They're right, you can't herd a cat

So there I was, pitted against a wily beast.

A creature of such cunning, such prowess I knew the odds were heavily against me.

But I refused to give up.

First, I tried sneaking up on the beast from behind, but my ninja-like skills have been slowed by old age, well middle age anyway, and the furred critter made good its escape.

Perhaps enticing the beast with food would bring it close enough for me to get my hands it.

And then again, perhaps not.

Said beast remained just out of arms reach, foiling an otherwise brilliant plan.

A few other attempts were made to grab the wayward animal, but in the end I had to admit defeat.

I had been outsmarted and outmaneuvered by a one-year-old cat.

Young Daughter wanted a pet of her own, so a year ago we picked up a kitten.

Her name is Lisa, a.k.a. Little Cat, and she is your typical cat that does typical cat things.

We decided she would be an outside cat, so we let her explore the backyard in short stints and she seemed fine with that because every little sound scared the snot out of her.

A bug farted and she sprinted for the backdoor like a pack of wolves were after her. Sure it was pretty big bug, but she is not exactly coming across as a fierce creature.

And I am OK with that as it should improve her survival odds in the great outdoors.

And it's not like we live in the deep forest or harsh jungle. We live in your typical suburban neighbourhood mostly devoid of vicious predators.

There are, however, coyotes in the surrounding hills and we occasionally hear them howling and yipping at night.

And that is why I ended up spending a good portion of my evening trying to herd a cat into the house.

It was near dark and Lisa bolted out the back door as fast a cat can bolt, which all cat owners know is pretty fast.

In a flash she was out the door and down the stairs.

She jumped the fence and settled in our neighbour's yard as my wife muttered some words under her breath while watching Little Cat take off.

Not wanting Lisa to spend the night outside, my wife made numerous attempts to corral the kitty back into the house, but to no avail.

You know what they say about herding cats?

Well, it's true. It is an impossible task.

So with my wife stressed out and Young Daughter having a slight meltdown at the prospect of her beloved kitty surviving on her own through the night, I was asked to assist. (Like I am some sort of cat-herding expert or something.)

I spent the next while trying to get Little Cat into the house where there was no risk of coyotes, eagles, cougars, polar bears or any other nasty chompers that might want to have a snack before bedtime.

I tried to explain to everyone that this is what outside cats do: they go outside. She will not have been the first feline in history to spend the night outdoors and I had all the confidence in the world there was a pretty good chance Lisa could do it.

But to appease the Missus and Young Daughter, I did my best to get Little Cat into the house.

However, as darkness enveloped the land, I knew it was a lost cause and finally convinced everyone there was nothing more we could do.

Reluctantly, everyone headed into the house, leaving Lisa to her fate and all hoping she would return in the morning – which she did.

As soon as the Missus got up, she checked for Little Cat who was sitting at the back door with a very proud look on hear face.

She had done it, she survived her first night in the wilds of suburbia with out so much as a scratch.

The Missus was relieved, Young Daughter, oh, hell, we were all relieved.

I learned a couple things that day: Little Cat can make it on her own and it really is impossible to herd a cat.

Copyright 2016, Darren Handschuh

Little cat loves to torment big cat

I am not sure, but I suspect my daughter's kitten may have a death wish.

No, the little squirt is not running with knives, or smoking cigarettes, but she will just not leave the big cat alone.

Before Lisa the Kitten showed up, we had Gilbert the Cat. Gil is now 12 years old and is in no mood to play with an energetic little ball of fluff that bounces around house like a furry tornado.

Gilbert is much more of a sit-back-and-relax kind of guy. He is the mellowest cat in the planet, which is probably why Lisa, or Squeak as I call her, has made it this far without serious harm or injury.

When the kitten was brought home, Gil was not too pleased. This surprised me because Gil is so laid back nothing riles him up – well, almost nothing.

There is one thing that sends Gilbert on the war path and that is another cat. He has been the feline ruler of our neighbourhood for years and still takes on all comers.

