bully cut in. “Although you damaged the dog’s foot, it wasn’t sufficient to disable him. I rode him, clinging with all my waning strength to his neck. He turned, snapped, and shook, trying to remove me. A few more seconds and he would have succeeded. Philippe used his one good hind leg to propel him to the backside of the hound. Feeling claws, new claws grabbing his shanks, the beast attempted the same trick he used on you. He rammed against a tree, but only succeeded in hurting himself, as neither of us had slid down his side.
“His actions did give both of us a chance to climb a tall, sturdy pine, where we were most grateful to cling to our perch and pull our breathing back under control. Enough about us; what happened once you left?” Both cats riveted their attention on me.
“I broke at least two ribs during the fray. Once when a dog flung me away from him and I landed with my side hitting rocks jutting from the ground, and again, when the dog crushed me against the tree. By the time I reached Francine, she had made it to her safe haven where she waited for news. Philippe, I don’t understand how you survived. We heard you scream and then naught but silence.”
“The scream you heard was not from the pain, but from my triumph. The dog, although mangled, could still see to some degree. He decided to leave me and move down the trail nearer his buddies.”
“Ah, that explains why there were three dogs following Francine and only the one stayed behind. Bully, I’m delighted you got away. Thank you both for helping us. I feared no one had seen the dogs turn on me and my dear wife. We shall never forget your bravery.”
“What happened to your tail. That hound you were fighting looked as though he was going to pull it off.” Bully looked over at my tail as he spoke.
“Fortunately, he did little harm and it is back to its switchable self.” I demonstrated by twitching just the very end from side to side. However, before I reached my destination, I heard a massive boom as I drifted into blackness from the pain. When I came to, I was at home, my sides swathed in bandages and unable to move without searing agony. Even breathing pushed the pain upon me. Mistress saw I was awake and in distress. She gave me a rather pleasant tasting liquid and I drifted off again. This went on for several days.
“Ah, my friends, I fear I have rambled on while forgetting my manners. Please, come and have some refreshments. Perhaps we can get caught up some more.”
We ate the delicious treats Mistress left for us and dozed in the winter sunshine. I shall finish my tale at a later time, dear Diary. It may not be so pleasant as it now seems.
Gentleman Tom Cat Diary – A New Year
Dear Diary:
It seems it has been forever since I wrote anything. The ribs have taken a long time to heal. They hold a tenderness when Mistress is her most gentle petting me.
During my stay at home yet another strange occasion has come and gone. Mistress called it Christmas. There was much bustling about on her part to decorate the house for this custom. A white tree was raised in the corner of the living room. Mistress put ornaments of gold and copper on it with an angel atop the tree, looking down on us all with a gentle smile. These items were put up hastily, but there were not the last. Every window and shelf held greenery, or imitation villages covered about in imitation snow. It was entirely odd. I had the strangest urge to rise from my sick bed and flick the baubles off the tree. Only my sore ribs saved the tree from being tattered and torn.
The last box Mistress brought out to unload its treasures was handled with the tenderest of care. She pulled from the box a house that looked more like a cave . After positioning it just so, she added straw from a neighbor’s fields to the bottom. There she placed a kneeling woman and a man. Both had angelic looks on their faces as they stared down at…nothing. By now, I was fascinated with the whole scene opening before me. Three men dressed in rich robes and standing in front of or sitting on top of camels joined the man and woman. Their expressions were of the purest joy, yet I saw nothing to inspire them.
A man, who appeared to be much poorer and who stood next to a sheep looked on with equal adoration at…nothing. By this time, I could not have looked away had my other ribs been broken. A little boy joined the group, as well as a cow and a mule. Those animals were stationed inside the dwelling. The animals, too, stared at the blank spot in the center of the gathering. Growing excitement almost pulled me from my bed to jump inside the box for the item that went in that spot. Mistress, however, decided on her own to fill an odd little box with more straw and place it in the center of the people. No matter how I saw it, the box did not inspire a goofy look on my face, therefore, I could only ascertain that something was yet to come. Mistress reached into the box again and pulled out a human kit. The kit was placed gently in the bed. Odd, his face seemed to almost glow. Was this what drew the loving attention of the others?
After placing the kit at the center of the group of animals and people, Mistress closed her eyes and thanked God for giving her another wonderful year. Wonderful? Hadn’t I seen her cry in despair? Yet, she seemed happy Master was still with us and that her children and friends did so much to help. She even thanked God for Mr. Scotty and me. Of course, that part I could readily understand. Cats do make homes nicer and Mr. Scotty, my pet, no, my friend, was worthwhile anywhere he might be. But, I couldn’t understand how she could be grateful for having a sick husband and cat on her hands. Yet, had Master not been ill, they would not have lived here. Had they not lived here, they would not have made new dear friends. And had they not met new dear friends, I would not belong in this home full of love. Perhaps I do understand why she prayed as she did.
When the day of Christmas arrived, Mistress, Master, and Jaimie rose to eat a quick breakfast and open boxes under the tree. Jaimie tossed a small package to me. The smell of catnip seeped through the paper and I yearned for front claws, but made do quite well with my teeth to rip the wrapping apart. A fluffy gray mouse stared at me from amid the mayhem. I leaped upon it. Alas, it was not real, but that did nothing to prevent me from batting it around the living room floor. Meanwhile, Mr. Scotty tore paper off a round gift. The more he worked at it, the more the package talked and urged him to play. With a final rip, he unhoused a blue talking ball that rolled crazily over the floor just enough to have him scurrying after it. What a fine day this Christmas is. I finally understood what it was about.
It is a time made up by humans for giving pets gifts! It’s a great holiday and one which I heartily approve. I suppose that sometimes even humans get things right without our help.
A week later although Master went to bed early, Mistress and Jaimie sat up far later than normal to wish us all a happy new year. They were quite excited. This time I had not a clue why. The new year’s day is the same as any other day. It has the same number of hours, and the next day there is work to be done…at least for people.
Ah, well, very soon I shall visit my dear wife, but as I look out Jaimie’s bedroom window, snow is building a silent wall against that moment. Unless I can slip past Mistress, the white of winter will hold me prisoner a bit longer. Jaimie is asleep and with the snow falling, I feel the urge to do the same.
Good night, Dear Diary
