Tag: dog

This is Ollie

The cat, that is. Ollie used to be named Sonic and he used to belong to my Youngest Daughter BUT then, a few years ago, there was that fire which displaced her whole family just a day after my youngest granddaughter was born. Ollie, then Sonic, couldn’t be found for days and we never his found buddy Vaughn. We went back to the building repeatedly looking for the cats and one day my Youngest Daughter just showed up, threw a cat through my door, and left.

No joke. That’s exactly what happened,

I already had a cat, my beloved Charlie who I miss to this day. Best Cat Ever….along with Ozzie, Harry, and Hercules, of course.

We took “Sonic”…for a short time….until they found a place. But by the time they found a place “Sonic” was “Ollie” and had claimed his spot in our home. Perhaps it was rude to rename the cat but I have a pet peeve about giving animals less-than-human names and I didn’t think a fifty-something year-old woman calling for a cartoon character to come into the house at night was a good idea. He’s kind of a scrapper. Had a bad attitude and ate like a pig. Hubby dubbed him “Ollie Cat” which is a play on words on Alley Cat. Mostly, I call him Oliver. My little Circus Cat because he stands way up on his back legs for head pets…and treats. I didn’t teach him to do that. He just does it.

I have had cats all of my life. In fact, Pierre was here before I was and he was my mom’s baby. big old fluffy dark gray cat with white ‘boots’. All of these cats have been indoor/outdoor cats. Except one.

Once Upon a Time, I had a different cat when we lived in a different place that it made it impossible for the cat to go outside. When we moved into the house and he could go outside….well…I’ll never forget the look of absolute terror in his eyes when he just looked out the door and when I OPENED it and told him he could go outside now…whoa! Horror in those eyes. I thought; what have I done to this poor cat? I vowed right then and there that I would never do that to a cat again. It was just mean to take away pretty much all that Mother Nature intended a cat to be just for my convenience.

So, after him, we returned to indoor/outdoor status for our cats. I don’t know about where you live but here that’s perfectly legal. Yep. You can let your cat stroll around and be a cat at their leisure and no one is supposed to screw with them. Just because you see a cat wandering around doesn’t make it ‘homeless’, or ‘feral’, or ‘yours’ by any means.

Honestly, when it comes to Ollie, and this has never happened to me with any other cat…he’s rather indignant about using a cat box. He gives it the Old Side Eye as if to say; “I know you don’t expect ME to use THAT.” No, it didn’t matter what litter I used. Unless it was an utter Middle of the Night Emergency, he was not going to use that thing.

In mid-May, Ollie turned up missing. I waited 4 days. He’s young. He’s a boy. His balls were still in tact. It’s summer. He’s being a cat. That’s what I told myself. When he didn’t come back after 4 days, because let me tell you one thing for sure; Ollie never misses a meal. He will sit right at the table with the dogs waiting semi-patiently for his turn at some goodie off your plate. Hey, he lines up with the dogs when it’s Treat Time. I swear, on some level, he thinks he’s a small dog. I also happen to think my dogs agree.

I live in a city but we have a plethora of coyotes, foxes, opossums and well, just a whole zoo really wandering around there at night. About a year or two ago, we lost one cat to the coyotes. That was our fault, not for leaving her out at night, but for putting a bell collar on her. She couldn’t escape them because they could hear her. She was doomed. That’s on me, I feel terrible about it and I will never buy one of those cute little collars again. We were trying to protect the birds we feed daily.

Part of me figured a coyote got Ollie but another part of kept saying ‘nope’. Every day, when I came down the stairs in the morning, I would look to the corner of the sliding glass door to see if he was sitting there. I’d look out the door as I passed by it hoping to see him sitting there. I felt sad. I cried a little bit, but not much, because that voice that said ‘nope’, would not stop.

Flash forward to yesterday. There I am, standing at the stove in my kitchen, getting dinner ready and I hear a raucous! Next thing I know, I catch this blur of black running around past me and down the basement stairs quickly followed by our dog, Bailey.

The following took place in less than a minute….I swear it did.

I looked at Bailey who actually seemed to be smiling as she looked back at me. I said; “What did you do? What is that you chased into my house?”

It’s black. My first thought was; It’s Loki.

He’s our third dog, actually he’s my Oldest Daughter’s dog, and he’s an old boy of about 14. There’s no way in hell he moves THAT FAST. He certainly didn’t RUN down the basement steps.

Second thought, again, was “black”.

Third thought was; Skunk!

Fourth thought was; NO!

By this time, I’ve made the, what, 7 steps from my stove to my back door and the landing to the basement steps. I poke my head around the corner and say (please feel free to laugh) “What’s down there!”

Like the skunk is going to answer.

BUT there WAS an answer and it was

“Meow.”

