Hallowe’en conjures up something different for
everyone. Some think about dressing up in costumes and trick or treating. Others
decorate their homes with ghosties, ghoulies, and jack-o’-lanterns. Some dream
of mischief and all the naughty pranks they can pull.
When I think of Hallowe’en, the first thing I
think about is cat pee. That’s right—you heard me. Cat Pee.
But why? You’re undoubtedly asking yourself, with
equal measures of intrigue, disgust, and amazement.
I should explain. It all started innocently enough.
When my husband and I were dating, I got him an ugly black kitten as a gift. He
had a face only a mother and I could love.
The kitten was black and sleek and had orange-brown eyes
that looked more like a lizard’s than a cat’s. He had very short ears giving
him that vintage Batman look, and to top off, he had very long pointy canine
teeth that extended well past his upper gumline, so he had a severe case of
‘perma-fang.’
Best present ever!
And lo, my then-boyfriend, husband-to-be, named him
Gimli. This is about when I became a student to the decades-long tutelage on
all that is J. R. R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings series. Being more of a
Star Wars nerd, this would prove to be an education, but I digress…
Gimli’s unusual appearance was exceeded only by his
intelligence and nerve. This cat had balls, even after we had them surgically
removed.
After the wedding, Gimli and my pets became one big
happy family. Despite my worries, the hubby allowed Gimli to be an ‘outdoor
cat.’
He was like a wild teenager, coming and going at all
hours. This would’ve been ok if we had a pet door, but he’d yowl at my bedroom
window at 5 am to be let in.
Mine were ‘indoor cats.’
*Cue the snide looks*
So, they were all, ‘Why does he get to go outside?’ at first.
Gimli was a character. When I walked our dog up into
the back fields behind our subdivision, he’d follow us, careful to keep a
15-foot distance like our very own Secret Service detail.
In all honesty, he was probably just wondering, ‘Where
the heck is the human dragging the mutt? Far away, I hope.’
Sometimes, Gimli would get bored tailing us and he’d
go lie in the middle of the road in front of our house. He’d be soaking up the
rays on the warm pavement and staring down the approaching cars. They’d honk, and
he’d swish his tail, forcing them to go around him. The cat had balls.
Probably by now, you’re wondering how cat pee fits into
all of this, but it was vital to establish character, your honor.
If there are no further objections, I’ll tell you. Our
local radio DJ advised city folks to keep their cats indoors before and just
after Hallowe’en for their safety, especially if they were black cats. There
had been a rash of pet hate crimes locally.
Of course, I thought this was brilliant, and just the
thing to do. So, after dinner that night, I spoke of the radio announcement and
decreed that we would follow suit for Gimli’s safety and well-being.
Gimli did not respond well to forced captivity. I
would stare down into his beady little lizard eyes and tell him, ‘It’s for your
own good. You don’t want to be hurt, killed, sacrificed, or maimed, do you?’
I should’ve seen the fury building in those eyes of
his. I should’ve heard it in the annoyed yowls that he so lovingly communicated
in my ear when I was sleeping.
By day three, which was Hallowe’en, he’d had enough. The
look of fury had turned to rage, that rage had turned to pure, unbridled wrath.
And that wrath could only be quenched with an act of vengeance most vile.
Of
course, he didn’t blame the hubby, his besty, and partner in crime. (And yes, I
went into this marriage, knowing full well that wasn’t me, but I was
okay with it, far be it for me to be jealous of a mere cat.)
Maybe it was the fact that every time the hubby met
with Gimli, he said, ‘Sorry buddy, but she said you have to stay inside
for your own good.’
The hubby would even favor me with that look of mock disdain
that the cat wholly embraced as real. The tall human…understood.
Ah yes, the vaunted enemy. She.
Gimli’s vengeance had a target identified and locked
in. All that remained was delivering the coup de grâce to the target.
It was our first year in the neighborhood. I had no
idea how many kids would visit. The subdivision was new and had lots of
families. Better safe than sorry. So, I ran out to buy more candy and chips in
case we ran out.
I arrived home, struggling with my grocery bags because
I was younger then and was the sort to carry all of them at once even if it
killed me, instead of making several trips.
So, I walked into the kitchen and Gimli was
there…lying in wait on the countertop. He stood up and looked me in the eye
with those snaky, unblinking eyes of his and hissed.
He then proceeded to spray the entire kitchen counter,
including the jars where I stored coffee, tea, and sugar, the microwave, the
coffeemaker, the upper cupboards, the mugs that hung from them on hooks…everything.
No surface was spared the wrath of Gimli. Quite an achievement for a neutered
male cat.
He even got my Siamese, Nikki, who seemed to say, “What?
What did I do?! You %@#@#$!!”
I was not thrilled or impressed. I was ready to tie Gimli
to a stake on the front lawn with a sign saying, ‘Black Cat for Sacrifice—Free.’
Just as I was pulling out the markers, cardboard, and heavy-duty
zip ties, the hubby came home from work and Gimli gave me that smug look that
he always did when he got his way.
Darn it. Foiled again. ‘Fine cat, you win. This
time.’
And so…Gimli was safe for another Hallowe’en.
We observed the safety measures every Hallowe’en, for
the next thirteen…but I had to up my game more than once.
Happy Hallowe’en. Keep your pets safe!!
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