If this is your first visit, be sure to check out the FAQ by clicking the link above. You may have to register before you can post: click the register link above to proceed. To start viewing messages, select the forum that you want to visit from the selection below. |
|
|
Thread Tools | Display Modes |
#1
|
|||
|
|||
My Mom, Smokey and Nox
So after showing my mom that a house cat isn't at all unpleasant, my
parents volunteered to cat sit again for us. Only in the meantime, we had acquired Smokey in a clandestine nighttime operation that involved a military security chief writing me a leave pass for the purpose of getting Smokey safely off base (where he lived feral) and into my apartment. I had to tell Mom that she couldn't pick up the cat, it would have to be the catS plural. Two weeks later, my contract ended and DP and I were off to the East Coast. My parents were thrilled to have Nox back, but rather less than enthused about Smokey. "You CAN'T do that to Nox--bringing in a TOM! and isn't he that FERAL one from the base?" I assured them that in his two weeks indoors, Smokey had proved he could use a litterbox and be goodboy, but they werent' convinced. Smokey shrieked for five hours as my parents drove him and Nox to their house until his voice gave out. They arrived there shortly thereafter. Nox spent the evening with my parents. Smokey spent the evening hiding under my old bed. But then Smokey started luv-buggin'....this is the cat who survived by begging when he couldn't catch prey. Oozing schmoozing over everyone the second they sat down, weaving between legs, dripping luv while making wheezing heavy-breathing noises that are as close as he can manage to a purr. You can only deny that so long, especially when Smokey clearly worships Those Who Bring Food while Nox barely disguises her contempt for non-felines. My dad liked to play golf-ball with Nox. Smokey didn't know how to play. My dad taught him, and then had to listen to Smokey knocking golf balls down the staircase in the middle of the night. Smokey hoovered his food at an insane rate, since he was undernourished and recovering from his worm infestation. Poor boy. He was as good as I claimed, save for his pestering attempts to lick, jump on, or otherwise play with Nocturne, who only wanted peace, quiet, and his dismembered body served up on a silver platter. But even his races about the house in pursuit of Nox made my parents more amused than angry, even when they knocked over a clock and broke it. Getting Smokey back was a story on its own--that earned him the nickname "The Poopster." --Fil |
#2
|
|||
|
|||
On Mon, 21 Mar 2005 16:26:46 -0800, Enfilade wrote:
So after showing my mom that a house cat isn't at all unpleasant, my parents volunteered to cat sit again for us. Only in the meantime, we had acquired Smokey in a clandestine nighttime operation that involved a military security chief writing me a leave pass for the purpose of getting Smokey safely off base (where he lived feral) and into my apartment. I had to tell Mom that she couldn't pick up the cat, it would have to be the catS plural. Two weeks later, my contract ended and DP and I were off to the East Coast. My parents were thrilled to have Nox back, but rather less than enthused about Smokey. "You CAN'T do that to Nox--bringing in a TOM! and isn't he that FERAL one from the base?" I assured them that in his two weeks indoors, Smokey had proved he could use a litterbox and be goodboy, but they werent' convinced. Smokey shrieked for five hours as my parents drove him and Nox to their house until his voice gave out. They arrived there shortly thereafter. Nox spent the evening with my parents. Smokey spent the evening hiding under my old bed. But then Smokey started luv-buggin'....this is the cat who survived by begging when he couldn't catch prey. Oozing schmoozing over everyone the second they sat down, weaving between legs, dripping luv while making wheezing heavy-breathing noises that are as close as he can manage to a purr. You can only deny that so long, especially when Smokey clearly worships Those Who Bring Food while Nox barely disguises her contempt for non-felines. My dad liked to play golf-ball with Nox. Smokey didn't know how to play. My dad taught him, and then had to listen to Smokey knocking golf balls down the staircase in the middle of the night. Smokey hoovered his food at an insane rate, since he was undernourished and recovering from his worm infestation. Poor boy. He was as good as I claimed, save for his pestering attempts to lick, jump on, or otherwise play with Nocturne, who only wanted peace, quiet, and his dismembered body served up on a silver platter. But even his races about the house in pursuit of Nox made my parents more amused than angry, even when they knocked over a clock and broke it. Getting Smokey back was a story on its own--that earned him the nickname "The Poopster." --Fil Anxious to hear about that! It sounds like a good time was had by all. MLB |
#3
|
|||
|
|||
On Mon 21 Mar 2005 07:26:46p, Enfilade wrote in
rec.pets.cats.anecdotes . com): My dad liked to play golf-ball with Nox. Smokey didn't know how to play. My dad taught him, and then had to listen to Smokey knocking golf balls down the staircase in the middle of the night. Fil, I'm very much enjoying your stories about Nox, and now Nox and Smokey. My bitties (stolen word from you. lol) like a variation of this game with ice cubes. They seem to like to see how far they can get one away from the kitchen before it melts. ;P -- Cheryl |
#4
|
|||
|
|||
Enfilade wrote:
So after showing my mom that a house cat isn't at all unpleasant, my parents volunteered to cat sit again for us. Only in the meantime, we had acquired Smokey in a clandestine nighttime operation that involved a military security chief writing me a leave pass for the purpose of getting Smokey safely off base (where he lived feral) and into my apartment. I had to tell Mom that she couldn't pick up the cat, it would have to be the catS plural. LOL. I love these stories of how your parents were converted. -- Marina, Frank, Nikki, and coming soon: Mere! marina (dot) kurten (at) pp (dot) inet (dot) fi Pics at http://uk.pg.photos.yahoo.com/ph/frankiennikki/ and http://community.webshots.com/user/frankiennikki |
#5
|
|||
|
|||
Enfilade wrote:
Getting Smokey back was a story on its own--that earned him the nickname "The Poopster." Hmm. I have a Traveling Kitty Poopster story myself. It involves a piece of furniture called The Green Thing. Katz |
#6
|
|||
|
|||
Cheryl wrote in message ...
