Trust a calico cat? Don’t think so

Never trust a calico cat. I put a few crackers on the end table recently. I hoped they would calm the queasiness that was refusing to go away on its own. I knew it was nothing serious but was miserable just the same. I only managed to eat half of one the saltines before lying back down. The other crackers were left on my end table. Gracie, our calico cat, curled up on top of me and we both napped for awhile.

When she thought it was safe, she walked down to my feet so she could reach the crackers. I feigned sleep. I could hear her investigating the crackers. Then she jumped down. I found cracker crumbs on the floor. And one less saltine than I had before. Bad kitty.

We know of several people foods that she likes. If we are having mandarin oranges, I have to keep an eye on them or she will eat them. We keep her food bowl filled with cat food, so she doesn’t go after people food because of hunger. 

She also likes animal crackers, the chocolate coating on Thin Mints, and chocolate covered cherry Blizzards. If I dare get a different flavor Blizzard she will come running, sniff the ice cream and leave in a huff. Yes, I know chocolate is bad for cats. Gracie doesn’t care. She likes what she likes.

Gracie is getting older and more clumsy. She slips sometimes when she is doing her crazy cat exercise routine of running through the house at top speed. She has trained us to check her water bowl when she sits behind it and stares at us. When arrived home from a recent vacation, she talked almost non-stop for a week.

I’m not sure what she was saying but am guessing she was telling us not to leave her again. It certainly sounded like she was upset that she had the house to herself for a week.

To reinforce her point she has become more cuddly. Normally she rarely climbs up to be petted, and almost never takes any of her many naps while being held. But now she cuddles up on my lap and dares me to move. She also insists on helping me type this by walking or jumping across the keyboard.

Sometimes I am amazed by the difference in how I was raised and how life has turned out. When I was very little we lived in Dayton, Ohio. Our neighbor, Eve, and my grandmother often stood out in the yard and chatted. Our cats, knowing that Eve didn’t like them, would twine themselves around her ankles during their entire conversation.

As friendly as the cats were, they never, ever were allowed inside.

When we moved to the farm, the first batch of barn cats was close friends with our dog. The dog would chase the cats up the trees. Then the cats would drop down and chase the dog. The animals would all curl up together for their naps. None of them ever came in the house.

The only animals allowed inside were the two newborn sheep our neighbors gave us. They lived in a box by the stove until the weather warmed up and they were allowed to inhabit one of the horse stalls.

All of the animals on the farm, except the dog and my uncle’s horses, were destined to become food, cash or milk producers. They were treated as pets when they were small but they eventually the cuteness wore off and they met their fates.

Now, the only animal we own is Gracie. By limiting ourselves to one at a time, we can discover her quirks and enjoy her for herself, not what she can give. On the farm, life was cheap. Now life is precious. We have no outdoor animals. Gracie is confined to the house so she doesn’t get hit by a car like Igor did.

Having her steal a cracker or two is a small price for the entertainment she provides. She may be a thief, but she is our thief.