And Then There Were Three
Mabel, formerly “Mei-Mei,” formerly “Betty,” arrived at my house July 4th weekend as a foster cat, tiny, bitter, and silent. At first, she hid on a bathroom shelf, and tried to impersonate a Scrubbing Bubble (…successfully; like I said, tiny). Then she hid under the couch. I could only see tiny, bitter blinking, and the little priest-collar mark she has on her chest. She came out to have snacks and use the box, but only in the dark of night, grudgingly. (And tinily, and silently.)
That went on for two weeks. In the third week, she occasionally consented to “hide” “in” a dining-room chair during daylight hours, and to crunch kibble out loud, but eye contact sent her back under the couch, or into the bookcase, and by that point, I had given up hope of finding a home for her. I couldn’t find her half the time, and the photographs I’d hoped would attract prospective parents largely consisted of a blurry, tiny, bitter, silent tail vanishing out of the frame.
I composed an email to the head of the foster-cat organization to inform her that the foster cat had, thanks to an effective counter-counter-insurgency campaign called Operation Enduring Invisibility, become merely “the cat.” I hadn’t really bargained for a third feline, but at that point, I didn’t really have a third feline; I had two actual felines and half a ghost feline, and the little phantom used her litter like a good girl, so what the hell. I asked for Mabel’s medical records, and hit send. Five minutes later, Mabel materialized and wove a quick figure eight around my ankles. Later that day, she let me pet her…one pat, and then the puff-of-smoke routine, but hey, progress. Maybe all she wanted was to know that she could stay.
Seven months later, matters have improved greatly. She is still tiny; I’ve fattened her up to fighting weight, but that’s still only seven pounds. The bitterness, however, is gone. Well, gone from her. Someone whose name rhymes with “Brittle Foe” had gotten verrry used to being the baby of the family, and is really not all that excited about his little sister, or her habit of running under his chin (…tiny) to get to the fullest food bowl before he does, or how, no matter how tightly he snuggles in against me at night, she can always wedge in even tighter (…tiny), or her ability to hide behind (or in) (tiny) a single shoe and swipe him with her kitten-Ginsu claws (tiny). Joe has conveniently forgotten that he’s pulled that kind of shit on Hobey for years — he rolled out the old “I’ll just flop down right here next to Mom…oh heyyyyy Hobe I didn’t seeeee you there” not ten minutes ago, and Hobey trudged off for the 484,195th time all “‘didn’t see me’ — I AM ORANGE, Louis Braille” — and now he’s ultra-offended that Mabel is getting away with it. But Mabel herself seems quite content.
And never more so than when she’s performing high-decibel home-acoustics tests. The whole silence thing? A distant memory. Of Mabel’s seven pounds, six and a half must consist of lung, because girlfriend likes to yell. God forbid she just come looking for me instead of bellowing from the other end of the house. “MOM, WHERE ARE YOU?” “Right here, Mabel.” “MOM!” “Right here, Mabel.” “MOOOOOOOOOOM.” “Mabel, come here, little g–” “MOM-MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.” “OKAY, MABEL, JESUS CHRIST!” “MOM!” “SHUT UP, MABEL.” “MOM.” “SHUT UP, MABEL.” I’ve sort of gotten used to it by now, but she also does it to houseguests, usually by padding right up close to them on her very little fog feet and then meow-tasering them: “OH HI I’M MABEL WHAT ARE YOU GUYS DOING OH ‘SLEEPING’ CAN I PLAY YEAH IT’S PRETTY LATE HUH HEY HAVE YOU SEEN MY MOM YOU KNOW MAYBE IF I KEEP YELLING IN YOUR FACE SHE’LL COME DOWN AND HANG OUT WITH US. HI. MOM!” What Al Lowe said: “It’s just a-may-zing how much sound can come out of that teeny little body.” What Al Lowe meant: “If that shouty little minnow weren’t so speedy, I’d stomp her flat.” Which…seriously.
