Chapter 30 Whiskers

Chapter 30 Whiskers

Whiskers was a domestic short haired cat that decided to starve on our doorstep while we lived in Germany. She came up four flights of stairs to find us on a wintery, damp February morning in 1995.

Andrew, of course it was Andrew, talked us into keeping this small skinny cat. He promised he would take care of her, much like Eleanor promised, if they got a puppy, she'd take care of it. I reminded Andrew of this.

As soon as possible I set up an appointment for her to get her shots, a checkup, and spayed. All went well except for the spaying. They would not spay her because she was pregnant. We had to wait until the kittens were born.

Lucky me, I not only have a three-year-old yellow labrador, who never outgrew puppy, four boys ages from seventeen to two, now I have about a year-old pregnant cat. What could possibly go wrong? Well, it did. Brian was deployed to Bosnia.

The good and the bad news at the same time is Whiskers delivered her kittens, but because of the poor health she was in when she came to us, all the kittens died at or before birth.

Whiskers, since living her life up to this point, as a feral cat, she had a very wild side. More than once, she stole food from the table, right in front of us. Once she jumped up and as Steven, age two, took a bite of his sandwich and she stole it. Steven received a nasty scratch in the process.

When this happened, I took her to the veterinary clinic and told them I couldn't keep this wild cat. She attacked my toddler. They talked me into trying a little longer and to use a water bottle and spray her when she was naughty.

The water bottle partially worked. If Whiskers wanted something bad enough, she'd take the squirt and do it anyway. She was very persistent and refused to take 'no' for an answer.

Whiskers remained with us for twenty-three years. The boys renamed her, 'Loyal Companion Cat'. On her own terms she was a wonderfully interactive cat. She slept with the boys and played with them.

She still stole food from the table and still walked on my cabinets. When I'd get after her, she'd stare at me as if to say, "Lady, if you didn't have stupid rules, I wouldn't break them." I was also positive that she was planning my demise. There could only be one diva in the house, and it was her.

Since I left for work around six o'clock every morning during the school year, she was used to eating early. The problem arose on school holidays or during the summer. She still wanted to be fed at the same time. I didn't want to get up. I thought I could solve the problem by getting an automatic feeder. Nope, this cat couldn't be fooled.

Early every morning, she'd still come to wake me. She had a regular routine. First, she'd meow loudly. If that didn't work, she'd walk over me as if I were a bridge. Nope, next attempt. Whiskers was not declawed. She'd kneed me. I could feel the tips of her claws. Don't believe for a moment she finished with her intimidation. Next came the nuzzling in the face. I still pretended I didn't notice her. Finally, she'd chew on my chin. That always worked. Do you remember me telling you she had an automatic feeder? All of this was for me to put my fingers in her food. She already had food, but I needed to touch it. Nobody else, it had to be me.

Whiskers was around twenty-three years old and still a force to be reckoned with and still would amaze us. One summer day she had climbed to the roof of one of our outside sheds. She was asleep and working on her suntan. LOL Truth be told, her doctor said, she had severe arthritis in her spine. I have a feeling that the heat helped relieve some of the pain.

Harley was on the ground barking, or as we called it 'losing his stuff'. Finally, Brian went outside to see what made Harley so upset. There was a hawk circling Whiskers. Brian retrieved Whisker and brought her inside. Harley had tried to protect Whiskers.

I do have one more Whiskers' story. I never put food on the table without somebody watching it, because Whiskers would steal it. As she aged, we weren't as careful. Right after the previous incident, I put some chicken on the table. I glanced over and this old lady jumped on the table and stole a chicken leg. I let her have it. If she needed it that bad, she could have it. LOL

One sunny day, Whiskers was sunning herself on our driveway when a golden retriever came up and attacked her. A young girl on skates was walking her dog, without a leash, and he came up to Whiskers. Whiskers got a good nose swipe in, before Brian came out. The dog had Whiskers in his mouth and was shaking her. When he saw Brian, he dropped her. I took her to the veterinary clinic, but there was nothing that could be done for her. I brought her home and made her comfortable until she died. She's buried under our Oleander bushes. One of her favorite places to hide.

Whiskers was a small cat, only about ten pounds, but had a huge personality. When we get together, we still share Whiskers stories. This is a photo of her after the dog attack. She's not looking her finest, but it's her. As I wrote this, I had tears. Whiskers, although aggravating was an important part of our lives.