Enter, Zohan

When you've been privileged to have the Best Cat Ever streak in and out of your life like a purring comet, changing forever your notion of how deeply you can love a creature with the brain the size of a ping pong ball, it's easy to be a little gun shy about 'The Next One.'

(Especially when you're still swapping the debt load incurred from caring for the Best Cat Ever from no-interest credit card to no-interest credit card.)

But sometimes fate has a way of, to put it gently, kicking you in the ass. So behold, as I relinquish unto you...

The Book of Zohan

Now in those sorrowful days when we mourned the loss of Bitey, Lord of all Bouganveillia, our dear friends, Seamus & Monica, lost their beloved dog Ellie Mae. These were trying times for all, and we banded together to grieve together and help each other pass into the Time of No Pets.

In the days and months that followed, Seamus and Monica moved to the Valley...that valley which is also called The Valley of Feral Cats. And Monica, from whose heart flowed the love of all creatures great and small, befriended two wild felines. She named them "mumma" and "puppa", which in the language of her people, The Bostonians, means Mother and Father Cat.

Monica brought these wild cats food, and they trusted her. And Monica, whose eye was as sharp and her heart was great, knew that Mumma was, in the language of our times, Preggers.

And lo, beneath the Dumpster of Trash, behind the Complex of Condos, Mumma gave birth to three adorable kittens. Monica brought more food. Then, four weeks later there were two kittens. And they were by themselves.

And Monica said unto Seamus, "We should rescue them!"

And Seamus said unto Monica, "But what about my allergies?"

And Monica said unto Seamus, "We shall put them in the guest bathroom."

And yea, the kittens came to live in the Condo of Monica & Seamus...and they were adored.

Now some weeks later, Monica of the Sharp Eye and the Great Heart noticed under the Dumpster of Trash a lone, squalling kitten. And she thought, is this the missing kitten of the litter?

And it was.

So Monica took this third kitten to the Guest Bathroom, and this kitten was afraid. And she wondered, why did this cat disappear, when all other cats of the litter were found?

As she cared for this shy new creature, Monica asked this question unto her neighbors and they replied...

"Yes, we took this kitten into our home, and we loved her. And then after a week, we beheld that she was a lot of work. So we put her back under the Dumpster. Because we could think of no other sensible thing to do."

And Monica's heart was sore, for she felt in her heart that these people were, in the language of our times, Assholes.

Now Monica's heart was also sore, because she knew that the allergies of Seamus, her betrothed, could not withstand a third member of the Kitten Clan. Yet she wished to give unto this third kitten a fine life.

So she sent a Message of Text from the Valley of the Feral Cats over the hills and into the Wood of Holly, imploring her dear friends Matthew of the Wrong Side of the Wellesley Tracks and Jennie of Olde Affordable Park Slope, to come to the Valley and behold this new shy creature.

And Matthew and Jennie, who ventured into the Valley only when absolutely necessary, came. And they met the smallest of the Kitten Clan. She was dark, with the markings of a tortoise, and a blonde spot upon the tip of her small tail, as if to light her way through a dark and troublesome world. And this smallest one hid behind the toilet, and quavered in fear.

And so, after some discussion, Matt and Jennie, with brave hearts and some trepidation, took this smallest one into their home.

Now this kitten, who remained nameless, in the custom of the time, was scared, and she hissed for many days and hid beneath the furniture.

And Matt said unto Jennie, "This kitten has a hissing tongue and a fearful demeanor."

And Jennie said unto Matt, "So?"

And Matt said unto Jennie, "What if this kitten is a dud?"

And Jennie said nothing, yet in her heart she feared that this might be so, and that this young kitten might live for many many years, yet be a stranger to their hearts.

But one day, their true and loyal friend David of the Echoing Park, beheld the Toy of All Toys...a long curving wire with cardboard sticks attached unto itself which cost mere pennies to make in the Manufacturing Villages of China, yet cost $3.49 at Petco.