So…she’s an air horn with feet; she won’t let me put her in a carrier (nor will her incisor “let” an oven mitt protect my thumb during the attempt); and I do not approve of her relationship with her pet tent. The pet tent — which, in my defense, came with her; I didn’t buy it — is covered in a cheap-looking blue plaidy sort of fabric with brown teddy bears on it; it’s hideous, and I could sew up a replacement cover for it in like ten minutes if Mabel would permit it. But every time I so much as pick it up to try to measure it, she gets really anxious that I might throw it away and she runs around and around in a…well, a very tiny circle, so a dot, I guess, and wants to climb my boot, howling like the world’s bittiest coyote. It’s…fucked up, which means she fits right into a household where the ancient orange cat will only drink out of the sink and has recently become obsessed with sleeping in my bedside table, and the slightly less ancient but fat cat recently sank a fang into my elbow when I refused to give him a gherkin.
And: she’s really cute, you guys.
Tags: Al Lowe fat cats feline fun times orange cats random sibling cruelty shut up crappy pet owners so I says to Mabel I says The Damn Millionaires tiny grey cats
@Kim: Aw. There’s something about little-kid things loved by pets that makes each variable in that equation even cuter. (Exhibit A: When Mr. S’s dog, Rachel, walks around with one of Master S’s Elmos [“Elmi”?] in her mouth.)
Mabel has shed so much inside the tent that pretty soon she won’t be able to get in it anymore.
@ Sars
It isn’t so cute when my dog gets a hold of my stuffed Herpes virus. That’s just kind of skeevy. The martian popping thing from Archie McPhee’s is pretty hilarious, though. It always scared her when its eyes bug out.
The name Mabel always makes me think of “Mad About You” – Mothers Always Bring Extra Love. Congrats on your not-so-new-anymore family member, Sars!
Thanks for another great cat post which as usual made me cry with laughter. You inspired me to get my own cat a few years ago and I’ve never regretted it.
I’m glad I’m not the only one in the 3-cat demographic. My third, Batfink, was an unintentional adoption. The rescue lady from whom I got the other two (after my first two died within two months of each other, at 18 and 19 years old respectively) called me up six weeks after getting Siegfreid saying, remember the little torbie kitten in the cage with Siggy? Well, she needs a home too… Gah. Fine, add yet another crazy feline to the household, why not. But she turned out to be, after many months of running and hiding and jumping through the roof and “what is this ‘petting’ of which you speak?” confused looks, to be one of the best cats I’ve ever had the pleasure of being slave to.
And she sings too.
Good luck, and remember that they now have the numbers to form a gang.
Awwww, what a beautiful girl! My kitty is 16 years, now, and is still fairly healthy. Well, relatively healthy – she has no spleen and has had 4 surgeries in her lifetime. She’s pretty much used up 8 of her 9 lives, I think.
Because her kidneys are troublesome, we’ve had to give her fluid injections. Now, when the vet asked if I wanted to “give her fluid injections at home”, I was thinking… injections = hypodermic needle, or in short “shots”. I have had to give shots to my pets in the past, so I knew I could handle this. Sure, I said… bring on the “injections”.
Which is why I was a little concerned when they brought out the IV bag and drip contraption thingy… Have you ever tried to take a cranky, 16 year old calico cat, stick a large needle in her back, and then keep her still for 5 minutes while 100CCs of fluid flows into her – drip by painful drip? No? Well… you’re certainly missing out. The first time we tried it, the needle kept falling out, and she was NOT happy. Poor kitty… but, we figured it out and I have to say that the extra fluids are doing wonders for her complexion if not her attitude.
And I agree – we need photos of the kittens riding the Pyrenees.
Gah. Fine, add yet another crazy feline to the household, why not.
They’ll put that on my tombstone. (That, or “Please get your tail out of my coffee.”)
LOVE her!! Such a little cutie! More cats! MORE! Congratulations!
My siamese Beamer does the yelling around the apartment thing-sometimes he sounds so mournful I wonder that the neighbors don’t call Animal Cops.
My tabby Miki has a stuffed blue rabbit she’s had since she was as small as it is. Now she talks to it and carries it around like a kitten- but only if she doesn’t know you’re there. She even pulls it through the cat door into the basement and back. I catch her walking around with it every once in a while, but as soon as she sees you she spits it out like, “Pleh. Um. Yes?”
