The real life story about friendship, play, and power. Could cat royalty really engage with the rodent class? Read on to find out more! So, that adorable cat up there? That's Inky. He's a super fluffy snowshoe Siamese that our parents rescued. It's a strange story. Our friend, who lived two hours north of us, found this kitten on the streets and took it to the shelter, but when she was informed that they were going to kill him, she sent the word out for someone to adopt him. My mom saw it, showed the picture to dad and they both said they couldn't let that happen. So, unbeknownst to me, my friend made this impromptu visit at the end of May, three years ago, and had a kitten hidden on her person. And that's how we got Inky. His nicknames include Inky the Terrible and El Presidente de Catico, Inkicente Fox. Not that the former president of Mexico, Vicente Fox was terrible... it's just I liked his name, it kind of goes along with Inky and our cat likes to think of himself as holding great power. I'm not even kidding when I state that he really, really digs the title of El Presidente de Catico. He's also Napoleon the Cat, or more officially, Empereur des Français, Catapoleon. because he did conquer a map of Paris that I'd wrapped a gift in. He's kind of short and stubby, but he's much more adorable than Napoleon could have ever hoped to be, which I remind Inky of and he chirrups and danced around because that pleases him. Anyways, the point of the entire story is that his royal highness decided that he needed a bachelor pad. The Sister cleaned the basement and he moved himself down there. He has a monstrous raised dias throne in the shape of an extra long davenport covered in a nice and pretty quilt. The arm rests could hold a side a beef, it's so big. His set up is not unlike Jabba The Hut from Return of the Jedi. This dias faces the sliding glass doors and he faces them waiting for a show to begin. That show is a very ancient (20+ years old) calico cat that we had to adopt because her family is moving away (and the move would be too much for her) who lives on the patio on the other side of those doors (she's always been an outdoor cat). Not to mention the opossums and raccoons or the three stray boy cats that all show up for food. I've seen all three cats, The Sister has only seen three; so we can't name the last one. I'm sure there's other things to watch like possibly gekkies (Inky's pet name for gecko's) that he loves to hunt through the glass... and perhaps a bird or two. He loves to hunt those through the glass too. However, the huge fluffy black cat I named last year when he was seen strolling through our backyard. I named him Perkins. And this photo right here is the reason why. This picture dates from the twenties to the forties. I'm not certain the exact date, but I do have photos of my maternal grandmother during the 1920s where the photo looks the same (rectangular and small with a white border and the paper feels the same). The Summers' were my mom's adopted family. Not as in she claimed them as family, but as in one of the sons legally adopted a daughter and that was my mom. So, my grandpa, only since I didn't know him I refer to him as Mr. Summers. Anyways, Perkins was his families cat at some point during the early 20th century. And the cat is cute and it's such a cute name for a cat and when I was trying to name our Perkins, this is the photo that came to mind.
We try not to reuse cat names, because it seems rude to the cat that had the name. But I figured that this cat whom none of us ever knew (not even mom who was born in 1947), that it was OK to use his name. Incidentally, there'd already been an Inky. A fussy girl Siamese that belonged to my mom's sister when they were growing up. Whoops. Oh well, it's a cute name and I didn't know that Inky (nor really remember in all my mom's weird stories that there was a cat named that), so I think it's also OK. So, a huge fluffy black cat that I named Perkins. Then there's a huge fluffy gingie that The Sister & I named Raj. The other cat is not fluffy and is mostly white with patches of gingie on him. He reminds me of a Japanese cat, so he might end up with a Japanese name; that is if The Sister ever sees him in our backyard. Our Inky also has one, or some, mice friends. I know mice are bad and blahblah and I certainly don't want tons of them invading our home, but I like mice. I don't want to see them hurt. I get extremely upset with my dad when he sets out traps for them. He does have heart though which I like. He felt that perhaps the snap traps were too cruel so he tried something else. His heart was in the right place, but he purchased the absolutely worst thing; glue traps. Thankfully I didn't come across the scene or I would have squalled and whaled like a little six year old. Apparently it was horrible and dad won't use those again. But he's set out a few snap traps recently which thankfully the mice are too smart for. You think I'm kidding about my love of mice. I am not. My three-legged tabby cat, Tiger Lilly, was an excellent huntress. I'd thank her for her gifts and tell her she was good cat, but also internally was sad. I'd try to save animals from her if I saw her stalking. One was a baby opossum, the other was a fat little mouse, he ended up biting me several times. However, one time she mawwed because she'd killed a mouse. I thanked her then cried and buried it. It was an odd scene. We owned a coffee house in our basement at that time and were currently open for business, so I'm crying near the entrance burying some random mouse when two customers come upon the scene. Luckily they were sort of friends of mine. They still found it extremely odd. But, that's me. I even rescued a feeder mouse, because it was something I could do. My high school geometry teacher was trying to panhandle her sons boa constrictor that was for sale. I raced up there at the end of the class and asked if I could purchase a mouse. "They're just food." "Yes, yes, I know (while gulping and trying not to say that they're more than that), but I want a pet mouse. No just the one, I don't need them to have babies (when she suggested giving me a pair to mate). She showed up with two the next day; a male and a female. I found a friend who took the female and I kept the male. I cried like a baby when he died five or so years later. I know this is what happens in the wild. Snakes eat live animals, cats kill all variety of smaller animals... but I don't want to see it. I tell the cats they are good hunters when I couldn't save the animal and never tell them they are wrong or bad for something in their nature. But if I can save the "prey" then I always will. I even save countless anole lizards and salamanders from our cats now when they inadvertently venture into the house thinking it's safe. Recently I went down into the basement for something (this was before the traps) and smelled death. I couldn't place where it was coming from, but it was concentrated on or underneath the open stairs. When I came back up and the light from the kitchen shone onto the top steps, there it was. A little mouse dead in a pool of its own blood, an unlucky victim of our tiny, but mighty tabby cat Marzipan. It was so upsetting, but I figured that I shouldn't carry on like an unhinged school girl, so I just screamed and called for dad. We debated over who had killed it; Inky or Marzipan. But the clear winner there is the girl. Girls are better hunters among cats, and plus, I'm pretty sure Inky just wants them around to amuse him. He wants to see them dance around and then chase them for fun. Marzipan is always after the end goal; the kill. She even has a battle cry. Inky sounds like a shy little girl when he talks. He has no battle cry. And on a few occasions since he's moved down there (and the traps have been out) we'll find things knocked over or tiny foot prints across a surface. His friends are still down there and he merrily chases them about. Not one has been found dead since he moved in and kicked Marzipan out. I like to imagine that there are two boy mice and their names are Fred and George and Inky is there Lee Jordan and they get into all sorts of hijinks together. It goes back and forth between that and Inky being some haughty and pretty French royal who dresses the mice up in eighteenth century clothes just so they'll put on plays for him or dance around while he smiles and exclaims joy over the entertainment. I never said I wasn't odd, but at least my imagination keeps me entertained. I would lead a rather mundane life otherwise.
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AuthorA girl from South Mississippi who finds herself in exploration. Archives
November 2019
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