And Loyal David wondered...would this fearful hissing kitten like to play?

And behold, this shy and scared youngling saw the Toy of all Toys and was transfixed. And from the cowering darkness she leapt, and batted, and pounced upon this toy. And Loyal David smiled, and named her Black-ula.

And by these means her shyness was banished. And her eyes, which had contained only fear, widened with the curiosity of the truly young, and she was softened, and began to purr and sleep under the covers between Matthew and Jennie, something not even Bitey, Lord of all Bouganveilla would deign to do.

And it was good.

Now Matthew was much smitten by the name Black-ula, as befitted his comedic character. But Jennie wondered unto herself, would she really want the nurses at the veterinarians to shout "Is...Black-ula here?" whenst the cat was ready for its shots.

So she pondered a new name, one that would honor the cat's fierce nature, yet not be so dependent upon Black Exploitation Comedy. And Matthew pondered as well, but nothing came.

And Matthew said unto Jennie, "You can't force these things."

And Jennie said unto Matt, "But Black-ula? Really?"

And they were sorely troubled.

But one night, a vision came unto them by means of their Liquid Crystal Display, and they saw something known. in the lauguage of their times, as a Movie Trailer. And this trailer described unto them a film starring a fine member of Jennie's tribe known as Adam Sandler.

And this film, was known by the name, "Don't Mess with the Zohan." And it told the story of a Child of Israel who was a Commando, Dresser of Hair and a general bad-ass.

And Jennie looked at her new kitten, whose eyes were fierce and determined as she wiggled her butt before pouncing on the Toy of All Toys, and she said "Zohan?"

And the kitten came to her side....

And so it was.

And they lived happily in their tiny cottage in the Wood of Holly, once again a family of three.

Here endeth Chapter One of the Book of Zohan.

Precious

Eds. Note: My fiancee (nee boyfriend) has a sister. When I met her for the first time I realized
I had officially won Sister-in-Law Powerball. Our too few subsequent meetings have confirmed this.

One of the many reasons I love her is that her dog Precious was to her and her b.f. as Bitey was to me and mine.

Yesterday, Precious passed away. In fact, after heroic levels of medical care, my future sister in law had to make the agonizing decision to put her to sleep.

Since my future sister in law is also one of the best, most effortless writers I know, I will let her tell the story in her own way, when she can. But in the meantime, she asked me to post this video with the following dedication.

Dedicated to My Ma, My Meatball, My LuLu, My Angel with Fur…

Magneto & the Bad Cat

Long time no write.... something happened tonight that prompted me to go back and re-read all the Bitey posts (more on that later). It's been over a year (more than...more than! says Roberta) since Bitey died. Lots of things have changed, mostly for the better.

• I'm a freelance widget-ist, no longer tied to the rapidly foundering destiny of the widget factory for whom I once worked
• The boyfriend is now the fiance.
• I'm still carrying the debt from the Bitey-care.
• It was still worth every penny.
• We have the Zohan. (more on her later too).

And yet, the subject header for this post has been rattling around in my head all year. It sounded like some kind of Kitty Western. So here, finally, from a rusty writer, is the story of:

Magneto & the Bad Cat


When Bitey was young and healthy, we moved from an apartment where he was not technically allowed to a small house with a garden. Bitey made the transition from indoor cat to outdoor cat in about, oh, 3.5 seconds. It was our goal to keep him in the yard and under our close supervision, because we didn't want our FeLV+ cat contaminating the neighborhood.

And Bitey was, in those early days, content to hang in the yard. At a firm 16 pounds he didn't have the lithe graceful body needed to scamper up a tree onto a roof, so it was merely a matter of bricking up the holes that led under the house, and blocking off the garden gate.

But one day, Bitey saw the Bad Cat. Now I don't have a picture of the Bad Cat, but he's a big brown lunk, with the black markings of a python. He appears silently, and stares at you with flat and wary eyes. I don't know his real name, because I certainly have never gotten close enough to see his tag.