Aw, Mabel looks like a smaller version of my sweet little 2 year old tabby. She’s also a yowler and it’s problematic in a small apartment. I feel like she’s bored being home by herself all day and I’ve tried so many solutions that I feel like the only one left is to get a new kitten companion for her. I get so tempted when I read posts like this – although it might just compound the problem…
Yay for a new addition to the Tomato Nation family! Although, I know what it’s like to own an “air horn with feet” and I’ll have to say is that you get used to sleeping with earplugs…
My kitty Bauer has a dog bed that she inherited from my in-laws’ old dog. They would come visit and bring along their 18-year-old shaky, wobbly, decrepit little dog. They’d put the bed down for him, and she’d be in it before you could get it halfway to the floor, with zero intention of leaving. Casey, the dog, would stand at the edge of the bed and stare at her. She’d completely ignore him and he’d plod off to find somewhere else to sleep.
When my in-laws finally had to put Casey down, my MIL passed his bed on to us. It’s dark blue and green with dogs all over it, and it’s quite ugly. Bauer still sleeps in it regularly, ignoring the nice pretty bed I bought her that she’s never even deigned to set foot in. It’s the kitty toy repository now.
Is Bauer named for a certain hero of FOX television? That would be amazing.
Ah, fog feet.
(tiny)
SO CUTE.
Yup, Bauer is named for a combination of Jack from 24 and my favourite brand of hockey equipment. She generally goes by Bauser-meowser, though. (And fat-ass, but only behind her back. She does not emulate her namesake.)
Aww, Mabel is so cute. Her eyes are gorgeous.
I’m always curious to hear about other people’s cats’ behaviours; my cat is my first pet bigger than a gerbil, and the comments about how everyone’s cats speak differently is hilarious to me. Mine was more talkative when she was younger (she’s 17 now), and her usual vocal style is to quack. I get quacked at when I come in, when I get up, when I go fill bowls, when I open a can (of anything, doesn’t matter if it’s a cat edible or not), when I don’t sit down fast enough, when I move suddenly, etc. Quackquackquack.
@c8h10n4o2: like Marc Anthony & Pussyfoot? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pccO1RBJZL8
Oh god, Cayenne, if you multiply Pussyfoot by five, you have it exactly!
I had totally forgotten about that one!
Haa! Now, I would never stomp a kitty, but it IS confusing when you are half in the bag in the middle of the night and the yowl is coming from inside the bookcase. I’m just saying, if I ever start a side project and need a cat backup singer, Mabel’s in with no audition. Feline’s got some pipes.
SO cute. And tiny.
I rescued a kitten from the middle of the road some years back–tiny (less than a pound), malnourished, so anemic his tongue was chalky white, and incredibly hypothermic. I rushed him to the vet that morning, and when I went back after work to pick him up, I heard this incredible wailing coming from the back. The receptionist just cocked an eyebrow at me and said, “that’s YOUR baby.” Such a noise for such a teeny thing.
(Anyone who is relatively new to the Vine should definitely go look up past tales of Hobey and Little Joe. Some of them have made me laugh so hard I cried.)
HollyH: the one about the Roomba STILL makes me pee myself!!
Sars: Congratulations on your new furry addition! If you can find a way to record her vocalizations to use on your phone as an alarm, please let me know! Most effective alarm ever, the furry alarm with no snooze button!
Smooches, little Mabel!
Congratulations! I’ve always wanted to foster, but am afraid that what happened to you would happen to me.
*Wiping away tears of hysterical laughter*
Whew.
Damn, kids, I have MISSED this. I’m not Internet-ed at home so I have to check in on fun stuff after work but still at the office, and it gets a little creepy here after 6 pm when I’m the only one around. So I had missed out on all the Mabel-hints, and I’d also missed Little Joe-and-Hobey stories.
But I need some advice, if anyone can spare some: Last January [2010] I brought a new cat [4 yrs old or so; long-haired tortie whose name WAS “Little Kitty” (lack of imagination much?) but who, since her facial markings are divided into three different colors, has since been re-christened “Harley Quinn”] into my 2/2 apartment to “replace” a dearly departed 20-lb. brown tabby. The Stink, the orange tabby who had been left sibling-less with Raie’s death, had become even more obnoxious than she had been, biting me — in place of her previous “love nips” — and being just a regular pain in the ass. So I figured she needed company, right?
