Run or Bite
Posted: Saturday, May 22, 2010
by Janka Bond
http://www.thingstodosandiego.blogspot.com
As I bring the vacuum cleaner into the living room, Wyatt lifts his head and peeks at me with one eye, curled up on his usual spot on the couch. He glares the vacuum up and down and then we look into each other’s eyes for a moment. “You know what’s coming...!" I tell him. “Don’t you want to run?" He stays until the very moment I push the Start button followed by a loud vacuum noise and then all I see is his grey furry body darting through the door to the next room, most likely to hide under the bed.
He was just a baby when I got him from a girlfriend of mine. A few kittens were looking for a home, she said. So there we were, standing around the kitchen table, looking into the shoe box and admiring the little furry ball inside. He was so tiny, innocent and irresistible, his pink nose in the middle of his black and white little face. Little did we know what a strong personality was hiding behind that innocent appearance. Ok, I admit, some might call it lack of discipline
Now, seven years later, so tall that he can open doors standing on his back paws, he lets you know immediately if something isn’t the way he wants it. Just a couple of days ago, my mother told me during one of our regular phone conversations about the new scratches on my dad’s legs. “Steve bought a new mixer and when he tried to use it, Cisko did not like the sound… You know how he gets when there is something against his liking…he attacked his leg." she said with a permanent resignation as well as lots of love in her voice, no sign of disapproval anywhere.
I have to laugh a little, not because I find the never-healing scratches on the legs and arms of Cisko’s roommates that humorous. But because I have heard many entertaining stories that let everyone know just who the boss in Cisko’s household is. Visitors need to be advised to avoid making certain sounds, otherwise the calves of their legs are not safe. Like that maintenance guy who came to repair the old stove, and unwisely started making scratching sounds with his tool as he was kneeling down on the kitchen floor. Apparently, he wasn’t too upset when he left; it was just a few bites in his behind that he received and luckily he seemed to be very understanding. At least there was no blood involved.
Those are not the worst incidents as I got to experience myself when I came to visit for a week last year and decided to get some exercise using my dad’s old stepping machine. “No!" I heard behind me as I took a few steps and the machine made a couple of screeching sounds. I turned around and saw my mum standing in the door, laughing with her hand over her mouth but the little beast was already right by me, biting into my ankles. I found it funny but that’s because I didn’t get his claws in my flesh like the others occasionally do. Sometimes it’s because they did whatever Cisko didn’t like, sometimes it’s for no reason whatsoever. The forgive him of course as most of the time he is very loving; you see. He’ll sit on your lap and watch the television program with you, purring. He even lets you pick the channel.
He can get away with anything. He is the King. He was sitting like one on the kitchen window sill that December night during one of my visits. I came to get a glass of water, and wondered where the cold draft was coming from. It was completely dark, and there he was, his dark silhouette in the middle of the window, just sitting there, looking at the lights of the city. My mum was the one who opened the window for him, standing in the middle of the kitchen wearing her coat, watching him and patiently waiting for him to go back to bed. They always sleep together, you know. She doesn’t mind that he is now so large she only has limited space on the bed. She doesn’t mind not moving for a few hours as not to disturb him.
And when she takes him outside, they only return to the house when he has had enough of fresh air and grass and sniffing and rolling in the dust. You would think she is retired, having all this time and patience, but no, she has to go to work every morning so the two of them go out early in the morning. The neighbors know them well by now, her and Cisko, as it was more than once that he ran too far or hid and she ended up calling his name, sometimes climbing over fences and walls to get him.
I love Cisko of course, (after all, we are a family) but I guess I can do without the dramatic comedy in the house. (It depends on the way you look at it). I finish my chore and go look for Wyatt. He is on the bed among all the pillows, either waiting for the noise to cease or just taking a nap. I pick him up, hold him for a minute and inhale the catty scent from his fluffy fur. Running or biting, they are our companions and family members, we love them and they reciprocate. Bless cats and their personalities!
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Top-level comments on this article: (2 total)I smiled all the way through reading this! Some people hate cats for their independent natures, but I love them for it, that they won't let anybody control them.
your cat is a tyrant :S
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