This isn’t PB, but it could be. Looks just like her. PB, aka Purr Box, aka Nacogodoches Fats, aka StopThat! gave her claws to Mama this past May in honor of the new household carpet. So did Belle. Cuddlebug couldn’t because she has a kidney condition, and the doctor was afraid to give her anesthesia for fear her system would have a hard time flushing it out. Another story, but if any of the cats were allowed to keep their claws, Bug was the best. She’s timid, unassuming, peaceful. She only uses her powers for good. Like swatting PB when she gets too pushy.
All these months, I worried about PB. She didn’t play anymore and had to think twice about jumping up to high places–because she’d have to jump back down. Judging by the way she’d shake her paws and lick the pads, jumping down hurt. PB is a few pounds overweight so the force on her front paws upon landing must’ve been excruciating for her. She was a rescue kitten with huge green eyes and silver and white fur. Beautiful. At that time, all our cats were indoor/outdoor animals, and when we let PB out, she’d want back in within minutes. She wanted to know two things: “Do you still love me?” and “Where’s the food?” It took months for her to feel secure again, and during those months, she turned into quite a little silver bullet. The older cats had to rely on their claws–PB the kitten outweighed them by a good four pounds.
So, like I said, jumping down from high places, like the couch cushions, hurt.
Dr. Lott called a few weeks after the surgery to see how the girls were doing–yes, the vet called! Isn’t that amazing?!–and I had to tell him PB was hurting in spite of her pain medicine. She may fall into the category of cats who were crippled by claw-removal. It broke my heart.
Yesterday, I heard a thunk! against the patio windows. Not a rapid tappity-tappity-tappity the ducks make against the glass door when they’re hungry and demanding food. Not the cli-thud of a bird accidently flying into the glass. A good solid thunk! I pushed aside the curtain and there was PB, staring up at something on the other side of the glass.
The garden critter has me to thank for his tail. Ever since the girls became indoor cats, and PB can’t actually catch the running little green things, the lizards have been allowed to keep their tails. But they aren’t allowed to run along the porch windows to flaunt that fact anymore–PB feels better! She jumped up and swatted at the lizard with muted paws that once made tap-dancing clicks on the glass. She still had the moves: Jump up about four and a half feet, slap at the window with both paws all the way back down, land lightly, and stare. Rest. Repeat.
I was so happy to see this that I helped her with her quest to “catch” the lizard. I held her with her hind feet sitting on my right hand and gave her chest light support with my left. She sat like a meercat on my hand, held onto the other with her front paws, and off we went. Gotta hunt them lizards!
And she did hunt. Her eyes stared intently at the glass, she turned her head this way and that to see better, and her tail bumped against me in intent concentration–until she saw her prey. Then I got battered by a thick, rod-like tail swishing madly with excitement. She put her paws on the window and dug at it like a dog burying a bone. Both paws, thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump! The lizard ran, of course, and she leaned as far as she was able in the confines of my hands to keep up with him. I moved her little fifteen pound butt along the glass to keep her in reach. Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump!
Fortunately for me, the lizard disappeared to the safety of the outside wall just before my arm tired out from holding Nacogdoches Fats and bruises appeared from the tail-battering.
Then came the finale: With an attitude of satisfaction for a job well done, PB bobbed her head at the now-hidden lizard. And grinned.
Awww! I love cats. Don’t know what I’d do without a couple around the place.
Mine are just too funny! I think animals in general add joy to life.
Rummy, my late tabby, had to greet me “Good Morning” everyday. Beautiful would be feeding he and Bingo, but he’d wait until I said “Good Morning” to him and then he’d run off to eat. Cats are cool.
How cute! My old Tom–an orange tabby–had more personality than all my girls put together. I still miss him.
I used to be a diehard doggie person until I rescued and adopted, or I should say was chosen by my first kittie friend, Tigger. He is still with us and we have added another one to the mix, Cody, who is now 2 years old. Both cats took quite a while to adjust to each other. Tigger tolerates the younger one and has allowed him to take over favored places around the house. Cody has earned the nickname ‘bully cat’ cause he will not stop till he gets his way. However, Tigger does not always give in and lets Cody know who the man of the house is! We also have a dog who gets along with all. Today I am more of a cat lover. Cats definitely rule!!!
I love all three of my girls, but they definitely have a pecking order. PB just hasn’t learned yet where she fits in that order–she wants to be Queen Cat. Belle is forever teaching her her place.