NOT SO MUCH. The two gals spent the first two nights together on my bed — on opposite corners — and since then I have had to keep them separated: Harley lives in the bedroom and gets Mommy from midnight or so until 8:30 a.m., and The Stink gets me from the time I get home from work until bedtime. I can’t let The Stink into the bedroom anymore because she charges Harley with all weapons out and a war-cry that would shatter glass; and poor Harley — who was declawed in the front by her previous mom — can only run under the bed and tremble. And then stay there for the next 34 hours.
So my question is, What Would TN Readers Do? I’ve tried leaving the door open between the rooms when I’m there, but TS goes on the warpath immediately … and I don’t want Harley to get torn to shreds. I’m pretty sure TS wouldn’t actually do her damage, but TS outweighs HQ by a good 6 pounds, and I don’t want to risk it.
Help, please?
Exchange Harley for a boy? …I’m kidding, but has anyone else noticed how hard it is to get two non-littermate girl cats to get along? You’d think boy cats would fight more, but the anecdotal evidence I have suggests that two unrelated female felines is asking for trouble. Anyone else found that to be true?
I am firmly in the “dog person” camp (never owned a cat, never will, although I do love/have loved friends’ cats before) but the Mabel story, as with all of the TN cat stories, made me laugh out loud. It is amazing how much personality our pets show. And a quick note on the “baby of the family” dynamic–you should see what happens to the spoiled, indulged, fussed over pet (perhaps I am referencing a certain yellow lab named Max who lives in my house and my heart…) when a HUMAN baby comes to live. My dog pouted for the better part of six months. Deep sighs, baleful stares, and general moping. It was pitiful AND hilarious.
Aww, so jealous! My sister and I finally found a bonded pair of kittens and were holding them for my nephew (he’s 2) to pet, when we discovered that BOTH of us are allergic. In the redness-and-hives kind of way. It’s been over a decade since we had cats, and somewhere along the way we developed allergies. (We checked with the adoption people, and both kittens had been bathed that morning, so we’re pretty sure it wasn’t anything on their fur.) So now we’re looking for dogs, which are also cute, but not the same as cats…
@Sars, @frogprof – this isn’t really in my range of personal experience, since my beastie came to me as a result of trying to adapt to another household with 2 cats; the adult male ignored her, while the [miniature and declawed] female constantly beat up on her. My gig was to be a 9-month home…13 years ago. It took more than 2 months for her to stop peering around corners, obviously expecting to be ambushed, and I didn’t want to send her back to a house with more new cats to experience what she had left behind, but that experience also told me that she would be happiest as a spoiled Only Cat.
However, over the past 50 years, my aunt & uncle have had a regular overlapping succession of 2 girl kitties, always spayed, where one was always about 10 years older than the new one, which was always brought in as a small kitten. They never loved each other, but hierarchy was always clear enough to prevent conflict. Plus they were always outdoor cats; I wonder if that makes a difference.
AWWWWWWWWWW. Lucky Mabel, getting such a good home. She’s adorable.
My shouty female cat has this one habit that melts me and drives me nuts at the same time. Every now and then at around 4am or so she starts howling in genuine misery. Not her bored yowl or hungry yowl, this lonely trailing noise I otherwise only hear when smething is seriously wrong. Every time, I wake up startled and sit up straight calling for her. Every time she makes this surprised, happy Mrr! noise, RUNS into the bedroom and basically tackles me with cuddles, burrowing into my chest or belly and purring so hard her whole ten pounds vibrates like she’s connected to a motor. It is the most adorable thing ever, and yet. It’s the middle of the damn night and reassured that, I dunno, I haven’t died in my sleep or snuck out while she snoozed she inevitably purrs herself back to sleep while I’m still trying to slow my heart rate.
My fuzzy little headcase. I wouldn’t trade her for the world.
