When Dad moved to Mandan in July of 2006, he brought along a black and white tomcat by the name of Nibby.
In Roundup, Nibby was an outdoor cat who came home every night to the comfort of Dad's garage where he ate, used the litter box and slept on the hood of Dad's car. He had all the manners of the Tazmanian Devil. Because he had largely been left alone, he didn't like being petted, held or even looked at. In other words, he was definitely not domesticated.
However, in Mandan, he became a house cat. And like all house cats, he decided early on that it was his house and the rest of us were simply intruders.
Over the ensuing two years, I have done my best to take the "wild" out of him. This was not without it's hazards, which included scratches, hissing and having the cat jump from my grip on most every occasion.
Now, don't get me wrong, I like cats. As a bachelor, I had a furry black and white cat that loved me and I loved her.
Let's just say that with Nibby, there often isn't much to love.
Sure, it's funny to watch Nibby follow Dad to bed, put him to sleep and then see the cat come back out to sit on our furniture and wash himself, or sharpen his claws on our carpet. Then about 7 a.m. Nibby will jump on Dad's bed so that when Dad wakes up, he thinks the cat has slept with him all night.
Now in Dad's eyes, Nibby the Cat is always right. Dad's son and his family better walk softly around the cat if we know what's good for us. Heaven knows we don't want to rile the ire of either Nibby or Dad.
So, in the final analysis, is Nibby really good for anything?
Yes, last night befor
e I went to bed, I watched the cat lick and bathe for 30 minutes on the back of our couch -- white and black hair flying every where. Finally, the cat curled up and laid his head softly on one of his front paws. He stared at me with a growl on his lips for a couple of minutes as if to say, "Don't bother me. I'm warning you, don't even come near me...or else." And then he shut his eyes and went to sleep.
I looked at the motionless furry ball, comfortable as the back of the couch comformed to the 20 pounds of feline. Pretty quick, I got to thinking and you know what...I thought if its good for the cat, it's good for Steve. I went to bed, curled up, sneered at my earthly problems and decided I would deal with them in the morning. Then I closed my eyes and went soundly to sleep.
If the cat can do it, I can to.
In Roundup, Nibby was an outdoor cat who came home every night to the comfort of Dad's garage where he ate, used the litter box and slept on the hood of Dad's car. He had all the manners of the Tazmanian Devil. Because he had largely been left alone, he didn't like being petted, held or even looked at. In other words, he was definitely not domesticated.
However, in Mandan, he became a house cat. And like all house cats, he decided early on that it was his house and the rest of us were simply intruders.
Over the ensuing two years, I have done my best to take the "wild" out of him. This was not without it's hazards, which included scratches, hissing and having the cat jump from my grip on most every occasion.
Now, don't get me wrong, I like cats. As a bachelor, I had a furry black and white cat that loved me and I loved her.
Let's just say that with Nibby, there often isn't much to love.
Sure, it's funny to watch Nibby follow Dad to bed, put him to sleep and then see the cat come back out to sit on our furniture and wash himself, or sharpen his claws on our carpet. Then about 7 a.m. Nibby will jump on Dad's bed so that when Dad wakes up, he thinks the cat has slept with him all night.
Now in Dad's eyes, Nibby the Cat is always right. Dad's son and his family better walk softly around the cat if we know what's good for us. Heaven knows we don't want to rile the ire of either Nibby or Dad.
So, in the final analysis, is Nibby really good for anything?
Yes, last night befor
e I went to bed, I watched the cat lick and bathe for 30 minutes on the back of our couch -- white and black hair flying every where. Finally, the cat curled up and laid his head softly on one of his front paws. He stared at me with a growl on his lips for a couple of minutes as if to say, "Don't bother me. I'm warning you, don't even come near me...or else." And then he shut his eyes and went to sleep.I looked at the motionless furry ball, comfortable as the back of the couch comformed to the 20 pounds of feline. Pretty quick, I got to thinking and you know what...I thought if its good for the cat, it's good for Steve. I went to bed, curled up, sneered at my earthly problems and decided I would deal with them in the morning. Then I closed my eyes and went soundly to sleep.
If the cat can do it, I can to.
3 comments:
Gary's dog Baxter is a professional Sleeper.He reminds me alot of the cat.Speaking of Gary,I haven't heard much from him or Derrick on the blog lately.Are You two awake?
Reminds me of the quote, "Women and cats will do as they please. Men and dogs need to get used to it."
And suddenly there's a new voice on the blog....welcome Lisa. Nice quote. Unfortunately, too true.
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