Kaleidoscope of crazy cats

by Nellie Curtiss ….

Whiney Winnie, with a head too small for his body, was last seen January 19 after temperatures plunged to below zero. The gauge read 7 degrees at 5 a.m. At six years old Whiney Winnie, one of four orangish semi-feral cats feeding on my back deck, still chased me from room to room while he was outside, and I was inside. During the dog days of summer, he would sit on the windowsill and meow at me through the closed pane. Obviously, I would talk to him too. He couldn’t stand any other cat close to me; so, he would swat other felines who lingered. Even my service dog wasn’t immune to his strikes.

Last August, Whiney enlisted his brother, from another cat, Rupurrt. They started at the back deck where the roof slanted the lowest. One after the other, the mates jumped from the railing, where I would feed them, to the roof ledge. Then, across the zone they’d go. I only figured out their route later when I saw them dangling on the front window screens. Opening the front door, I chastised them both: “Whiney Winnie, you get off of there; Rupurrt, you too!”

Before I realized I was severely allergic to cats, eight lived in the house with me. When Rupurrt, a long-haired Russian Gray, returned from his neutering, he decided he would sit on my lap. Before I knew it, he was on his back purring at me to pet his tummy. He purred and purred and that’s when his name showed up as Rupurrt.

Tigger, orange obviously, bonded with me over a game of whack-the-string through the front storm door. Within a couple days, I convinced Tigger to move in. Then his brothers and sisters all followed. His mom, not so much. One day, I turned around and Tigger was propped up in a cardboard box. Tigger loves boxes. After he did that, then Rooroo, a tortoise shell like her mother, pasted herself in another box.  Just today when LoopieLoo slipped inside for a visit, she climbed into another box not yet in the trash.

Punkie is all white and so afraid of the chase that Whiney Winnie and other homies put her through. She lives in the front side of the stacked homemade condo built by Marge with SLV Cats Alive. She also wedges in between the lilac branches, fully flowered in the spring or naked in winter. She is usually so excited to see me when she successfully makes it to the rail that she purrs and rubs against my forearm. I have to stop before filling her bowl to pet and talk to her. When a slight noise startles her, Punkie runs for cover even as Whiney, or Harley, or Rupurrt eye the chase.

A few years ago, I caught Whiney swatting and bullying Rooroo. Now Rooroo is her own woman. She does what she wants and no more. She was sitting pretty when Whiney struck. Instead of running away, she swatted right back and that was the FINAL time Whiney bullied her. Rooroo is also a nurse. She curls up with Schroeder (my service dog) and licks any bump on his head.  She tucks me in at night by checking if I’m breathing or not by touching her nose to mine. She gives me kisses on my hands that no longer make fists or hold a paint brush. She is a sweet six-year-old.

Her brother Tigger is his own man. He puts up with nothing and nobody. He comes inside when he is ready no matter how many times I call for him. Sometimes he’s waiting on the tree stump next to the long lilac hedge. Then he saunters over when he sees me through the back window. Inside, he sometimes mistakes the digital weight scale for a box. Stationing himself squarely on the scale, the voice says: “You weigh thirteen pounds nine ounces.” After a pause, the voice says, “Goodbye.”

Finally, Anne T. responded to my post on a Facebook group looking for Whiney Winnie. She made fliers that she put up the other day by Dairy Queen and beyond. It’s true. Some of the nicest people love animals and go out of their way to help.  Those crazy cats, I love them all.

–Picture: Whiney Winnie at 6 months old.

— Nelda Curtiss is a retired college educator and long-time local columnist. Reach her at columnsbynellie.com or email her at columnsbynellie@gmail.com