When my grandmother used to say, "There is a cat on every corner," I don't believe she was being literal. In fact, I know she was not being literal but recent events had me remembering this line of hers and sharing a good laugh with her memory.
I am not a cat person. Neither of us including my husband are big fans of cats, and yet they have always found us one way or another.
Decades back one of our sons packed one home with him half grown from a friend's barn. It turned out to be pregnant and once the kittens were weaned she ran away.
We managed to get rid of all but two of them, so we ended up with two of the ugliest orneriest sisters that went on to live well into their twenties. The twins at the age of four named them Jaques and Shaya because they were into a Lion King phase and thought it sounded like names on the movie.
We have tons of pet stories from over the years of dogs, cats, snakes, hamsters, rabbits and chickens. And they just keep coming.
The other day my husband had driven his truck back from our property in Washington Parish to pick me up in Barker's Corner to head to Bogalusa. About a 50 mile radius. A huge thunderstorm hit while we were parked beneath his aunt's garage waiting to load up a desk. The visit lasted a couple of hours until the rain passed and then we headed home.
That night around nine my husband kept hearing this wailing and screeching in the driveway. Crawling around on the cement in our pajamas we finally realized it was coming from his spare tire beneath his truck. He had to get a tool to wind down the tire only to see a quick glimpse of a kitten shoot from there further into the truck within the engine. We had no clue how far this kitten had traveled with us that day. The tuna and water we put set down to draw him out were gone by the next morning, but he was still wailing from beneath the hood.
This meant Clay had to take my car to work to save the cat's life, leaving me with a cat, a truck, a hanging spare tire, and a lifted hood. Every hour or so I would go out and lay on the horn to try to get the cat to come out, to no avail. By the time Clay came home from work I was certain the cat had to have left the truck. The sun was fading behind the oaks when we walked out to give one last inspection before putting his truck back together. The cat was gone.
Then just as we were walking back into the house the wailing and screeching started up again, but this time it was coming from my car parked in the circle drive. At this point the neighbors must have thought I was nuts blowing the horn every hour on the hour throughout the day, and if not, they were about to.
I was so mad at this cat I slammed my hood open and laid on the horn nonstop like a freight train was barreling through the yard. This shot the small orange kitten out from under the car like a barrel, sending us running around the yard to catch it.
By 9:00 o'clock the next night after digging out an old crate, warming milk and ignoring multiple hisses, we had the bold little monster settled to be delivered to our son the following day where he is now wormed, defleaed, and fostered.
Yes Grandma! I agree there is a cat on every corner, or hay bale, or garage. I believe he is now named Bunson the Great! And that is a Cat Tale for the books!