@cayenne, @Sars: Thanks [not so much for exchanging HQ, though, Sars, heh] — I have had the females-not-getting-along thing before, but there’s never been open/guerrilla warfare up ’til this set of girlcats. (Both are spayed, of course; exclusively indoors; and without a male — or should I say “male”? — in the house, there’s no one but me over whom to fight.) Raie and TS ADORED each other — TS mourned for several weeks after Raie died (oh, and the looks I got when I came home with an empty crate from the vet’s? KILLER) — even though TS, at 10 lbs. lighter and 7 years younger, would ambush Raie frequently; they’d wrassle around for a couple of minutes with flying fur and growls and hissing, and then start bathing each other. Pretty sick-making. :)
I dunno, guess I’ll just keep trying to introduce them to each other and see if I can get them to at least not want to kill the other. (I did try some spray that was supposed to calm them down — all it did was stink up the place. NO effect on the DCs [“darn” cats].
@fogprof – since they must have separate food bowls, you could try putting their food on something that is covered with the opposite cat’s smell. If they will tolerate a treat (my cat refuses to eat anything but cat food, but other cats are not so selective), maybe even sweeten the deal. This at least gets them to associate the other cat’s smell with something positive. Also true if you pet one cat a whole bunch (maybe start with the clawed one, the first time) then immediately pet the other one. Just getting them to not immediately think of the other cat as Enemy Number One can help keep the ridiculousness to a dull roar.
“…but the anecdotal evidence I have suggests that two unrelated female felines is asking for trouble. Anyone else found that to be true?”
Yep. My childhood kitty would tolerate no other female cat on her turf. She even hissed and spat at her own mother when someone brought Mama Cat over for a visit. Unfortunately for her there was a female cat conveniently located right next door, but they seemed to have their territories worked out for the 10+ years they shared the yard. Most of the time, anyway. There would be an epic cat fight every now and then (for redistricing purposes, I guess.)
Sars, congrats on the new addition! And: so SO cute!!!
Your interior monologue for the cats remains one of my favorite blog devices, ever.
So, they’re not four tiny puppies stuck to a Pyrenees, but to sate your appetites until we can see those, here is a selection of pictures of my saintly dogs dealing with the never-ending parade of foster puppies I’ve had (and one or two of just puppies, because, PUPPIES!). Unfortunately I don’t have a picture of three five-pound puppies dragging my seventy pound lab/pit mix across the floor by his tail, which has happened multiple times, while he sighs, then looks at me, then sighs, then his eyes say, “I said, SIGH.”
http://www.flickr.com/photos/60360573@N07/
I’m going to print out 017…IN MY HEART.
Thank you so much for sharing Mabel! I often think of Little Joe and The Hobe (especially when I see a Roomba) and now they have a leeetle seeester! awww.
Great story. Hope there’s more to come!
Obviously I came late to this party, but congrats on the “new baby” :). I now have four cats myself; my two elderly cats died, and somehow I accumulated 4 more (there were two fosters along the way, 1 of which got adopted, and the other of which launched a vicious and unprovoked attack on my leg that cost me a grand total of $700 in medical bills and got his butt kicked back to the rescue group).
I’m now the proud mama of 4 “boys” – 3 solid black cats with varying fur texture, and one sleek little grey tiger tom. With whom I had multiple conversations much like the ones you have with Mabel, until I adopted my fourth & final cat, who keeps the little tiger constantly active; he now has no energy or time to run around shrieking. Thank goodness. :)
Awwww, Mabel sounds wonderful! I had a cat, God rest him, who was very very stupid and would actually get lost in my 900 sq ft house. He’d yowl and yowl and when I’d come into the room, he’d RUN to me and leap into my arms, purring in frantic relief.
Out of my current herd of cats, I have a 20 year-old deaf cat who weighs about five pounds and even people who hate cats love her. My other teeny girl (maybe five and a half lbs) has a great loud croaky meow. Visitors always look at her in disbelief when she unloads The Meow.
And I would like to say, I still rant about beating people to death with a flaming beehive and telling various and sundry Shouty McYellersons to switch to decaf. Thank you for all these years of fabulous writing, and for being such a great caring person.
Maybe you got her name wrong. Maybe it’s not Mabel but Melba – as in Nellie Melba, famous Australian operatic soprano?
Dear Zeus I love it when you write about your cats.
Thanks for that one…..
While this is an old entry, I went looking for it specifically tonight. I just (like, 12 hours ago) lost my baby boy to Feline Infectious Peritonitis and I knew this would make me giggle. (and… find myself searching petfinder… odd)
Thank you for the much needed laughing in memory of my baby Zipper.
Aww. I’m sorry about Zipper.