In short, the Bad Cat is your classice 50's rebel; he's got slicked back hair and a pack of cigarettes rolled up in his white t-shirt. And the Bad Cat taught Bitey to smoke.

No. Not literally.

The Bad Cat never deigned to visit our yard, except as a means of transit from whatever sock hop where he'd spiked the punch to the midnight street race down Main Street. But Bitey watched this Big Boy haul himself up various fences and posts. In no time at all, he had learned all the secret ways a fat cat could escape the garden. And escape he did.

Ultimately, Bitey was too pretty, too langourous, too...silky, to be a rebel, but I'm pretty sure he idolized the Bad Cat all the same.

And we spent the rest of Bitey's four- legged life coaxing him off the roof.




Now, Magneto was another stray who wandered into our lives in the last few months of Bitey's life. One cold and rainy winter night, a small black and white tuxedo cat with no collar meowed on our doorstep. He was remarkable for his absolute absence of fear. And, for two people so attuned to the needs of a cat with reduced mobility, he was a vibrant, almost intoxicating, picture of health. He jumped, he scampered, he was affectionate in a goofy unforced kinda way.

Bitey, of course, was unamused.

Now this young cat had a habit of disappearing under our house, only to come out with something attached to his face. Cobwebs, mostly, but sometimes it was a leaf. Sometimes food. But whatever it was it clung to his face like a magnet. Hence, Magneto.

We knew we couldn't adopt this little X-Cat. To have a happy bouncing kitten permanently invade the house would have been offended Bitey's dignity in the sunset of his long quiet goodbye. So when the rains ended, we let him go, hoping he would find a good home.

On January 17th, 2007 Bitey died, a fact that is well chronicled in the previous posts. In the ensuing weeks, one of the hardest things to deal with was the emptiness of a house that was previously filled with the common purpose of survival. The boyfriend and I wandered around the too-clean house, picking things up, putting them down, and learning not to do a double-take when we saw something white in the corner of our eye.

The neighborhood cats avoided our empty yard.

Except, of course, the Bad Cat.

I was doing dishes when, for the first time ever, he jumped down onto the cover of the defunct hot-tub...Bitey's favorite spot. He strolled around unapologetically, then looked me dead in the eye. He didn't hiss, he didn't run away, he just stared.

And after that, he came around a lot more. Was he staking out new turf? Yeah. Was he pissing on everything in site? Yup. But did he always stop and, in his own way, check in on us? Yeah, a little bit he did.

But at a distance. He certainly wasn't about to give us a kitty hug or anything.

Then one particularly sad day, another one of those cold L.A. days when you wished for a cat to keep you warm, Magneto reappeared. He looked well fed and was wearing a collar. He sniffed around, looking for Bitey. He jumped in our laps, and purred. We felt graced by his warmth, and a little sad too. We checked out his collar...what name did his ultimate benefactor chose for our Magento?

Lil' Homie.

After a while, Homie, whom we chose to keep calling Magneto, jumped off the couch and disappeared back into the neighborhood. But every so often, he would reappear, usually when the boyfriend or I was alone, and a little sad.

One time, when I was in New York, and BF was alone in the office on the computer, Magneto hopped up onto his shoulder and wrapped himself around BF's neck like a mink stole. A purring mink stole.

Late one night, coming back from a movie, when we both craved the comfort of our home, but still secretly dreaded the moment when we opened the door on a dark and silent house, we saw Magneto, lying in the middle of the sidewalk, as if to say, 'hey.'

We started referring to him as an empath. He made our lives a little happier when he stopped by.

And he always had something stuck to his face.

Magneto & The Bad Cat. These two cats, each in their own way, helped us through those first few Bitey-less months, when we couldn't ever imagine owning another cat, yet still craved the swish of a tail in the corner of our eye.