Cool Cats Under Cars

When we were housesitting for Michael in Chapel Hill, there was a typically elaborate choreography involving the four animals. The two cats would come down early in the morning demanding, with expectant reproachful looks, to be fed. (That look sends your average abject cat-servant into a frenzy of propitiatory can-opening. Why we can't just say "Oh, go away and come back when it suits me" is a mystery.) The dogs would have to be put outside so they wouldn't rush in and scarf down the cat food. They, especially the pug, would start barking (yapping, howling), waking up the whole neighborhood. The cats would not-finish their breakfast at their own leisurely pace, whatever they left for later would have to be lifted up above dog level, and then, while I scrambled to fix the dog food to shut the dogs up, Dick, the deliberate, baleful, asthmatic, diabetic male tabby, having had his meds, would go to the front door and, if you didn't let him out right away, scratch on it loudly till you did. (I must say, though, the dogs made the cats look like oases of cool.)

I'll spare you the rest of the circus.

My instructions said Dick was allowed to go outside whenever he wanted, and that I might have to call him in before locking up at night; he'd probably be waiting under the front porch. (Imagine how ridiculous I felt going outside and calling "Dick! Dick!") He spent large portions of the day outside, and I'd often find him lounging on the porch settee when he'd finished his rounds. It got very hot, and one day when we had to drive somewhere, Dick demanded to go out just as we were getting ready to leave. I went, "Don't want him out when we're not here. -- Oh well, why not. We won't be gone long," because he was giving me That Look that cat-servants are post-hypnotically compelled to obey.

Fortunately (Michael will say unfortunately), it occurred to me to look under the car before we drove away. Something triggered a memory that cats often choose to lie under cars to stay cool. Sure enough, there was Dick, reclining in the shade right behind a back wheel. I picked him up and carried him protesting inside, and didn't let him out again when a drive was in the offing.

I wouldn't be telling you this rather pointless story, except that yesterday three photographs arrived in an e-mail from my sister's family, all five of whom just succeeded in climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro. There were two photos of them, bundled and be-goggled and almost unrecognizable, near and at the summit. And then there was this: (Click to enlarge.)

Comments

[Icepick]

Oh, posted 24 minutes too late to qualify as Friday (Big) Cat Blogging! Nevertheless, that's a cool picture.

[amba]

Yeah, damn, I realized this morning I missed the deadline. (Maybe it can sneak in under the wire.)

[michael reynolds]

So close. So close. And the car's a hybrid so it starts silently. Dick might well have failed to get out from under.

You would have felt bad, my kids would have cried, my wife would have cried, and I'd have locked myself in the pantry and danced.

[amba]

As far as I could tell (correct me if I'm wrong), he didn't pee on anything while you were away. (Maybe because he spent so much time outside.) He purred quite a bit too.

Wait a minute, could it be . . .

[michael reynolds]

Now you're making the argument that Dick hates me, that his pissing is a deliberate hostile act. This naturally frees me to respond with equal malice, in a manner appropriate to my own species. And man, as we know, is the ultimate predator.

[Ŧαŋġуаρρłε]

Oooooooh, big kitties! One reason my favorite theme park is MarineWorld. Don't know when I'll get the chance to go to Africa.

(What's the Friday Cat Blogging?)

:)

[amba]

For Friday Catblogging explanation, see here. (Scroll down to the Arkives.)