Gil is my son's cat and he is a rather large cat. One day he was sitting on the front steps, minding his own business when a new cat in the 'hood decided to take on the top dog, er, I mean the top cat.

When the intruder first came into our yard, Gil noticed him, but he played it cool, as he always does.

He made a low moaning sound as a bit of a warning, but the intruder car kept coming until he was within a foot of the Gilbert, King of the Kitties.

It was at that point Gil had enough.

My son was witness to the event and proudly proclaimed, “Gil hit the other cat so hard, it pooped.”

And indeed he did. Gil smacked the invader upside the head with such force the cat dropped a boomer before fleeing as fast as he could. He never ventured into our yard again.

But fortunately for Squeak, Gil is also a gentle cat and when the little one decided the big one was a great play partner, the young one was gently educated.

Squeak ran up to Gil and pounced with all the ferocity a 10-week-old kitten could muster. Gil growled, moaned and hissed, but the youngster kept coming.

So, Gil smacked her upside the head. But it was not with nearly as much force as he used on the intruder and he did it without any claws.

It was kind of a warning shot across the bow. However, youthful exuberance has not yet made way to aged wisdom and Squeak still desperately tries to play with Gil, who will smack her with an open paw, but has never hurt her.

She will ambush him from the back of the couch – smack. Jump at him from around a corner – smack. Sneak up behind him – smack.

I believe Squeak has figured out Ol' Gil is a gentle giant – a grumpy gentle giant, but a gentle giant nonetheless.

And fortunately, she is also learning Gil is the boss, the Alpha cat and is starting to treat him as such.

And that is bad news for the the dog.

Murphy the Wonder Dog is now Squeak's favourite target and she will stalk and hunt Murphy every chance she gets.

At first, Murphy would jump up, down or sideways to avoid the attack, but eventually he realized the attacks of the little cat were nothing worry about.

Now when she attacks Murphy just looks at her and keeps doing whatever it was he was doing.

Squeak the Mini Cat does not care and bounds away only to attack again a few minutes later – when she is done attacking my shoes, or the curtains, or lint, or...

Copyright 2015, Darren Handschuh

Tiny kitten takes over my home

Young Daughter wanted to get a pet. Her oldest brother had a series of hamsters when he was young, and she wanted a pet of her own as well.

Einstein was the first rodent I have ever welcome into my home and lived to the ripe old age of just over two years, which is pretty good for a little furball.

He was followed by another hamster, Fiona, which was the meanest, nastiest most hostile mouse wannabe I have ever seen.

At first my son tolerated the beast because he wanted a pet and missed his old pal Einstein. But when the hamster from hell took a bite out of his finger, she had to go. First we took her to the SPCA, but they said they would not take an animal with social issues.

She wasn't an alcoholic or anything, just grumpy, but either way they would not take her. I suggested we put Fiona in the backyard with our other pet, Gilbert the cat, and let nature take its course.

It would have been a tough scrap, but I was confident Gilbert would have won, although not as mean as Fiona, Gil was a cat and only in cartoons does a rodent beat a cat.

However, the Missus would have nothing to do with using the cat as a hired assassin, so we ended up taking the stupid rat to the vet to be whacked, er, I mean, humanely put down.

“For an extra $40 we can have her cremated and put her ashes in a box,” said the nice lady at the vet's office.

I paid less than $10 for the hamster, I am already kicking out $30 to have her put down and I really don't want the ashes of a violent rodent in my house, so I think I will pass. Thanks.

We got my oldest son another hamster that lived for a couple of years in peace and harmony with the world around him.

During all of this, my middle son wanted a pet so we got the aforementioned cat. We had a dog who passed, so we got another canine: the now-famous Murphy the Wonder Dog.

Young Daughter was not too crazy about any of the critters, so I was surprised when she wanted a pet of her own. She did not want a dog – she really does not like dogs – she didn't want a rodent, fish were about as fun as a pet piece of tape, so the type of critter she was interested in was pretty much narrowed down to a cat.

But she was not too fond of Gilbert.

