A true tail of milk and tuna
Chloe had litter-ally just met Felix on Purrsonals.com when he invited her to a live theatre summer production of CATS at the local cat venue, which in this case was Farmer Frank’s (FF) barn.
“I will meet you there,” Chloe told Felix as she stretched and yawned and licked her face smooth.
“Fabulous Fred is working the door,” Felix told Chloe. “Tell him you’re looking for Lucky.”
Chloe should have known right then that it was going to be a cat scratch fever date – yet again. But it was a full-moon, black cat kind of night, so how could Chloe resist?
All the summer crops were growing like mad and the rows between the corn stalks were in perfect shape to play cat and mouse under the shimmering shooting stars. The first crop of hay had been harvested and stored in FF’s hayloft. Square bales were neatly stacked one on top of the other, row upon row. It was a perfect seating arrangement for the audience of cool cats who were coming to watch the play. One bale had broken open and stalks of hay lined the hayloft floor, making it the ultimate dance stage for the after-the-play-rave.
All and all it was a purr-fect setting for a feline first date.
Well later, it was also a perfect place for a roll in the proverbial hay.
Chloe, who had primped her whiskers just so, arrived on all fours, fashionably late. After a few minutes of searching she spotted Felix, (aka Lucky), who was sashaying around the top floor of the barn serving catnapes.
One thing led to the next and before you know it, the play had played, and the dancing was in full swing. The full moon shone, jolly with mirth as he watched clowders of cats discreetly pawing each other in the shadows of the cupola. The Cat in the Hat was mewing in the corner with Puss and Boots – both of them saucer-eyed as they smoked another spliff of catnip.
As with any great party, it felt like no time at all had passed before the moon was exchanging places with the sun. Chloe woke up to the sound of mice scurrying frantically by, so she leaped up from her little pallet of hay, brushed off her sleek fur and licked Lucky goodbye, (as usual, Lucky had lived up to his name), knowing full well that Daddy Puss would be pacing the floor at the cat castle, just ready to pounce when she got home.
Three weeks later the unexpected news – Chloe was expecting – was all over the mews.
And Lucky? Well Lucky was spending a lot of time in his already messy litterbox.
“Don’t think you can purrr your way out of this one, you alley cat you,” sniffed Chloe to Lucky, her back arched in exasperation when she finally found him.
“I have a lot of felinings for you, I mewlly do,” Lucky told Chloe as he swung his paw over his face to hide the sweat that was dampening his fur. ”You tuna me on. In fact, you are more precious to me than a life-sized mirror in Kim Kardashian’s bedroom.”
(Not to mention the ones in her bathroom, living room, hallway, and walk-in closets).
Chloe could tell right then and there that Lucky was not the feline-father-type she was hoping for. With a swing of her tail and an upturned nose that was full of the disdain that cats are infamous for, she scampered home to face the meowsic.
Daddy Cat’s fur was flying as he sat on the top deck of the cat castle. In fact he was so distressed he was almost having kittens himself.
“If you think having a whole littler of little ones is all milk and tuna, think again!” Daddy-O meowed thunderously. “In 67 days our cat castle is going to be full of little ones scampering around, scratching and clawing everything in sight. What are our humans, who have been locked up for 120 days with nothing to show from all that time but bellies that look like they are full of kittens and thick mustaches frosted with beer foam, going to think?
“C’mon Daddy Puss, do you really think that there is a masked-human alive who will be able to resist a newly born fluffy kitten after being locked up for all of these months? They will be like the Birdman of Alcatraz with a new playmate,” Chloe told her sour puss daddy. “After having to self-isolate for all of these months, I bet there isn’t a human alive who isn’t going to be excited about watching a tiny little kitten play with a string of wool. And I’m sure by now, the humans are sick of marvelling over the thousands of dollars of flowers and vegetables that they’ve planted since this whole wash-your-hands-wear-a-mask-stay-six-feet-away-from-me thing started. The humans will be over the moon to see that some of us have been keeping the life cycle going, while they’ve been locked up popping popcorn and binge-watching Netflix.”
And she was right.
One of Chloe’s kittens found his way to FF’s house and began his mission of cuteness.
The ever-expanding-now-in-stage-two-family bubble, which included two cat lovers from Toronto, came up for a visit, and before long, not only had THEY fallen in love with said kitten, they’d also come up with a name for him. “Let’s call it Creamsicle,” said daughter-in-law, Anais. “He looks just like an orange-and-white ice cream Creamsicle.”
“And also because he’s melting our family bubble hearts,” chimed in son, Billy Bop, the-famous-cat-lover who-would-have-nine-cats if he could.
FF, who would never be mistaken for being a cat lover, could not help himself. He had a real soft spot for Creamsicle because they both liked the same kind of beer.
And that is how the Creamsicle cat came in from the COLD-VID.
Ahh….the silver linings that’ve come from this whole pandemic situation are many, n’est pas?
And with that, as I bid you all adieu for another week, I leave you with this topical quote from our bearded friend Abe (Lincoln):
“No matter how much cats fight, there always seems to be plenty of kittens.”
See you next week!