Scrambles the Death Merchant
I don’t like cats. Ask anyone who knows me and they’ll tell you the same thing. Never have, and probably never will. There is just something about their attitude that turns me off. We had one for a little while when I was growing up, but I never cared for it and wasn’t upset in the slightest the night he decided he had better places to be than our house.
With that being known by everyone, including my wife, I got the surprise of my life at my front door a few months ago with one simple knock. I opened the door to find my neighbor standing there holding a little gray kitten.
“Here is your new kitty”, were the words I was greeted with.
I just laughed and said “You must have the wrong house.”
She laughed right back and informed me that my wife had agreed to take one of the newborn barn kittens off of another friend’s hands. I just called my wife down from upstairs, and walked away. I was fairly sure there was about to be a discussion, but I was willing to wait for the neighbor to leave.
My wife came down and took the kitten out to the horse barn, where I guess she expected it to stay. She then came back in and explained to me that the mice were getting into the grain, and she wanted a barn cat to keep them under control. She had already purchased food and a crate for the kitten to sleep in, and as it appeared that she thought the conversation was over before it had really begun, I sat down and considered my options.
After a couple of hours mulling things over, I decided on an easy solution. I figured that since my wife didn’t want the cat inside the house, and I didn’t want the cat within a mile of our property, the quickest way to get rid of it would be to demand it be brought inside if we were going to keep it. I talked about how cold the winter would get, along with my fear of the coyotes and foxes that roamed our area. I even went out to the barn and brought the kitten inside, sure that the dogs’ reaction alone would change her mind.
But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o’ mice an 'men
To begin with, the dogs loved him. From the first minute they were simply curious, but none the less joyful about a new playmate. He wasn’t so sure about them at first, but it didn’t take long for him to figure out how to jump on their backs and get the chase through the house game started.
Even more devastating, the wife loved him. She responded to my demands by quickly driving to the store for toys, treats and a litter box.
How was it possible that the only true demand I had ever made for the house…”NO CATS”…was just that quickly forgotten or ignored? And even more important, how was it that I was the one that forgot or ignored it? Who could I possibly blame besides myself for this invasion?
My son quickly named our little kitten Scrambles. How else to describe a kitten barely a few weeks old who seemed to slip, slide and fall everywhere he went? My wife and I were going to quietly change his name to something a little more pleasant sounding, but the next day I found a freshly made name tag on the cat’s collar proudly displaying “Scrambles the Death Merchant”. It seemed the name was now as permanent as the kitten itself.
In the following weeks, I often woke from a deep sleep with a shooting pain in my toes. It seemed that when I moved my feet under the cover at night, the Death Merchant concluded that it could only be a mouse running around under there. Then towards sunrise, I was again awoken by the heavy smell of cat breath as Scrambles sat proudly on my chest to let me know that it was time to eat.
Over the following weeks I found myself more and more curious about the cat. I would let him outside, and then sneak out to spy on him to see where he went and what he did. We have several acres for him to explore, and it seemed he was determined to explore them all. I watched him stalk and catch a chipmunk one day, which made me laugh. Then the next day I watched him proudly return from the horse barn with a mouse firmly in his jaws. If nobody had been around I probably would have clapped and praised him. Since the wife was home though, I simply pronounced that the cat was finally earning its keep.
Today, as I try to write this, the cat has decided that my computer keyboard is the perfect spot to take a nap. If I were watching television, he would probably decide that somewhere between my eyes and the TV was the perfect spot. He seems to always know exactly what to do to get my attention, while at the same time keeping up his superior attitude and pretending to ignore me. I actually look forward to these little games too.
So yes, the cat has won me over. I now get home from work and look for him. I get him treats at night and sit and play with him. I even get disappointed when he doesn’t want to lie in my lap in the evening or curl up by my feet when I go to bed. I have even noticed that for the first winter since we moved into the house five years ago there are no mice running around. So I guess he has earned a spot in the family.