On Mon 21 Mar 2005 07:26:46p, Enfilade wrote in rec.pets.cats.anecdotes . com): My dad liked to play golf-ball with Nox. Smokey didn't know how to play. My dad taught him, and then had to listen to Smokey knocking golf balls down the staircase in the middle of the night. Fil, I'm very much enjoying your stories about Nox, and now Nox and Smokey. My bitties (stolen word from you. lol) like a variation of this game with ice cubes. They seem to like to see how far they can get one away from the kitchen before it melts. ;P I'm always afraid the bits will choke on ice cubes. --Fil |
#7
|
|||
|
|||
On Tue 22 Mar 2005 10:25:42a, Enfilade wrote in
rec.pets.cats.anecdotes . com): Cheryl wrote in message ... On Mon 21 Mar 2005 07:26:46p, Enfilade wrote in rec.pets.cats.anecdotes . com): My dad liked to play golf-ball with Nox. Smokey didn't know how to play. My dad taught him, and then had to listen to Smokey knocking golf balls down the staircase in the middle of the night. Fil, I'm very much enjoying your stories about Nox, and now Nox and Smokey. My bitties (stolen word from you. lol) like a variation of this game with ice cubes. They seem to like to see how far they can get one away from the kitchen before it melts. ;P I'm always afraid the bits will choke on ice cubes. --Fil Yeah, they never seem to think its something to eat, though. Will keep an eye on things if they decide to! -- Cheryl |
#8
|
|||
|
|||
Cheryl wrote:
Fil, I'm very much enjoying your stories about Nox, and now Nox and Smokey. My bitties (stolen word from you. lol) like a variation of this game with ice cubes. They seem to like to see how far they can get one away from the kitchen before it melts. ;P Squeakers (now living in Okanogan Washington with his paw) LOVED ice cube hockey. He would bat an ice cube all over the kitchen floor, until it either got stuck under some appliance or melted. Rob was less fond of ice cube hockey as he hated getting any thing wet on his sock feet. Pam S. remembering |
#9
|
|||
|
|||
Fil thats a great story loved it. Jean.P.
Enfilade wrote in message om... So after showing my mom that a house cat isn't at all unpleasant, my parents volunteered to cat sit again for us. Only in the meantime, we had acquired Smokey in a clandestine nighttime operation that involved a military security chief writing me a leave pass for the purpose of getting Smokey safely off base (where he lived feral) and into my apartment. I had to tell Mom that she couldn't pick up the cat, it would have to be the catS plural. Two weeks later, my contract ended and DP and I were off to the East Coast. My parents were thrilled to have Nox back, but rather less than enthused about Smokey. "You CAN'T do that to Nox--bringing in a TOM! and isn't he that FERAL one from the base?" I assured them that in his two weeks indoors, Smokey had proved he could use a litterbox and be goodboy, but they werent' convinced. Smokey shrieked for five hours as my parents drove him and Nox to their house until his voice gave out. They arrived there shortly thereafter. Nox spent the evening with my parents. Smokey spent the evening hiding under my old bed. But then Smokey started luv-buggin'....this is the cat who survived by begging when he couldn't catch prey. Oozing schmoozing over everyone the second they sat down, weaving between legs, dripping luv while making wheezing heavy-breathing noises that are as close as he can manage to a purr. You can only deny that so long, especially when Smokey clearly worships Those Who Bring Food while Nox barely disguises her contempt for non-felines. My dad liked to play golf-ball with Nox. Smokey didn't know how to play. My dad taught him, and then had to listen to Smokey knocking golf balls down the staircase in the middle of the night. Smokey hoovered his food at an insane rate, since he was undernourished and recovering from his worm infestation. Poor boy. He was as good as I claimed, save for his pestering attempts to lick, jump on, or otherwise play with Nocturne, who only wanted peace, quiet, and his dismembered body served up on a silver platter. But even his races about the house in pursuit of Nox made my parents more amused than angry, even when they knocked over a clock and broke it. Getting Smokey back was a story on its own--that earned him the nickname "The Poopster." --Fil |
Thread Tools | |
Display Modes | |
|
|