Tag: short story

Baltimore Buddy

When I took my cat, Buddy, to the vet for his annual check-up I found out he had kidney disease. He wasn’t showing any signs of this, aside from barfing a lot, which I thought is normal for cats. The vet recommended daily medicine and a special cat food formulated for cats with kidney disease. Great, no problem. We just mix the medicine in with the new food. Buddy had other ideas.

Well, he tried the food once and then decided the servants were remiss. As a day, then two, then three went by, I became disturbed by his refusal to eat. I called the vet and she said to administer the medicine directly into his mouth. I held Buddy down while my husband lifted his lip and pushed down the plunger. This was not popular. Buddy ran and hid under the kitchen table, looking highly offended. We tried mixing the kidney food with his regular food and giving him treats whenever he got medicine. He picks at his food and still hates the medicine.

Since his disease is accompanied by eventual weight loss, I am deeply concerned. I decide I’ll provide him with natural food. He loves hunting crickets in the basement and periodically I pick up cricket legs or bodies off the living room floor. Insects are great protein! So I go to the pet store and pick up a box of crickets. It’s food. It’s entertainment. I put the crickets in a large cardboard box. After all, how high can they really jump? I show Buddy the box. He is enthusiastic. So are the crickets. The crickets have a jumping contest urged on by a desire to run for their lives, sort of like running the bulls in Spain. They spread themselves throughout the house. I will be finding them for a long time to come. And finding their body parts. That could have worked better.

Okay, what else do cats like? Birds! We have lots of pigeons in the city. I get a fishing net from the boating store. I cast bread on my door stoop and sidewalk. The pigeons come like sheep to a shepherd. I pull the net strings quickly and although most get away I am left with 6 plump pigeons. I carry them triumphantly inside. Buddy is excited. I pluck one from the net and put the rest away in a cage. Buddy chases the bird all over the house. The bird is not happy. It shits a lot. All over the house. Buddy goes to sleep. The bird calms down, tucks its head under its wing and rests on my living room lamp next to the couch. I take a break and watch TV. Suddenly Buddy is crouching on the other side of the couch. With one great leap he tackles the bird which is now screaming in my ears. Buddy holds on. Who knew birds had so much red blood. Feathers scatter everywhere. Buddy is in heaven. He knows he is a true hunter. I know I must find another way to feed him.

What else do cats eat, I ponder. Google knows everything and tells me they eat mice. Of course. But here in Baltimore we don’t have mice. The rats have all eaten them. Just ask our president. Now, rats should be pretty easy to catch. Just leave out some nice smelly garbage. I wait for night, I put out the garbage. A flashlight assists my endeavors.I am equipped with a stun gun from a hunter friend. Here they come, a whole family. Mom is the size of a small tank. I figure I’ll take out the adolescents. No one really likes adolescents anyway. Having been in girl scouts finally comes in handy – I shoot quickly and accurately. Bingo! Three down and now I can put my garbage back in the can. I carry the rats by their tails and place them on the living room floor. Buddy comes to sniff them. He paws one of them a little. Then it wakes up and gives an ear piercing shriek. Staring with its little beady eyes the rat stands up. Buddy backs down. You cannot intimidate a Baltimore rat. The rat gives chase and Buddy runs frantically, jumping onto bookshelves and counters. The rat shimmies up the T.V. cord. Bleh! I aim and shoot the stun gun. The other rats wake up and charge down to the basement. When I go down, they are eating Buddy’s cat food. As they are fixated on the food, I chase them down with the stun gun. They escape through a hole in the side of my house. Darn, I didn’t know about the hole but now I have to fix it. Clearly, rats are not on Buddy’s list as a gourmet item.

Maybe YouTube will have ideas on what to feed Buddy. Youtube has plenty of kitty videos chowing down on everything from a chicken leg to a banana served with chopsticks. But I’m still pretty clueless about what might be a natural diet. What about larger cats, I wonder. I look up lions. They are enjoying hunting and killing a zebra. I’m sure the Baltimore zoo has a zebra.

Roof Top Dance

I did parkour for the first time when I was 62 years old because of Buddy. Buddy was my mother-in-law’s cat until she had to go to a nursing home. Although Jane couldn’t remember the names of her children, she knew enough to address my husband. “I’ll go to Serenity Manor if you take my cat.” That’s how Buddy came to us.

Buddy gradually trained us to do whatever he wanted us to do. Chicken instead of cat food? Sure. Get him a pet fish? Absolutely. Let him go on the roof deck. Of course, but only under supervision. And that’s how it started.

It is a dusky evening with purple clouds that threatened rain. Buddy saunters past me, out the door to the roof deck before I knew it. He trots over to the fence behind the planter. If he can slip through the fence he can go under our neighbor’s deck, a nice dark and narrow space. Perfect for a small predator. And nearly impossible for a human. Buddy is not allowed there. 

Trying not to alarm him, I squat down very slowly in order to capture him in my arms. I feel a frisson of pride that I can still squat all the way down at my age.  But by the time I have squatted, Buddy is slinking through the worn, wooden fence on the perimeter of my deck. He sniffs his way across my neighbor’s roof. I stand up. With difficulty and a lot of groaning. By the time I am erect, Buddy is marching across the next roof without a single look back. 

I gallantly hurdle over the fence and start hiking across my neighbors’ roofs too. It is now night with rain clouds darkening the sky. Have I mentioned Buddy is a black and white cat? Great camouflage. I pull out my cell phone and sweep light across the roofs as I call Buddy’s name. 

Buddy makes it to roof #5 and I’m now crawling across the slanted roof of house #3. I choose not to look down and hope the gutters will hold my weight if I start sliding.  Buddy is ahead of me. There is a gap of two yards between roofs 5 and 6. Buddy briefly hesitates. I watch helplessly as he launches himself off roof 5 to roof 6. I scramble to 5 as fast as I can manage. I stare down. Below the 3-story house is solid concrete. I decide I shouldn’t have looked down. But Buddy needs rescuing. He was declawed by a previous owner, has 3 teeth, and is utterly fearless around other animals. I jump up and down in place to practice. I eye the gap again. I back up, take a deep breath, and run like an angry bull is chasing me and launch. I land screaming in terror which is certainly no way to catch a cat. Buddy has made it to roof 10. It is the house at the end of the block and has a stalwart oak tree reaching into the power lines. Buddy sniffs the tree. It must smell like squirrels because he starts climbing down. 

I run over to the last roof. I gaze down. I decide I shouldn’t have looked down. It starts raining. I gingerly test the nearest branch to see if it would hold my considerably greater weight. The branch shakes when I grab it with both hands and lean. I put one foot on it and swing my other leg around a nearby branch. I got this. Then I glance down and freeze. I don’t want to move. I consider calling the fire station. To rescue me and Buddy. 

I watch Buddy nimbly jump to the ground. He turns the corner and I can’t see where he is going next. That gets me moving again. After all, I have to rescue my cat. How would he ever get along without me? He might run into a mean dog. Or an even nastier rat. He might even be dive bombed by a vicious pigeon. 

I get to the bottommost branch, hang from my arms, and drop to the ground. I turn the corner and search frantically  as I run up the street. Could he be under a car? Is Buddy in one of the empty recycling bins? Finally I see him at the top of the street. A young woman is kneeling down to pet him. As I approach I hear purring like a buzz saw. 

I greet the woman and explain that he is my runaway cat. She picks him up to hand him to me. Buddy appears relaxed and perfectly docile. Looks can be deceiving.