My Mom, Smokey and Nox

So after showing my mom that a house cat isn't at all unpleasant, my
parents volunteered to cat sit again for us. Only in the meantime, we
had acquired Smokey in a clandestine nighttime operation that involved
a military security chief writing me a leave pass for the purpose of
getting Smokey safely off base (where he lived feral) and into my
apartment. I had to tell Mom that she couldn't pick up the cat, it
would have to be the catS plural.

Two weeks later, my contract ended and DP and I were off to the East
Coast. My parents were thrilled to have Nox back, but rather less
than enthused about Smokey. "You CAN'T do that to Nox--bringing in a
TOM! and isn't he that FERAL one from the base?" I assured them that
in his two weeks indoors, Smokey had proved he could use a litterbox
and be goodboy, but they werent' convinced.

Smokey shrieked for five hours as my parents drove him and Nox to
their house until his voice gave out. They arrived there shortly
thereafter. Nox spent the evening with my parents. Smokey spent the
evening hiding under my old bed.

But then Smokey started luv-buggin'....this is the cat who survived by
begging when he couldn't catch prey. Oozing schmoozing over everyone
the second they sat down, weaving between legs, dripping luv while
making wheezing heavy-breathing noises that are as close as he can
manage to a purr. You can only deny that so long, especially when
Smokey clearly worships Those Who Bring Food while Nox barely
disguises her contempt for non-felines.

My dad liked to play golf-ball with Nox. Smokey didn't know how to
play. My dad taught him, and then had to listen to Smokey knocking
golf balls down the staircase in the middle of the night.

Smokey hoovered his food at an insane rate, since he was
undernourished and recovering from his worm infestation. Poor boy.
He was as good as I claimed, save for his pestering attempts to lick,
jump on, or otherwise play with Nocturne, who only wanted peace,
quiet, and his dismembered body served up on a silver platter. But
even his races about the house in pursuit of Nox made my parents more
amused than angry, even when they knocked over a clock and broke it.

Getting Smokey back was a story on its own--that earned him the
nickname "The Poopster."

--Fil

On Mon, 21 Mar 2005 16:26:46 -0800, Enfilade wrote:

So after showing my mom that a house cat isn't at all unpleasant, my
parents volunteered to cat sit again for us. Only in the meantime, we had
acquired Smokey in a clandestine nighttime operation that involved a
military security chief writing me a leave pass for the purpose of getting
Smokey safely off base (where he lived feral) and into my apartment. I
had to tell Mom that she couldn't pick up the cat, it would have to be the
catS plural.

Two weeks later, my contract ended and DP and I were off to the East
Coast. My parents were thrilled to have Nox back, but rather less than
enthused about Smokey. "You CAN'T do that to Nox--bringing in a TOM! and
isn't he that FERAL one from the base?" I assured them that in his two
weeks indoors, Smokey had proved he could use a litterbox and be goodboy,
but they werent' convinced.

Smokey shrieked for five hours as my parents drove him and Nox to their
house until his voice gave out. They arrived there shortly thereafter.
Nox spent the evening with my parents. Smokey spent the evening hiding
under my old bed.

But then Smokey started luv-buggin'....this is the cat who survived by
begging when he couldn't catch prey. Oozing schmoozing over everyone the
second they sat down, weaving between legs, dripping luv while making
wheezing heavy-breathing noises that are as close as he can manage to a
purr. You can only deny that so long, especially when Smokey clearly
worships Those Who Bring Food while Nox barely disguises her contempt for
non-felines.

My dad liked to play golf-ball with Nox. Smokey didn't know how to play.
My dad taught him, and then had to listen to Smokey knocking golf balls
down the staircase in the middle of the night.

Smokey hoovered his food at an insane rate, since he was undernourished
and recovering from his worm infestation. Poor boy. He was as good as I
claimed, save for his pestering attempts to lick, jump on, or otherwise
play with Nocturne, who only wanted peace, quiet, and his dismembered body
served up on a silver platter. But even his races about the house in
pursuit of Nox made my parents more amused than angry, even when they
knocked over a clock and broke it.

Getting Smokey back was a story on its own--that earned him the nickname
"The Poopster."

--Fil


Anxious to hear about that! It sounds like a good time was had by all.
MLB

On Mon 21 Mar 2005 07:26:46p, Enfilade wrote in
rec.pets.cats.anecdotes
. com):

My dad liked to play golf-ball with Nox. Smokey didn't know how to
play. My dad taught him, and then had to listen to Smokey knocking
golf balls down the staircase in the middle of the night.

Fil, I'm very much enjoying your stories about Nox, and now Nox and
Smokey. My bitties (stolen word from you. lol) like a variation of
this game with ice cubes. They seem to like to see how far they can
get one away from the kitchen before it melts. ;P

--
Cheryl

Enfilade wrote:

So after showing my mom that a house cat isn't at all unpleasant, my
parents volunteered to cat sit again for us. Only in the meantime, we
had acquired Smokey in a clandestine nighttime operation that involved
a military security chief writing me a leave pass for the purpose of
getting Smokey safely off base (where he lived feral) and into my
apartment. I had to tell Mom that she couldn't pick up the cat, it
would have to be the catS plural.

