Open Writing

'Here, puss, puss, puss.' I wandered around the back yard trying to locate my two cats. It was time for their monthly tablet, created by the miracle of veterinary skill to prevent every imaginable feline problem from parasites to paranoia.

Both cats were usually easy to find. Angel, a tubby grey and white domestic shorthair, was usually burrowed under the feather duvet at the foot of my bed. She was a timid little puss who expected Jack, her black and white brother from the same litter, to keep her safe. Most days Jack would lie stretched along the windowsill, dozing. He started each day with good intentions, positioned in front of the window to protect the household from intruders. He always began sitting tall, black and white face alert, battered ears pricked forward, white-tipped black tail slowly weaving back and forth, waiting for the birds or the army of mice he hoped would try to invade his premises. They didn't. We'd lived in the same place long enough for the local wildlife to become familiar with the two aging 'moggies,' and to treat them with contempt. Once the sun's warmth penetrated the window, Jack relaxed for the day, moving only with the sun.

It had been different once. In his youth Jack had got me into a fine mess when he'd galloped through the cat door and proudly dropped a recently deceased pullet from next door on the kitchen floor. His entry had been closely followed by a neighbour's.

'Your cat has killed one of my pullets. You'll have to have it put down! It's a wild animal.'

I managed to resolve that mess.

These days life was generally peaceful. Only the once-a-month tablet drama disturbed our tranquility.

As I continued my wandering around the back yard calling the cats I realised that the 'sixth sense' possessed by children and animals had come into play. Usually both cats would appear when called, meowing a greeting, purring with pleasure and rubbing hopefully around my legs. However, since it was the hated tablet-time, neither appeared.

In the past I'd attempted a number of ways of getting the tablets into the reluctant cats. I'd crushed them in their food, which they then refused to eat. They always won that method, since after a day or so I could see their hollow stomachs and I visualized them starving to death. As well, I couldn't put up with the smell of the decaying food. I'd tried wrapping the tablets in pieces of succulent expensive steak. They both ate the steak with pleasure, carefully leaving the untouched tablets on licked clean plates. I'd tried dissolving the tablets in warm milk, a favourite occasional treat. They wouldn't touch it.

I'd finally resorted to violence. I'd grab each cat in turn, wrap it in an old towel, hold it firmly with my elbows and knees, open its mouth wide and throw the tablet down its throat. Still holding the cat, I would grasp its jaws and resolutely hold its mouth closed until I was sure it had swallowed the loathsome item. When I'd first turned to this method I'd hold the cat's mouth shut for an interminable time, only to see it triumphantly spit the tablet onto the floor once I'd let it go. With practice I'd resolved that mess.

I continued to 'quarter' the yard and call until I finally spotted Jack peering at me from under the back steps.

'Here Puss, come on Jack, I've got lovely snack for you.' I reached out and tried to grab him, but he rushed up the back steps and through the house. I followed him,

'Come on Puss-Puss, come on Jack. Come here! Stop!'

The cat ran out the front door and down the front steps. I followed.

'Jack! Come here!' Yelling. Down the steps. Nearly got him.

I tripped, sudden fear speared me, tumbled... I lay on the concrete path moaning, leg broken? Jack, safe from the tablet, twisted around me, meowing softly, his whiskers tickling my face. I glared at him as I shouted,

'That's another fine mess you've got me into.' Took a long time to resolve that mess.

© Carolyn Hirsh

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Carolyn writes for Bonzer! magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au