Remember Mark Twain’s two prominent ‘heroes’? There was Tom Sawyer and there was Huck Finn. Huck was the one with the strong moral center. He wanted to live free, but he also wanted everyone else to live free – despite pre-emancipation standards. He protected old Jim – was even willing to risk his own life to save him – until the bitter end. Tom, on the other hand, had a semi-good heart, but he was misguided, mischievous and often, mental. You see Tom was, ultimately, only concerned with fun and adventure. Getting in trouble was a way of life, with the consequences expended to everyone but him. He was a selfish little bugger, but he was never satisfied remaining the sole proprietor of his evil ways. No – he had to get Huck Finn involved in the sticky messes again and again.
What does all this have to do with temptation? Let me explain. We have a cat named Jason Hill. He is black and he is fat, but it is not our fault. He receives the recommended daily allowance of urinary tract infection kitty food that comes by way of a $32 prescription. The largeness of Jason set in years ago, due to inactivity. He is large, primarily because his days consist of lying around on his fat, hairy ass, waiting for his next meal to be served. He is, however, a very obedient, very friendly feline, with the personality of a small dog, and we love him so. He is 3 times the size of a normal, healthy cat, but it is his only real flaw. I am convinced that if our apartment was engulfed in the flames of death, and I was trapped inside, Jason would save my life. For the sake of this essay, let’s call him, our proud fat kitty, Huck Finn.
A week ago, a very different cat came into our lives. He was much younger and smaller than Jason (a.k.a. Huck), therefore, he was also much more frisky. He is Asian, and his name is Stitch Chong. Luckily, we will only have Stitch for a few remaining days. His master, for whom we are cat-sitting, will be back from China, but it will not be soon enough. You see, Stitch (who we will call Tom Sawyer), is a bastard cat. I believe he was sent to this earth by Satan himself – his devious mission being to do the bidding of the dark lord.
When little Tom cat first arrived and instantly began his unbearable tirades of savagery, I believed it stemmed from a simple problem of adaptability. In a few days, I imagined, he would be fine. He just needed to settle in. How wrong I was. The bloody reign of terror continues to this very moment. And his realm of treacherous influence is spreading like an epidemic. None are immune. Especially poor Huck.
At first, the tiny declawed minion exerted his power through the sheer force of his jaw. Little Tom would bite, accompanied by vicious growls, anyone who attempted to pet, pick up, move or speak to him. Personally, this form of behavior I can manage. I just get out the water bottle or lock him in the bathroom for an hour or beat him senseless with the back of my hand. Problem solved. (Please PETA don’t hurt me – this is just some friendly satire) Unfortunately though, brutal little Tom cat produced several large gouges in the soft underbelly of our boy Huck, and has been removing clumps of hair by the mouthful. All of this, I would come to understand later, was merely initiation.
Although there was some pain involved in the process, part of me was pleased with this temporary addition to our family. For our fat Huck was exercising for the first time in his life. I guess it was that, or risk losing one of his nine lives to the visiting Asian warrior cat. The chase was on, but Huck was growing scrappy and was beginning to fight back. After the violence had begun to subside, however, and turned into mere sadistic play, I began to notice a slight change of tactics, by way of the devil cat.
Both cats were exerting extra energy – previously used only for storing fat (in the case of Jason) – and seemed to develop more ravenous appetites. Feeding time was already strictly monitored. Huck can eat only hospital food, while Tom has his standard Kibbles and Bits. Unfortunately, they both exhibited a severe desire to indulge in each others meals, so they had to be sequestered during dinner time. What was left at the end of each shift would be taken away until the next serving – to prevent unnecessary hog-age. Of course, our Huck would always tend to bitch a little over meals that he believed the least bit unsubstantial, but that was always the extent of it.
Imagine my surprise this week, upon hearing a loud ruckus in the kitchen, and discovering this awful scene: Our boy – our baby –was on top of the refrigerator munching out on Tom Sawyer’s remaining bits from the previous feeding session, which had been hid away (I thought) for safe keeping. I truly believed the top of the refrigerator to have been a sufficient hiding place, considering the fact that it is 6 feet off the ground and Huck is pretty much grounded, due to obesity. Even more disturbing though, is the fact that this aberrant behavior was prompted and cajoled out of a normally mild-mannered, well behaved cat. The evil one, Tom, was just lounging there on the kitchen floor, staring up at the entire escapade. It was as if he was saying, “you stupid shit”. I didn’t know whether it was directed at me, or at Huck, the newly initiated bandit. I should have figured something was up earlier, when I saw my kitty gobble his meal time bowl down so quickly that he developed severe hiccups; then quickly padded to the dish of our visiting feline, before I had the chance to take it up. He sat there in kitty food lust, hoping to scarf down any remaining kibbles. And now, here in the dark of night, he had performed a feat of vertical wonder, under the duress of possible ‘starvation’ and the bad influence of Satan’s little furry spawn. Now I had to lock up Stitch Chong’s bowl in the cabinet, lest it be a temptation.
Last night…(before I describe this incredible incident, I must give a tiny bit of back story regarding our Huck. Other than his dry pee-pee food – and obviously the visiting feline’s $1.99 variety – our kitty has strange tastes. Vaseline intensive care, makeup and makeup remover, oily vitamins – these are the treats that Jason Hill longs for.) Now you will understand a little better what happened last night. For when I awoke and arrived in the kitchen (the place where most of this wrong doing has been occurring) for my morning pot of coffee, I discovered a terrible mess. About 200 or so flaxseed oil vitamins had been strewn across the floor. Many were chewed open and were oozing. Greasy patches of liquid dotted the hardwood. The vitamin bottle itself had been dragged out of a basket on top of a 3 foot high countertop - through the kitchen, dining room and hallway. It sat – in an upright position – at the guest room door. An offering, I guess, to appease my wrath at finding such a disaster. I was not appeased.
There is no logical reason that justifies the recent behavior of my pet – other than the presence of this fuzzy Beelzebub. But I do not want to try and figure it all out. I just want this Stitch Chong to leave. I want to shove him into his carrying cage and return him to his rightful owner. I…dammit! Sorry, but as much as I relish these stories about the nefarious seduction of our cat, I must cut this short. Looks like our little Huck is currently riding the nasty old Tom cat like a bull rider in a carnival show, and I think he may have bitten off his front paw, due to lack of sustenance. The games continue until Tuesday.
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