Don’t get me wrong though. I still don’t like your cat, but I have learned to love mine.
With that being known by everyone, including my wife, I got the surprise of my life at my front door a few months ago with one simple knock. I opened the door to find my neighbor standing there holding a little gray kitten.
“Here is your new kitty”, were the words I was greeted with.
I just laughed and said “You must have the wrong house.”
She laughed right back and informed me that my wife had agreed to take one of the newborn barn kittens off of another friend’s hands. I just called my wife down from upstairs, and walked away. I was fairly sure there was about to be a discussion, but I was willing to wait for the neighbor to leave.
My wife came down and took the kitten out to the horse barn, where I guess she expected it to stay. She then came back in and explained to me that the mice were getting into the grain, and she wanted a barn cat to keep them under control. She had already purchased food and a crate for the kitten to sleep in, and as it appeared that she thought the conversation was over before it had really begun, I sat down and considered my options.
After a couple of hours mulling things over, I decided on an easy solution. I figured that since my wife didn’t want the cat inside the house, and I didn’t want the cat within a mile of our property, the quickest way to get rid of it would be to demand it be brought inside if we were going to keep it. I talked about how cold the winter would get, along with my fear of the coyotes and foxes that roamed our area. I even went out to the barn and brought the kitten inside, sure that the dogs’ reaction alone would change her mind.
But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,
In proving foresight may be vain;
The best-laid schemes o’ mice an 'men
To begin with, the dogs loved him. From the first minute they were simply curious, but none the less joyful about a new playmate. He wasn’t so sure about them at first, but it didn’t take long for him to figure out how to jump on their backs and get the chase through the house game started.
Even more devastating, the wife loved him. She responded to my demands by quickly driving to the store for toys, treats and a litter box.
How was it possible that the only true demand I had ever made for the house…”NO CATS”…was just that quickly forgotten or ignored? And even more important, how was it that I was the one that forgot or ignored it? Who could I possibly blame besides myself for this invasion?
My son quickly named our little kitten Scrambles. How else to describe a kitten barely a few weeks old who seemed to slip, slide and fall everywhere he went? My wife and I were going to quietly change his name to something a little more pleasant sounding, but the next day I found a freshly made name tag on the cat’s collar proudly displaying “Scrambles the Death Merchant”. It seemed the name was now as permanent as the kitten itself.
In the following weeks, I often woke from a deep sleep with a shooting pain in my toes. It seemed that when I moved my feet under the cover at night, the Death Merchant concluded that it could only be a mouse running around under there. Then towards sunrise, I was again awoken by the heavy smell of cat breath as Scrambles sat proudly on my chest to let me know that it was time to eat.
Over the following weeks I found myself more and more curious about the cat. I would let him outside, and then sneak out to spy on him to see where he went and what he did. We have several acres for him to explore, and it seemed he was determined to explore them all. I watched him stalk and catch a chipmunk one day, which made me laugh. Then the next day I watched him proudly return from the horse barn with a mouse firmly in his jaws. If nobody had been around I probably would have clapped and praised him. Since the wife was home though, I simply pronounced that the cat was finally earning its keep.
Today, as I try to write this, the cat has decided that my computer keyboard is the perfect spot to take a nap. If I were watching television, he would probably decide that somewhere between my eyes and the TV was the perfect spot. He seems to always know exactly what to do to get my attention, while at the same time keeping up his superior attitude and pretending to ignore me. I actually look forward to these little games too.
So yes, the cat has won me over. I now get home from work and look for him. I get him treats at night and sit and play with him. I even get disappointed when he doesn’t want to lie in my lap in the evening or curl up by my feet when I go to bed. I have even noticed that for the first winter since we moved into the house five years ago there are no mice running around. So I guess he has earned a spot in the family.
Don’t get me wrong though. I still don’t like your cat, but I have learned to love mine.
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