Too Many Cats

Too Many Cats

Actually, it started with mice. Hundreds of mice. Somehow mice kept getting into the basement. Dead mice aren’t appealing, especially with young children around and so we bought a Have-A-Heart Trap. It was interesting seeing the mice caught every morning and released outside (far outside) thereafter. Two of our boys lost interest. The third decided he liked little critters and enjoyed the mice, enjoying watching the release of the mice into the woods.

So many mice found their way into the trap that I suspected we were recycling them. I took a can of yellow spray paint and marked a few to see if they returned. Sure enough we were recycling mice. Our third son Ethan became even more fond of the little critters and the fondness stuck. For a time Ethan had pet store mice, but they kept dying. Through high school and college Ethan continued to enjoy small animals and, like his mother, really liked cats. Of course, we had one. Ethan went to college on an ROTC scholarship and branched Army Aviation. This took him to helicopter pilot training for nearly a year at Fort Rucker, Alabama. He rented an apartment which had stray cats around. Ethan adopted one of them, a hairy brown critter. Ethan’s a soft touch. He found a litter of strays jn the crawl space under the apartment and took them to the animal shelter, who took them in. The litter had a runt, and the shelter said the little one would be done in. Soft touch, remember? So now Ethan has two cats, one brown and hairy, the other yellow and scrawny.

In the fullness of time, Ethan earned his wings and deployed to a unit in Germany. He made arrangements for his cats to go to a farm near his alma mater, University of New Hampshire. Vets, shots, fancy cat carriers and airline tickets for two felines. Free cats become less free. I pick up the cats at the airport and later pick up Ethan, who got to sit in coach. The cat deal in NH falls through. Now we have three cats.

One old cat, my wife’s favorite pet, is not readily accepting of two new young cats.

I have my regrets in life, among them putting a cat door in the basement. Faith’s cat comes and goes. Ethan’s cats, now our second and third cats don’t know cat doors from nuthin’. My bride, ever solicitous and optimistic about cats, goes on a training mission. The lesson goes like this:
Catch a cat.
Push the cat through the cat door.
Compliment the cat on its new accomplishment.
Repeat as required.
Neither cat takes to the intended lesson, learning instead that it doesn’t want to be caught. My bride, ever optimistic, commences chasing one cat then another around the basement and subjecting them to the lesson again, only the lesson is looking more and more like an extrusion process. Eventually the cats learn to use the door, and they are unlikely to forget the experience, if not the lesson.

It so happens there is a very chilling sound called a caterwaul. Its unpleasant at any time but rings throughout the house whenever mother’s cat encounters Ethan’s cat or cats. Sometimes this happens at a very late hour and disturbs sleep in the manner of a nearby axe murder. Often the noise is accompanied by a classic example of fur flying. Imagine the hapless homeowner retiring for a needed rest. In the wee hours the owner’s nervous system goes from sound asleep to a four alarm cat induced fire in a matter of seconds. About the time you are fully awake, the house quiets again. Of course nature calls, and so out of bed and toward the bathroom in the dark. Fur now begins to fly, and so its dark and you can’t see, you have to go to the bathroom, and very unhappy cats are whirling around your feet like dervishes. Very unpleasant.

The morning ritual becomes more complicated. Mama’s cat takes up about half the bed until the alarm goes off, at which time it starts strutting around the bedroom, nearly tripping up everyone. Mama dresses quickly and goes down to feed Ethan’s cats, hoping her cat won’t follow. Ethan’s cats get food and affection then are sent on their way. If all works well, Mama’s cat now arrives for a new round of feeding and being fussed over.

Gradually the cats are beginning to tolerate each other. Caterwauling is giving way to guttural growling and low hissing. Mostly. The hairy cat yawns and relaxes when mother’s cat shows up. If the hairy cat were any more laid back, it would be dead. Ethan’s yellow cat has found a perch out of the line of sight. So far so good.

We reached something of a cat stasis, or so we thought. A quarter mile down the road live neighbors with more good cat fortune than ourselves. Their daughter only left one yellow cat behind, a yellow male who comes and goes through their cat door. Goes a quarter mile, it turns out. And commences using our cat door. Cat stasis is a fragile thing when a fourth cat visits. Turns out the neighbor’s cat likes to let all comers know who is boss. This is a vigorous activity with caterwauling cranked up quite a bit and extreme fur flying. Turns out the neighbor cat can literally scare something out of one or more local cats. Very unpleasant.assault on several senses and one’s digestion. Encourages dieting, which I’m told I need, but perhaps not all that much.

Pavlov had this plan with bells and such. I’m proud of my marital relationship, moreso as it instantly cranks up to apply Pavlovian learning to the fourth cat with nary a verbal interchange. Hopefully, Pavlov didn’t have to catch his subject first, especially in a basement shop: a place for which the expression “nooks and crannies” was invented. Instead of Pavlov’s bell, we have a water squirter to be liberally applied to the hapless student. Imagine wet people with scratches.

And so it goes.