By Cheryl L. Kemp
Sunday
3:00 p.m.: I just arrived at my sister Deb’s for my pet sitting gig. The cats are wary and stand-offish but I’m sure I can remedy that.
I begin by reading the little sticky notes left by my sister. Everything is efficiently tagged and labeled, then I see it—the notebook. As I scan the many pages of instructions, I can only marvel over how these animals have her trained. I will not be dictated to by a pack of felines!
4:00 p.m.: It’s time to begin serving dinner. I must use new, clean bowls with each feeding, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. It’s dry food for heaven’s sake. Four different foods? Young cats, old cats, special needs cats… Don’t forget the many water bowls scattered around the house. A deep sigh escapes me.
After feeding, I scan the afternoon schedule and realize all is done until evening. Time to win over the cluster and do a baseline headcount. The cute gray tiger, Heartsy, was a no go—he hid. I’ll get back to him. Rikki, the eldest, let me scratch behind her ears and pet her head…but just a little. “Let’s not get all handsy,” her nasty Siamese look said as she peered up at me with narrowed blue eyes. It’s okay, I have three days. Good old Milton, the Maine Coon and mayor of Cat City, is on me like butter on toast. I love that fellow…thinking about making him a pirate patch for that milky-white eye. Paris, the female calico is accepting and sweet, so no problem with her. Lil Buddy, the bottle-raised rescue is also there but lounging in the bedroom side table. Maybe I should say he is the side table. He’s a big boy—almost as wide as he is tall. I open the sliding patio door and the sleek sibling brothers, Tay, Andy, and Shanty shoot out.
7:30 p.m.: It’s getting toward evening, and I wonder about the mischievous brothers. Oh good, Tay is at the front door. I pet his head and he rubs against my leg as he enters. I love me some Tay. He’s a beautiful Siamese and still my buddy. Now where is that Andy and Shanty?
8:00 p.m.: I check the front door and pure black Shanty comes streaking in like an ink splash. Down the hallway he goes and leaps up on the open ledge in one fluid motion. He is gorgeous and looks like a lithe Egyptian cat. He is busily munching down dry food from his bowl, and I pet him. He happily rubs against my hand, and I smile. Sweet as molasses. Still no Andy…fret, fret, fret. It’s very cold and dark out there.
8:30 p.m.: Where is that sneaky Siamese Andy? The apple of my sister’s eye. I must get him in for the night. I spy him laying by the big pine tree out front. “Come on Andy-Pandy,” I call in a high, cajoling voice. He’s coming! …almost here…strolling slowly across the drive…almost to the porch… He agonizingly slowly tiptoes over the threshold and he’s in! Shanty darts out. WHAT THE…?!! Are you kidding me? “Get in here!” I yell at him. Black tail waving like a victory flag he runs off. Ok, fine! Don’t panic. Determined, I go about my business getting ready for bed. With crazy anxiety, I crack the front door. Shanty streaks back in. I’m so relieved but I can’t help grumbling, “That’s what I thought!” He appears to care less so I add a, “Hmph!”
Monday
1:00 a.m.: Andy is howling. It’s an excruciating, echoing, guttural howl. He wants out. His brothers are wound up now and they also want out. I assure them they are not going out. They shoot daggers at me with their piercing eyes and pace laps around the kitchen island to show their obvious displeasure at my apparent ignorance. “This one is truly dumb and cannot be trained,” they seem to howl to one another. I crawl into bed and try to get back to sleep, but sleep is only a pipe dream.
5:00 a.m.: Shanty is at the door howling and pacing, growling, and parading. His two brothers join him. “Don’t you know we do what we want, stupid human?” their shrill cries seem to mock. I refuse to sit and try to explain to them about responsibility. Yawn…so tired.
8:00 a.m.: Time to begin the process all over again. But, HELLO! This morning’s chore list is much more in depth but I’m doing none of it until I’ve had my coffee! Check the notebook. Get it right because it’s a cat frenzy up in here when I pop the canned food. Juggling bowls, trying to remember who gets what and where. I’m pretty sure my IQ went up 30 points. Milton and Heartsy are done in record time. Special urinary canned food for Rikki and Paris. I guess the females get UTIs just like the rest of us. Little Buddy refuses to eat with me there. I think he’s still upset about the side table crack. The three hoodlum brothers will have to have leftovers as they jetted out the door while I tried to grab some fresh morning air. What a trio of asshats!
4:30 p.m.: Afternoon routine completed. The Three Brothers Grim bolt out.
8:45 p.m.: I open the front door to yell for the trio of delinquents. Tay runs in.
8:50 p.m.: Front door is opened, and Shanty runs in.
9:00 p.m.: I once again open the front door and nothing. “Annnnnddddy!” Where is he? Like I don’t have enough stress…beginning to see a pattern here. Front door open, “Annnndy, Pannndy!” Wait, is that him? I click on the front porch light and he’s lying under the blue spruce staring at me. “Get in here!” Staring…. staring. “You’re an asshat!” I slam the door. I open front door. “Get in here!” Staring… staring. “I hate you!” I slam the door.
9:30 p.m.: I open the door to yell and Andy nonchalantly strolls in. Shanty makes a move to scoot out but I “Psssst!” at him. I’m pretty sure he told me to go “F” myself, but I win!
Tuesday
9:00 a.m.: Everyone is fed and out and in. Morning kitty naps are in progress. Car loaded and I give my last pats and goodbyes to all my furry friends. I feel my jaw tighten and my eyes swim. Ah well, I’ll be back.
Cheryl L. Kemp is a wife, a mother of two young adults, artist, gardener, herbalist, and writer. She is an avid animal lover and has extensive experience in dog handling and cat wrangling. Cooper and Triton, her two pitties are perfect gentlemen and ambassadors for the breed.