LOL. I love these stories of how your parents were converted.


--
Marina, Frank, Nikki, and coming soon: Mere!
marina (dot) kurten (at) pp (dot) inet (dot) fi
Pics at http://uk.pg.photos.yahoo.com/ph/frankiennikki/
and http://community.webshots.com/user/frankiennikki

Enfilade wrote:

Getting Smokey back was a story on its own--that earned him the
nickname "The Poopster."

Hmm. I have a Traveling Kitty Poopster story myself. It involves a
piece of furniture called The Green Thing.

Katz

Cheryl wrote in message ...
On Mon 21 Mar 2005 07:26:46p, Enfilade wrote in
rec.pets.cats.anecdotes
. com):

My dad liked to play golf-ball with Nox. Smokey didn't know how to
play. My dad taught him, and then had to listen to Smokey knocking
golf balls down the staircase in the middle of the night.

Fil, I'm very much enjoying your stories about Nox, and now Nox and
Smokey. My bitties (stolen word from you. lol) like a variation of
this game with ice cubes. They seem to like to see how far they can
get one away from the kitchen before it melts. ;P

I'm always afraid the bits will choke on ice cubes.

--Fil

On Tue 22 Mar 2005 10:25:42a, Enfilade wrote in
rec.pets.cats.anecdotes
. com):

Cheryl wrote in message
...
On Mon 21 Mar 2005 07:26:46p, Enfilade wrote in
rec.pets.cats.anecdotes
. com):

My dad liked to play golf-ball with Nox. Smokey didn't know
how to play. My dad taught him, and then had to listen to
Smokey knocking golf balls down the staircase in the middle
of the night.

Fil, I'm very much enjoying your stories about Nox, and now Nox
and Smokey. My bitties (stolen word from you. lol) like a
variation of this game with ice cubes. They seem to like to see
how far they can get one away from the kitchen before it melts.
;P

I'm always afraid the bits will choke on ice cubes.

--Fil


Yeah, they never seem to think its something to eat, though.
Will keep an eye on things if they decide to!

--
Cheryl

Cheryl wrote:


Fil, I'm very much enjoying your stories about Nox, and now Nox and
Smokey. My bitties (stolen word from you. lol) like a variation of
this game with ice cubes. They seem to like to see how far they can
get one away from the kitchen before it melts. ;P



Squeakers (now living in Okanogan Washington with his paw) LOVED ice
cube hockey. He would bat an ice cube all over the kitchen floor, until
it either got stuck under some appliance or melted. Rob was less fond
of ice cube hockey as he hated getting any thing wet on his sock feet.

Pam S. remembering

Fil thats a great story loved it. Jean.P.
Enfilade wrote in message
om...
So after showing my mom that a house cat isn't at all unpleasant, my
parents volunteered to cat sit again for us. Only in the meantime, we
had acquired Smokey in a clandestine nighttime operation that involved
a military security chief writing me a leave pass for the purpose of
getting Smokey safely off base (where he lived feral) and into my
apartment. I had to tell Mom that she couldn't pick up the cat, it
would have to be the catS plural.

Two weeks later, my contract ended and DP and I were off to the East
Coast. My parents were thrilled to have Nox back, but rather less
than enthused about Smokey. "You CAN'T do that to Nox--bringing in a
TOM! and isn't he that FERAL one from the base?" I assured them that
in his two weeks indoors, Smokey had proved he could use a litterbox
and be goodboy, but they werent' convinced.

Smokey shrieked for five hours as my parents drove him and Nox to
their house until his voice gave out. They arrived there shortly
thereafter. Nox spent the evening with my parents. Smokey spent the
evening hiding under my old bed.

But then Smokey started luv-buggin'....this is the cat who survived by
begging when he couldn't catch prey. Oozing schmoozing over everyone
the second they sat down, weaving between legs, dripping luv while
making wheezing heavy-breathing noises that are as close as he can
manage to a purr. You can only deny that so long, especially when
Smokey clearly worships Those Who Bring Food while Nox barely
disguises her contempt for non-felines.

My dad liked to play golf-ball with Nox. Smokey didn't know how to
play. My dad taught him, and then had to listen to Smokey knocking
golf balls down the staircase in the middle of the night.

Smokey hoovered his food at an insane rate, since he was
undernourished and recovering from his worm infestation. Poor boy.
He was as good as I claimed, save for his pestering attempts to lick,
jump on, or otherwise play with Nocturne, who only wanted peace,
quiet, and his dismembered body served up on a silver platter. But
even his races about the house in pursuit of Nox made my parents more
amused than angry, even when they knocked over a clock and broke it.

Getting Smokey back was a story on its own--that earned him the
nickname "The Poopster."

--Fil