"Feral ~ from feminine of ferus wild: having escaped from domestication and become wild"...




Tuesday

Tomaz and Georgy at first were enamored with each other.  They slept together, hunted together, played together.  It was a beautiful thing. When we brought this beautiful spayed tabby home from the shelter, I do believe Tomaz thought she was a gift just for him.



But then something happened. We still are not sure what did occur, but they became unfriends. And Georgy decided she needed to take control. 

She became "Queen." 


And as Queen, she labeled Tomaz as a lowly page. She let him know it. 

She took these royal duties very seriously. Even the dog wasn't safe. Poor Ranger. A slap on the nose for just existing. And if she wanted something, she had dibs first, and our poor ninety-five-pound dog knew it. Once in a while, he would whimper in another room, and we knew it involved her. We didn't even need to investigate, because she was QUEEN.

“Man up, Ranger. Err, dog up…”

She became so full of herself. She even made it heard through her walk. You knew when she was walking into a room. THUMP THUMP THUMP. Queen Cougar walk we called it. “Georgy has arrived!”  I’d say, laying under the covers, waiting for her to pounce on me to begin our day. I’d chastise her, warning her each time like my mother did to me- “You're gonna get heel spurs!”  (Yep. My mom was an RN.)

But Georgy would ignore my warning, headbutting me in greeting, because, well, Georgy.  Even adoring her was on her terms. You had to hold her like a baby and pet her right, otherwise its claws and teeth.  But oh how you were rewarded if you did it right; being loved by a sleepy-eyed, baby octopus grip little bundle of fur, WHO LOOOOVED YOU!!! - I fell for it every time. Dang could she adore you and make you feel loved. In the kitchen, the bathroom, outside to get the mail, to feed the horses…she was my little buddy girl.

As I said, she became Queen.


And of course being the obtuse feral being that I am, I didn’t take true notice of what Tomaz was going through.  After all, they were friends, ONCE, maybe they will be friends again. And he is Fire cat: he is TOUGH.  Poor boy though; he was living in the shadow of Georgy.

When we would open the door to let Tomaz in, he would dart into the pre-selected rooms (by Georgy of course) in which he was allowed respite. She would still challenge him at the dish, at the door, on the couch though. He was either having to choose to fight or retreat, now both outside AND inside. It was awful.

We tried to make it fair.  We tried to reintroduce them. We tried to give them attention and toys and cat drugs. But now I was becoming the issue because Georgy claimed me as her own. I was no other animal’s mom; I was hers, and hers alone.

And it was my fault in a way, as it was reciprocal.  She had a significant impact in my life because she became my writing cat. You writers know all about that special kind of relationship you have with an animal who chooses to sit next to you as you write.



She had her spot next to the screen as I typed all hours of the day. She was there for me when everyone else was asleep, or gone, or busy. She was there for me through all the flashes of brilliance and the agonies of writer’s block. She was there when I got awarded for excellent writing and was there when I felt I couldn’t complete one single sentence.  She was there right next to me for the last three years. 

Always.

Georgy was there for ME.

Did you notice I wrote this entire post in the past tense?

Was.


~








part 3 coming up

6 comments:

  1. Waiting for the end of the story!!!!!

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  2. The suspense is killing me, well tickling me at least.

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  3. ....oh boy and I did notice....

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  4. I'm reading your posts backwards, as I haven't read your blog in a while and stumbled back upon it. I have cried the last two posts. And strangely when I got to this post it was an aha moment. I currently have one inside kitty, but used to have 2.
    Mister was my first kitty. A dark colored tabby just like your girl. I found him at my old job. Someone had thrown him away and we found each other. He was a city cat. I brought him home to the country. I had no clue how old he was but he loved me being his. He also was very demanding and wanted to be an inside/outside kitty. So I let him have his way. About 7 months later a friend had a litter of kitties and one was a female orange tabby with only one or two joints for a tail. I fell in love. She came home with me and I named her Nubby. Mister hated her. They never got along but eventually he tolerated her. She would torment him too, just like Georgy. I have fed them wet food with water once a day, along with their dry food. I had to feed Mister around the corner from her and she would not eat any of hers and would sit watching him eat until he was done with what he wanted and then she would go to his bowl and finish his up and then go to her bowl. She would jump out of nowhere when he was walking by and scare the crud out of him. There were rare times when he felt like playing and they would chase each other and it was so funny, and I loved watching them. But when he had enough he would let her know and she would walk away with that 'her highness' look and walk.
    On the morning of March 20th of this year I let my Mister Fancy Pants (named for the tufts of fur on his hind legs) out when I went to work. I haven't seen him since. I miss him terribly. Nubby does not. She is the High Priestess now. She gets all the attention, all the food. Reading this post reminded me of them and how they were together. I'm sorry for your loss.

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I am feral, so although I dont respond at all like most domesticated bloggers, I will try my best - Thank you for even wanting to leave a comment, as it may draw me out from the woods from whence I came!

Or under a rock, it depends most days...