I said; “Meow? The fuck you mean ‘meow’?”

“Meow.”

It’s a….cat?

I take the two steps to the landing to the basement stairs thinking; No fucking way. No way. Nope,

But, Ollie loved to sit on the oil tank and there he was.

“OLIVER!” I screamed. “Oh my Gods, Ollie!”

By this time hubby and our daughter have come in to see what’s going on. I pick up the cat and show him to them. Both them almost dropped.

Hubby said; “What shape is he in?”

“He’s fine!” I called back.

He was. Way toooooooooo fine for a cat who’s been gone over a month.

We got out his old bowls. I gave him a can of tuna because all I had was leftover kitty kibble that I forgot to throw out. He ate like a pig. He got lots of pets and ‘welcome homes’.

It’s clear he’s been taken care of, and I don’t mean in a good way necessarily. He was bathed. His fur had grown back on his butt. And he has a newly clipped ear.

That’s a surgical cut. That means he’s been fixed. I can see by his fuzzy black balls that is absolutely true.

Before you think someone did me a wacked out ‘favor’….remember….they let me think my cat was DEAD for over a month.

Ahhhhh, Shades of Charlie. Who they let me think was DEAD for EIGHT MONTHS.

If I still had a mortgage payment I’d bet that money on it being the same chick down the street. She used to FB message me pictures of MY cats in her yard asking if they were mine. On one or two occasions, after me saying ‘yes that’s my cat’….next thing I knew….no cat. For anywhere between a day or two to EIGHT MONTHS.

She did it with Ollie about a year ago, she “thought he was living in my garage”. Ollie is obviously well taken care of as were my other cats. Therefore, they have homes. The woman has a problem and she’s not alone. She’s got a band of buddies who think they’re cat rescuers on some Moral Mission but they’re just common thieves who enjoy defacing private property. That’s exactly what they’ll be charged with once someone can catch them in the act. Several counts of both I would imagine. As I told both of my daughters, and every now and again, my hubby; If it’s not yours don’t fucking touch it.

One day, they’re going to do it to some Fancy Cat that accidentally got out and then they’ll be screwed.

I’ll laugh and eat popcorn.

Anyway, he’s home.

Hubby and I were discussing whether Ollie made a Great Escape or if said Person of Interest just let him go.

It’s a tough choice.

See, Ollie has another nickname, it’s “Snotty Cat”. Because he SNOTS ALL OVER the place in gooey chunks; floors, walls, furniture, bed, you, whatever, you name it, there wasn’t something in this house that didn’t have at least a speck of cat snot on it no matter how much we cleaned it. Let me tell you, that is some sticky shit. In the summer, when he snots, it looks like a crime scene. No joke. The first time I happened my very first thought was; I need ‘Grissom’.

So, whoever took him, may have found they had a little more than they bargained for on the gross side.

I have this habit and it has become my dogs’ ‘schedule’ and they get upset if I’m not upstairs in bed doling out the puppy treats and playing with them by 6pm. They get quite insistent after that actually. Yes, I know 6pm is early. Yesterday, after Ollie came home, the dogs didn’t wait for me. They just went upstairs by themselves. Something they never do. Even Zoe who always wants me to walk with her now to make sure she doesn’t fall. Up they went.

I sat talking to hubby for a few more minutes. I looked around for Ollie and I didn’t see him. I figured he made his way to the basement and his favorite arm of an old wooden chair where it’s cool. I gathered my stuff, made my way to the stairs, there was Ollie stretched out all over the bottom step.

“What are ya doin’, buddy?” I asked him. Yes, I talk to my pets. You probably knew that already.

“Meow.”

“Well, I’m goin’ up, you comin’?”

“Meow.”

He didn’t just come with me, he kept his eyes on me the whole time and only took a step up when I did. He didn’t leave us all night. All he wanted was pets and snuggles and to show us how happy he was to finally be home.

He looked at me like that for over a half an hour. He sat right in my lap demanding his pets and staring at me with big wide eyes as if to say: I thought I’d never see you again.  Yep, Happy Ollie Cat.

Even the dogs are glad to have him back.

He stayed on the bed all night. He snuggled with me. He snuggled with hubby. The dogs. Slept on my head, which he always loved to do, I don’t know why. Charlie slept in the crook of my arm but for Ollie, the head is where it’s at. So you can sweat all night. LOL. There was love enough for everyone. Cat hardly took his eyes off us almost for fear we’d disappear again.

As I said, he is very happy to be home where he’s loved and understood, not an object to be moved about and messed with at ill will.

I finally got the chance to put the flea collar on him that I was going to do the day he disappeared.

Maybe the next time I let him go outside to, you know, be a cat and take a poop, someone will understand that he belongs to someone else and keep her crazy mitts off him.