Deborah Lipp

I acknowledge that I’m a crazy cat lady. It’s not unusual for a Witch. I keep it toned down and have never had more than two cats at once, but I have unreasonably passionate relationships with them. I choose to confine my cats to the indoors. There are pro and con arguments, but indoor cats live longer, aren’t prone to fleas, and don’t catch Feline Leukemia.

I had Watusi for exactly four years. She was an extraordinary creature. She kissed on the lips. She called the Quarters in ritual. The down side of indoor cats is if they get out, they aren’t good at coming back home. Arthur inadvertently left the door open and we never saw her again. It broke my heart.

The very weekend we lost Watusi, my friend Mary showed me the kittens she was giving away. I ultimately took two: Mingo and Fanty. Fanty is not a favorite: She’s skittish, nervous, demanding, and a crier. But Mingo was extraordinary. He didn’t like calling the Quarters, and had no interest in the ritual setup, but the minute you announced that a spell or trance was about to happen, all of a sudden, from nowhere, he was underfoot or in your lap. He was a wonderful lap cap and a good cuddler, and he comforted Arthur through a prolonged illness.

Mingo, too, lasted exactly four years, escaping through a screen door we didn’t know was broken.

I lived two months with Fanty, a needy animal I don’t much love, before bringing home Callisto.

Who is extraordinary. She has no interest in magic or ritual, but she gives love like a Priestess of Ishtar. She is soothing and kind, loving and sweet. She holds hands. She tucks herself under my arm to sleep. She follows me like a German Shepherd. She is my one-eyed angel.

I’ve had her for just over a year. I dread the notion of four years. I dread the thought of losing her. I’ve done binding magic; sprinkled my life force into her food, woven spells about her. Still I fear.

This week was her annual checkup, and I had her microchipped. I’d never discussed it with a vet before–the vet never brought it up, probably because I have indoor cats. I had imagined it was very expensive, but it isn’t at all. It was painless and took no time at all.

Doing it, I choked up. I don’t have to lose her. I don’t have to lose her. I don’t have to lose her.

So the Gang of Two consists of Mingo and Fanty. Mingo has some annoying eccentricities, but is basically the ideal pet. Independent yet affectionate, he’s even a good mouser.

His sister, on the other hand, is here on earth to drive me mad. And she’s succeeding. She’s so nervous that if you walk near her she runs and hides, and yet so demanding that she will cry near your hand until you pet her, and cry whenever you stop, for hours. (But only your hand. She’s terrified of being picked up.)

Fanty has occasional seizures (I know, I know). Previously, they’d been every couple of months, but then she had three in four weeks, so we decided to medicate her. Problem is, she’s nervous, so I was very concerned about giving her pills. My vet gave me Pill Pockets. You put the pill inside the treat and squish it closed. The first one, she refused to eat, and I had to force it down her throat. The second one, she ran from me when she saw it, and forcing it down her throat was harder. Somehow, though, she realized they tasted good, and the next dose she ate readily when I left it on the floor by the spot where she comes to cry at my hand, and soon she was begging for them.

The problem is that I have to get Mingo out of the way because he doesn’t have seizures and shouldn’t have phenobarbital.

This morning it was complicated. Mingo was in the bedroom and Fanty was not. I couldn’t get Mingo out, and then Fanty went into the bathroom, and I thought ‘Fine, I’ll give it to her there’ and shut myself and a pill in with her, but she became upset and cried. So I opened the door, got Mingo out, and shut us into the bedroom.

But now she was already upset and just cried and cried and cried. I put the pill/treat on the floor on her spot and dangled my hand, but she was having none of it, and just kept crying. So I thought I’d ignore her so she could relax, and started fiddling with my cellphone.

At which point, she got up on my bed and let loose a long, angry stream of urine.

Peed.

On my bed.

Sort of “Welcome to Monday” writ large.

Luggage? What luggage? You mean my cat bed?

After getting back from Florida, I hurt my back, and so I haven’t finished unpacking. Mingo loves this suitcase. Loves it. Snuffs it. Sticks his head in. Sticks his body in. Lays on it. Sharpens his claws on it.

So at 5am when nature called, I nearly tripped over this little scene, and somehow thought to grab the camera. Took the picture in the dark and only saw afterwards that it came out cute as pie.

Mingo loves plastic bags.

Cat on Bag on Chair

This may look like a cat on a chair. It is not. It is a cat having a love affair with a plastic bag that happens to be on a chair. Soon he will begin to suck and chew it.

Frickin ew.

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What? I’m just hanging out!