Looking out my Backdoor: She's an angel - She's a devil

It is dangerous to invite a stranger into one’s home, one’s sanctuary. Can the guest be trusted to display simple rudimentary manners? What if we’re not compatible? What if our schedules don’t mesh? Will there be food issues? What if we end up eye-balling one another with death wishes?

A thousand considerations must be addressed. Yet, on impulse, I invited Cat Ballou into my home a mere month ago. Fortunately, she is bi-lingual.

Unfortunately, within a couple days I found myself cuddling the little fur-ball beneath my chin, while making baby coo noises in her ear, a habit I find repulsive in mature, adult women. Strike One against me.

I also think it tacky, tasteless and pathetic when people write about a pet animal giving it human characteristics. So far I’m not doing well on my pet-owner scale.

To my credit, Cat Ballou and I had several serious talks, in adult language, those first days. I talked; she listened. She is pure cat and gave me no hint of her perceptions. Probably, if cat thought could be translated into human language, she saw my mouth flapping and heard blah, blah, blah, Kitty.

I don’t mind. Intonation is everything. Ask my children.

Nevertheless, I set my boundaries; after all, it is my home. My commandments are simple.

• Thou Shalt Not Shred My Furniture.

• Thou Shalt Not Shred My Tissue Paper Skin.

The Tooth and Claw commandments have been obeyed since day one. Like her namesake, Cat Ballou is an angel; she is a devil. But she plays gently and respects my furniture and my fingers.

• Thou Shalt Not Jump on The Table.

This simple directive includes my computer desk and countertops. A cat’s nature is to be curious, to inspect every inch of territory. Whack! Physical removal coupled with harsh words did the trick. Quick learner, that girl. Who knows what happens when I’m not around. (Sigh.)

• Thou Shalt Not Require In-house Litter Box.

Smart cat. She quickly adapted to outdoor facilities. She tells me when she wants in. She tells me when she wants out. Let’s not discuss who trained whom.

• Thou Shalt Be True to Thy Hunter Nature.

My preference is an outside cat with indoor privileges. No pampered freeloader lives at my house.

On the ranch we are surrounded by corn fields. Mice and other rodents have no respect for fence lines. Soon, Cat Ballou will begin to leave trophies of her prowess on the doorstep. Soon, I’ll open the door in the morning to mouse tails, lizard legs, or bird feathers. Meanwhile, she is a kitten, in elementary school, so to speak.

One evening as the moon was waxing full. Squeaky, Lani’s nasty male cat showed up at my door, full of curiosity, wanting to be social. Squeaky had never before set paw on my patio. Squeaky, though neutered, exhibits a disgusting tendency to want to paw the merchandise. He’s much older. He’s been around the block more than once, the cad.

Cat Ballou arched her back, every hair stood high. She spit. She snarled. I praised her good sense. I’m trying to raise a good Catholic girl. Hail Mary.

Squeaky yawned. He glanced back at me with, I swear, a cunning smirk.

That night the little tramp didn’t slink home until 1:00 in the morning. Then she rubbed against my back the rest of the night, purr motor rumbling on high.

The next night Squeaky showed up at sundown, looking forlorn and abashed, a typical suitor. The night was beautiful. Full moon. I walked the floor. Ballou didn’t come home until 2:15.

I added a new directive.

• Thou Shalt Not Consort With Lowlife Neighbor Cats.

My Little Missy is grounded. Some nights she foils me and refuses to come in at dark. Some nights she saunters in at dawn’s early light. Well, it didn’t work for my children either.

Next week we return to the vet for booster shots and to set a date for that essential surgery. That day cannot come too soon.

——

Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com. Email [email protected].