a calamitous tale

a calamitous tale

This is the story of a Doodle. A Calzoo, Be Be Bralzood, Pooka, Princess.

Our cat Calamity has lived up to her nom de guerre, starting right at the beginning. She was quite unceremoniously plunked on the pavement of my in-law’s driveway. They live on a farm, so when the neighbors discovered a mewling calico cat bomb, they thought it best to deposit her with She Who Harbors Creatures (my mother-in-law is notorious for saving and caring for all animals, large, small, slithering, hopping, or homeless).

So when this gangly tot purrson was unequivocally dropped to the asphalt, Dad-in-Law got to stop their movie to induct kitty into Barndom. Thinking all was well with the new mouser, he headed back to the castle of humans and their entertainment on pause.

And…so did she.

The slinky little nudger trotted right behind his heels back to the house. Contrary to her human hosts, she had visions of indoor grandeur.

And thus commenced the first known concert of Howly Callie. She sat outside the open window and warbled and whined, meowed and yoo-hallooed.  Her voice defied her stature and her cat cacophony serenaded them with sweet strains of “let me in”s and “don’t leave me out here”s.

Flash to present day. Callie is a champion singer of emotions. Many a morning we can be awoken with chirps, garblings and moans – her “feed me” aria is first class. We think she may have some Siamese in her that adds punch to her pipes, but either way, she’s honed her craft to acute reaction stirring bellows.

Moved to action, the window was expeditiously closed on her less than melodic mewsings.

 

Her song continued undeterred- one might even say she hit octaves and rhythms of a more insistent tone. Resolute to keeping the indoor critter count to a reasonable level, Calamity was (as well as can be managed) ignored.

Unfortunately, there was a reason for her fevered pitch. Yup. Cue the ‘aww!’s, poor putty tat’s paw was squarshed betwixt the limbo of out and in. Well, as you can imagine, she was scooped and scurried to the vet where she was pronounced bruised, but unbroken, and forthwith she was welcomed to The Great Indoors.

 

Callie’s all grown up now, but still has a jaunty bork to her right foot. She stands for all intents and purposes in a very fine reverse Third Position- her normal foot prim and straight, and her right saluting the East.

Come hell or high windows, Callie was destined to be an indoor kitty and lives smugly and happily with my husband and me in our spatially challenged apartment. She’s fond of eviscerating her sock fish, pounce tackling retreating legs and burrowing under blankets.

It’s safe to say that I am (as I’m sure is the case with most Providers of Pets) too fond of my cat-child. Two peas in a pod – Doodle and doodler. She is now snailed into my lap with her head resting on my hip and her legs stretched in an Olympic diver pike. This is how we sit, nearly all day, every day. She with me, and me with she, taking turns being the one who’s comfortable, and the one who’s limbs are asleep.

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