This is the story of “The Cat and the Ants”, or “Life is Never Dull Around Here.”
We have this male cat that I’ve mentioned in previous articles. He was a gift for my daughter last Christmas, so he’s almost a year old. That’s a teenager in cat years.
We’d let this cat outside and he wouldn’t go further than the front porch because he didn’t like to walk on the grass. This was one cat that we’d never have to worry about leaving home. We bragged on that cat … because, well, he was perfect and never did anything wrong.
But … just like their human counterparts, teenage cats have a way of making us eat our words.
The best-behaved little boys and girls become the kids throwing parties when their parents are out of town. The sweetest young children learn the sport of sassing back to the folks. We who have gone through teenagehood laugh at parents who say, “My child will never …” or “I’ll never allow my child to …”
Well, my cat ran away. This sweet little innocent kitty became a teenager overnight, and with it the raging hormones that come with it. He didn’t think about the fact that he has no front claws, or where his next meal was coming from. He was on a mission: chasing women.
We drove around looking for him to no avail. People told us he would eventually come home, but we were worried he might not make it in the real world because he was such a “mama’s boy”. All the mean old tomcats might just make mincemeat out of him.
He had outgrown his collar, and we hadn’t replaced it. And he was a beautiful (and friendly) cat … it crossed our minds that if anyone saw him, no collar and all, they might just take him home.
So we hung up signs around the neighborhood. On the fourth day after he’d been gone, we received the first phone call.
“I saw your cat,” she said. “I could tell he was lost and scared, too.” She went on to tell me where she had seen him. We looked around again and still didn’t find him. But at least he was still around … and alive.
The next night another lady called and said, “I think your cat’s in my garage. My cat has him cornered.”
I drove over to her house and we discussed strategy. I positioned myself just outside the garage door. When she opened it up, I would step in and pick up my little darling. I just knew that he would be so happy to see me!
Well, the little darling had other plans. When the garage door opened, all I saw was a streak. I chased him across the street. Every time I got near him, he ran again. So much for being happy to see me, the little ingrate.
Okay, so he was probably spooked and starving and all. But still. You’d think he’d at least act like he recognized me.
The nice garage lady helped me corner him between two fences and I pounced on him, grabbed him on the back of his neck and held him tight like a baby. I decided it would be safer to walk home rather than risk him getting away trying to put him in the car and all.
Well, sister, the mosquitoes were out in force. I couldn’t see them because it was dark, but they were biting my arms, my neck, my chest, and I couldn’t let go of this stupid cat to swat them. I was blowing on them, but that didn’t help. I was frantically shaking my head, trying to let my hair brush them away, only my hair is only an inch long so all I succeeded in doing was to look like an idiot walking down the street.
When I finally got home, I literally threw the cat into the house and looked down. They weren’t mosquitoes. They were fire ants. Apparently, we had backed him into an anthill, and when I picked him up I got covered. We counted fifty bites, but in some places there were so many bites it was hard to tell.
The cat, meanwhile, was still spooked. It took him awhile to come out of hiding, but he eventually did. He ate five times that night. He let me brush the mats out of his coat. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want to go outside again. Because after all, he is perfect and would never do anything like that again.
I’m keeping the Caladryl handy just in case. I have teenagers. I’m not stupid.
