By Kiera Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net
On any given day, there is a whole lot of hissing and snarling going on at our house. Once in a while the HissFest has human participants; but usually our cats are the responsible parties.
Our cat story began with Scooter and Kacey. They were Jeff’s cats for four years before I came on the scene. When I met them for the first time, I did what any potential step-mother would do. I attempted to bribe them by bringing gifts of treats and cat-nip infused toys. Scooter was not impressed. Kacey wasn’t either — at least that was the vibe she sent out from her hiding place under the bed.
Thankfully, Jeff did not listen to the opinions of his cats and decided to marry me anyway. Three months before the wedding, I moved to Atlanta. As we moved furniture and combined our two households, Scooter supervised from a perch in the corner of the dining room. I am quite certain that the only thing keeping her from toting a picket sign was the fact that she lacks a prehensile thumb. And Kacey? She was absolutely terrified of my presence and demonstrated this fear by hiding under large pieces of furniture for weeks at a time.
During those months before the wedding, I spent a lot of time at Jeff’s unpacking and getting things situated; but, I spent nights at the home of a friend of ours. Scooter and Kacey eventually got used to having me around during the day and every night they would breathe a collective feline sigh of relief when “that woman” disappeared for several hours. They had their Daddy and the warm water-bed all to themselves and life was as it should be.
And then it happened. Daddy disappeared for a week. Scooter and Kacey hissed and spit at my aunt who stayed at our place while Jeff and I honeymooned. Although we had tried to prepare the girls for the inevitable, they were still shocked when Daddy returned home with “that woman” in tow. And when it got dark, I didn’t leave. And when they went to snuggle with Daddy at night, there was someone in their water-bed. No wonder they hated me.
And it was about to get worse. Enter Tucker. Jeff had promised me that after the wedding we would “get a cat that likes you.” Tucker not only liked me, Tucker liked everyone. He was a 12-week old ball of grey and black fuzz when we adopted him. He had a sore under his nose that the shelter workers didn’t know the origin of. After we got home, it was apparent. Tucker was a kamikaze who knew no fear. We quickly nicknamed him “Deathwish”. He would hurl himself off of any surface at a high rate of speed. He ran into walls and other inanimate objects, climbed everywhere, and did it all with speed that would have made the Tasmanian Devil look like a snail.
Much to their horror, Tuck repeatedly asked his adopted sisters to play with him. His requests were very vocally denied. But that didn’t stop Tucker. He would just wait 5 minutes and then ask again. And when all else failed, he would simply knock them over. What he was lacking in gentleness and tact he made up for in persistence.
Time passed and Tucker got bigger and smarter. Like any little brother, he enjoyed annoying his sisters. He loved to hear them scream and he would not be denied a good chase, even if he had to spend hours provoking his sisters in preparation. Needless to say, Tuck spent many an afternoon in time out because he simply would not leave Scooter and Kacey alone and we were tired of listening to them screech.
We didn’t blame Tucker much. He was bored and frustrated. He just wanted someone to play with and try as he might, he simply could not convince any one of us to spend hours chasing him down the hall.
Last fall, we went to Colorado to visit my family. My nephews proudly introduced me to the newest member of their family. Max was fluffy and cute and so very sweet. He was also a very playful little kitten. Although we tried to resist, Jeff and I soon had visions of a playmate for Tucker dancing in our heads. So after we came home, we ignored the little voices of reason that told us 4 cats in one family was insanity on the paw; and, we adopted Wyatt.
Tucker may have been a failure as a little brother but he was an outstanding big brother. He was very patient and gentle with Wyatt for the most part and they became fast friends. Tucker was in heaven. He had someone to wrestle with and chase. He had someone who would chase him and who shared his fascination with tin foil balls and ice cubes. They play together until they’re exhausted and then they snuggle up together and sleep it off. They truly are best friends.
Meanwhile, we still have Scooter and Kacey too. Scooter hates her life and everyone in it — with the exception of Jeff. Sometimes when she sits on his lap, her soulful yellow eyes seem to be saying, “Just you and me, Dad. That’s all I need! Let’s get rid of everyone else — especially that ‘mom’ person.”
Kacey has elevated herself to “Daddy’s little girl” status and enjoys all the privileges thereof; but, thankfully she also seems to like me now. She checks on me when I get up at night. We also have private brushing sessions and she seems to enjoy sitting with me when I scrapbook. Her human relationships are pretty well defined. However, her feline relationships are a confusing mess.
I think she’s honestly hurt that Tucker isn’t asking her to play every 5 minutes. But the fact is, he doesn’t need Kacey anymore. He has Wyatt. Occasionally, I see Kacey watching wistfully as Tucker and Wyatt play tag and wrestle. I can see her little cat brain saying, “Gee, that looks fun. I wanna play.” But her little stunted social skills don’t seem to allow her to ask nicely. She tends to break into the boys games with a whole lot of hissing and spitting. And the boys tend to ignore her — which makes Kacey furious. At least that’s the story she gives us.
However, like any good story, there is another side. This other side happens after dark. After Jeff and I close the bedroom door for the night and the house is quiet. For several months we have suspected that when the lights go off, Kacey plays. Many times Jeff or I have gotten up unexpectedly in the middle of the night only to catch Kacey, Wyatt and Tucker tearing up and down the hallway together or sharing a toy. Kacey seems absolutely horrified that she was caught in the act and immediately slinks off, leaving the two boys to wonder what happened.
Last night, I again caught Kacey in the act. I got up to take some aspirin and noticed a commotion in the office. Turning on the hall light, I saw Tucker and Wyatt crouched around a cardboard box. Upon further investigation, I discovered Kacey underneath the box. I could see one of her paws happily reaching out from under the box as she tempted her brothers to play with her. It made my little heart very happy to see Kacey playing with abandon. She was having such fun that she didn’t seem to care that I was watching.
As I went back to bed, I thought of Kacey and her split personality. And I thought about how much Kacey I have in me. I know I behave differently in the privacy of my own home than I do when the world is watching. I know my conversation topics are different at church than they are everywhere else. I know that I act differently around close friends and family than I do in public. Does that make me a hypocritical Christian? Yeah, it probably does. I don’t think it really matters that I don’t mean to do it. At least it doesn’t matter to God.
Nearly four decades into my life and I’m still trying to figure out who I am. It’s kind of embarrassing, really. On the other hand, it’s also reassuring to me that I’m still growing. I’m still wondering and still questioning and still reaching to discover who God made me to be.
I’m a lot like Kacey. When things scare me, I want to hide under large pieces of furniture. I’m very timid at times and that sometimes keeps me from doing things I want to do. I want to be a part of the close friendships that I observe; but I don’t know how. But mostly, I just want to work and play and love and laugh and cry and grieve and live with abandon — no matter who is watching.
