Well, my youngest furchild will never cease to amaze me.... He is a constant contradiction of love and snuggling and purring with claws and teeth and attitude... all in one grey-and-brown tabby exterior.
People had a fit when Scott and I named him "Monster". But what they don't understand is... the name FIT. He IS a little terror. Always has been. Maybe it's because he's had to fight for so long just to survive that he still hasn't quite figured out yet that he CAN trust us, that it IS ok to love, and it IS ok to accept love.
Monster was found in October, 2010, in a culvert when he was days old. He had been abandoned, and the vet's staff was fostering him. He was eating solid food, and would try to suckle on folds in clothing, or earlobes, or anything that resembled the size and shape of Mama's teat... until he couldn't get any sustinance from the object he was suckling on. That's when the Monster would come out, and he would bite and claw out of sheer frustration. We adopted him from the vet's office with the assurance that he was a "runty 6 weeks" (no, he was actually 4 weeks old), and that he "didn't need anything but solid food." Within 24 hours of his coming to live with us, I was in tears and praying to God to give me strength to help this helpless kitten (after he had gotten my pinky finger down the back of his throat as far as the second knuckle and refused to release his grip with his jaws) and we were going to the pet food store for kitten formula and nursing bottles. After he ate the nipple off the bottle in an attempt to get the formula we fed him the formula straight from a dish. I will have to post a picture of him with his "meelk" beard. (He would hear me mixing up the formula and he knew what was coming, so his response was to wind around my feet mewling and crying very loudly as if he were saying 'Meelk!! Meelk!!')
In those early days we kept him in the dog crate, covered with an old comforter, with toys, a tiny litter pan, and his food and water dishes. When he got bigger, and could safely navigate the clutter of our house, we fashioned the door so he could come and go as he pleased. More often than not, he enjoyed staying in the safety of his "house". When I finally took apart that crate a month ago and stored it away, I could almsot swear he was crying.
Fast forward a year, and we moved to our current home off the Washington State coast. We live in a trailer on our landlord's farm, and it has been a veritable playground for all four of the kids, but especially for Tony, Kreacher, and Monster. It is routine that I find "gifts" and "sacrifices" in the living room or office floor. With Scott now away, I have to be strong and be able to handle these offerings. I should be able to do this, right?? After all, I am a nurse, I have seen enough death that I should be able to handle a small dead rodent without a problem, right?
WRONG! I am a Labor and Delivery nurse. I deal with birth, with life, with living things!!! Several times Monster and Kreacher have brought their prey into the house to finish them off, and it sends me running for the couch and screaming like a little girl.
Now, I am getting better. A few weeks ago, I saw Kreach hunkered down in the middle of the kitchen floor. I paused because, 1) that's not like him and 2) he looked like he was prowling. #2 was the right answer. Looking a little to my left, I saw the mouse behind the bottled water cooler and the wall. Kreach proceeded to run it between the cooler and the large tote that I keep the dog food in. Tony discovered Kreach had a "victim" and came along to help. By this point I am in the kitchen, actually cheering them on!! I heard a scuffle behind me, and turned just in time to see said mouse end-over-ending it in a perfect arc through the air.
Now, for some reason, I find that vision rather funny.... many of you may not. I can assure you that the end for that critter was quick and painless because when I went around the corner, Tony had moved in to start on his "snack", which I promptly stopped.
Thursday I had to be at the hospital to attend Command Orientation. That is your basic hospital-wide orientation, which I had missed in December to be with my husband the last few hours before he left for his training. I came home from work, dropped my bag on the kitchen counter, and went to walk through the house with my dinner to the office when I found it: another sacrifice on the living room floor. What happened next is equal parts funny and frustrating. Monster came out of the bedroom where he had been napping when he saw me headed for his prize with my long-handled "gopher". I have been bypassing the act of "shrouding" the deceased with a tissue or paper towel, and gone straight for the "grab and dash", taking the carcass to the large trash can out back so it doesn't stink up the house with the decaying process.
Only, this time, I wasn't so quick with my "grab" or my "dash". Monster pounced on the rodent, snatched it into his jaws, and took off for under the table in my scrapbooking area. I proceeded to chase him through the house, was even able to catch and carry him twice, all the while he was growling and hissing and meowling (which I admire since he had the darned carcass half down his throat). I got him outside twice, all the while shouting "Take it outside, Monster, OUTSIDE"... as if he'd learn to associate "Outside" with dead things.... mhm... and I'm going to be the next Miss America, if you believe that one....
The second time I get him outside with the deceased, I feel a tiny sense of victory. He had, you see, taken it out to the enclosure Scott had created for the dogs to use when I'm gone or sleeping. I truly believed he was getting it, and was going to leave it there for him to share with his "siblings"...
Less than 5 minutes later, I hear the doggy door go "flip-flap" and decide to investigate... I see Kreach in the hall (who had been out of the house during this whole chase/outside scene) and Monster standing by the doggy door. I step toward him and he takes off running for our bedroom. The chase is on again, only this time he played his trump card... he dove under the bed where I couldn't reach. I just pray it was my mind playing tricks on me, and he didn't have a dead mouse in his teeth...
Friday morning, I am getting ready to go back to the hospital for day 2 of the orientation when I realize that Monster is missing. I occaisionally hear a cry, but no cat to be found... I had to leave, and spent the morning praying he was ok.... I get home from orientation at noon and go to the bathroom, and open the door under the vanity... and there is Monster! He popped out of the cupboard, looked up at me as if to say, "Thanks, Mom", and sauntered out of the bathroom, none the worse for the wear...
I'm still waiting to see if indeed there is something under under my king-sized bed in a room that is the size of a postage stamp... My nose will tell me...