“Keep Gilbert out of my room” was heard echoing through my home on many occasions, but the more she thought about it, the more she wanted a kitten of her very own.

I am not a huge cat person, and we already had Gilbert, but it was not fair she did not have a pet so it was off to the SPCA we went.

After looking at a few kittens she settled on a tiny, little black and gray bundle of cuteness that she named after her stuffed toy from when she was a wee child.

Sessa-Lisa, or Lisa for short, came home with us that day. Because Gilbert is the mellowest cat in the world he could have cared less.

Murphy the Wonder Dog was doing some wondering of his own. He was wondering what the heck had invaded his home now.

She weighs less than two pounds, but Lisa put 20-pound Murphy in the run from the moment she showed up.

With a hiss, growl and a smack on the nose Lisa unleashed the fury only a nine-week old kitten can – and it worked because the past few days Murphy has been as nervous as a mouse at a cat convention.

Lisa is also living in Young Daughter's room she is thrilled to have her.

So now I have two cats and a dog living under my roof. I am glad I do not have anymore children because I do not want anymore pets.

Mind you there is this cute little puppy for sale...

Copyright 2015, Darren Handschuh

A hunter, a killer, an angry furball

Gilbert the Cat is not a happy feline.
But his discomfort was caused by his own paw.
You see, Gilbert is a hunter, a killer, a wild beast that tracks, slays and eats mice and birds.
He does not have to because we do feed him delicious and nutritious cat food whenever he wants it, but that predatory heritage is hard to shake and he still prefers to grab a meal on the go whenever he can.
I watched him catch a mouse one day and realized cats are more heartless than a gas company executive.
He did not just catch the mouse – he tormented it. He would hold it down with his paws for a while and sit there and look around while the mouse said the rodent equivalent of a Hail Mary or two, or three, or a million.
He would then let the mouse go and the little guy would take off like his life depended on it, which it did, only to have the cat grab him again.
A couple times, Gil would throw the rodent in the air and try to catch it before it hits the ground.
He was having a grand old time. Gilbert that is, not the mouse who obviously went between moments of hope of escape to the dread of being captured time and again.
Then with a final crunch of his jaws, the mouse was done for. Gil chewed his head for a little while before grabbing Mickey's cousin between his front paws and essentially pulling the insides out. I did not know cats did that, but it seemed a very efficient way to prepare a meal.
The icky bits were left in a pile on the front lawn, while Gilbert strutted away feeling proud of his kill.
More than once I would head out in the morning and find a pile of feathers or mouse remnants in the yard, another victim of the killer cat.
They will never know it, but those birds, mice and whatever else the cat managed to catch, kill and ingest administered a measure of revenge in their deaths.
They gave Gilbert worms. Big, white disgusting worms. We did not know he had worms until he barfed one up the other day.
Yup, it was pretty disgusting. As if cat puke is not gross enough, to see a white wiggler writhing around in puddle of kitty barf takes it to a whole new level.
So we called the vet and bought some potion we have to squirt down his throat twice a day, much to his immense displeasure.
I don't imagine the stuff tastes very good and I am not about to try it to find out, but it is his own fault. If Gil wasn't so enthusiastic about hunting and killing things, he would not have to endure the eye dropper full of this brownish liquid.
I hold him wrapped in blanket while the Missus – who is a nurse and can transfer those skills to the animal realm – squirts the stuff down his gullet. He  makes a very unhappy sound while thrashing his head around and trying to spit out the offending liquid.
He then gives us an evil glare like it's all our fault he has worms. I am sure he is plotting some form of revenge and I always look in my shoes before putting them on.
The vet said he needs the 'treatment' for a full week, so twice a day I wrap him up, hold his head still and the Missus squirts the medicine into his mouth.
The vet said when the worms die they will come out in his poop.
“You should check his bowel movements for the next week or so and keep an eye out for them.”
No.
I will simply trust the medication did its job and the cat is worm free because as fun as looking at a pile of cat poop sounds, I have other things to do – like anything.

copyright 2014, Darren Handschuh