I’m pretty sure I have told you about everyone in our family. You have met; the kids, my husband, my mother, my Aunt Patsy and you have heard about my grandmothers time and time again. I don’t think I have ever told you about our cat, George. George is named after George Costanza ( you know…Seinfeld).
We also have another cat Laney ( after Elaine) but I’m mad at her for peeing on the bathroom rugs so I’m not going to talk about her. I will tell you that peeing on everything is what got Kramer transferred to a new family and that Laney is walking a thin line.
Anyway, back to George. George was mine and Blaine’s first pet together. I came into the relationship with another cat, Lola. We decided Lola needed a friend, and I adopted George from a shelter. It was the day I brought George home that I found out my husband was actually allergic to cats. He was not happy.
George has always been weird. After Lola died, George started yowling…constantly and very loudly. He would walk around, ” Peeerrruuu, Peerrruu, PEERRRUUU!” It really did sound like he was saying “Peru”. We tried to let him outside, but he was way too scared to go out. He got fat. He got lazy. He wanted to go to Peru.
So we moved. And as soon as we got settled, George changed. Suddenly he had the courage to go outside. Only a few steps at first, but more and more over time. He got skinnier. He was happier, but this was not Peru.
While I was pregnant, we got two kittens from one of Blaine’s employees. Now this was Blaine’s idea, not mine. I was okay without more cats, but he was the sucker here. We brought them home, and George took to those kittens like a doting mother. He had finally found Peru….and a love of hunting.
We moved into a new house and brought two babies home. George suddenly felt a need to provide for the family. While the two kittens were content keeping the new babies company, George started to bring us “presents”. He would leave us a dead animal at the front door once or twice a day. A day. I told Blaine that it would be okay if he couldn’t provide for us, because George had it covered.
Then one day, George apparently decided that we wanted something fresher than the dead moles, mice, chipmunks, birds, and the occasional squirrel that he was bringing us. He began to bring us live chipmunks, through the cat door and all the way in the house.
Let me be the first to tell you that there is nothing like sitting in a chair working in deep thought and suddenly have a very tiny furry creature scurry over your feet.
Nothing like it.
The yelp that comes out of your throat will be loud enough to wake your children from their slumber. And the hunt to catch the furry critter will be long and arduous. It will take over an hour.
Over the last couple of years, I figure that I have caught about 20 chipmunks. I’m getting pretty good, too. I’m down to about 10 minutes or less. Chipmunks are very small and very fast and the cat, who brought them in in the first place, wants nothing to do with them. It seems that once the chipmunks crosses the threshold, George seems to think that it is no longer his problem. I’m pretty sure he thinks this is funny as hell. Or maybe he has figured out that this is not Peru.