2007 Parents of the Year Award Winners

Our (temporary) new home was not a house, but a mobile home that will never be mobile again, a trailer than has reached the end of its trail. 12 feet wide, and 46 feet long, it was the perfect home for pussycats. They could start running from the master bedroom, run in a straight line through the door and down the long hall, make a 45° turn through the kitchen and into the living room/dining room at the other end. No brakes needed until the last few feet. They loved it.

And that’s when we learned cats cannot scratch a laminate floor, even when they brake. I had never seen a laminate floor before that, and everywhere I lived the floor would get scratched up. (The first thing we did when we bought a house the next winter, we put in laminate floors. We have never regretted it!)

Unbeknownst to us, on the trip north, the kittens had started eating canned cat food and drinking water. Whether Diabola or Smoky — or Aztec or Dakota — taught them, we don’t know, or maybe one of them tried and taught the others. Gail and I were busy living in the cab of the Vanguard, driving and navigating. Except for adding food and water to the bowls, and cleaning the litter boxes every few hours, we did not venture into the back of the truck, so we had no idea our kittens were growing up. We found out when we first put the food out in the trailer. Suddenly the kittens were eating beside the big cats. No one seemed to have any problems with that. They were still nursing of course, but now they were teething too, and Diabola was not sure she liked that part. She didn’t let them nurse as long as she used to.

It was in the new home Smoky really became a father. He had been doing good up till then, but Diabola did not trust him to carry them around, or sleep with them, or any motherly duties. He could only wash them under her supervision. Suddenly all that changed.

Smoky was now spending almost every waking minute with at least one kitten, usually more. The boys especially wanted to learn to fight, and capture things. He let them climb all over him, roughhousing gently with them. His hard, razor-sharp claws never came out. But they used their soft little claws on him, and each other. Smoky never complained. Big bad Smoky, who bullied the girls, was letting himself get beat up.

He was also playing chase with them, at half speed. He was playing king-of-the-castle with them. Whatever game they wanted to play, he played. Sometimes Diabola played too, but usually she just watched, and approved. However, if she thought he was getting too rough, or something, she let him know. A growl from deep inside her chest would start to come out, and he would immediately look contrite.

These games went on, day and night, for weeks. She was the perfect mother, he the perfect father. This was all a revelation to me. As I said in an earlier post, having never seen a father cat with his children before, I had no idea this would happen. I am presuming this was instinct kicking in, but I really don’t know. Father cats so seldom get to live with their children. Maybe Smoky really was as special as he continually told us he was. Whatever the reason, he was doing it right. And he was only 4 months older than the kittens were. He was really still a kitten himself.

Aztec also took part in the games. She was an ancient 4 years old by then, in comparison to the proud parents. Her favourite thing was hiding in the nooks and crannies, and as kittens or cats raced by she would jump out and disrupt the chase. Then she would run in the other direction. The kittens thought that was fun, and they would turn and chase her. Smoky was not as easy-going as the kids were. He thought they should only be playing with him.

Ms Dakota, well, she tried to maintain her composure, but her aura as a staid old lady got tarnished occasionally. Especially when a kitten would race past her so close she could feel the air brush by her hair. Then she would trot, but not run, in the direction of the chase. We think her hips were going by then because she didn’t so much jump onto the bed from the floor anymore, but used stepping stones that she discovered could bring her up to a height where she could just walk onto the bed, or sofa. By following her, the kittens learned to climb even higher than they could jump yet. It looked kind of like rock climbing, getting up a level then searching for a foothold to get to the next level. They were soon on tables and kitchen counters, and plant stands. Eventually they would be able to leap that high in one bound, but for now it was level to level to level. It taught them how to think and problem solve.

Stormy especially was now getting to places he should not be reaching, places where his presence was not always wanted or needed. It was time to start searching for a new home for him. But knowing hardly anyone in town made it hard to find a good loving home.

It just so happened as a way to meet new people I decided to try my hand at acting. I had never “acted” on a stage before, but the town’s theatre group was looking for new blood. Every year they would put on a new play, and because the population turnover in the town was huge, the only regulars in the troupe were people who had been born there. But I thought the worst I could do was fail, so I auditioned. The troupe was so hard up for actors they took everyone who walked through the rehearsal hall door. Then, sneaky me, on our third night of practice I brought a box of kittens to rehearsal. One of the regulars fell in love with Stormy, and he seemed to be taken with her. She and her husband already had a couple cats at home, so we agreed if her cats accepted the kitten he could go live with them.

And Stormy became Daxter.

When I brought Diego, Romeo and Mia home that night Smoky was waiting for me at the door. I put the box down and Smoky jumped right in. He sniffed each kitten, then gave me a very dirty look. “Where’s Stormy, Jerry?” I could hear him say bitchily. He still hated my guts, and taking Stormy away from him was not about to help that. But at least there were three left, and he started playing roughhouse with them. He wasn’t letting them get away from him.

Two days later I took the remaining kittens to work. The Administrative Assistant had expressed some interest in maybe getting a new kitten. Her husband wasn’t too keen on the idea at first but they had no other pets anymore, and with their own children grown up and moved away, the house was feeling empty. Besides, she needed an attraction for the grandchildren when they came over. At least that’s what she told hubby. She knew he could not say no to them. She ended up taking both Diego and Romeo, they were almost twins now.

The grandchildren soon changed their names to Jack and Jill.

Only Mia came home with me that night, and Smoky was over the moon upset with me, again. Surprisingly, Diabola had nothing to say about having only one kitten left. It was almost like she knew they had to move out of her house sometime. Smoky took over Mia’s care, and would not let him out of his sight. Aztec and Dakota seemed somewhat relieved to go back to a quiet life. Dakota ignored Mia, and Aztec could not get close to him because Smoky was constantly all over him now. He was the only one left. Gail and I were missing the others, of course, but we knew they all needed homes of their own.

It was another few days before I could find anyone who might be interested in Mia. A woman in Social Services, they had offices in the same building where I worked, said she might be interested in a kitten. She was like us, a newcomer to the town, and didn’t know anyone yet. She needed something to take care of, someone to love. So I introduced her to Mia, and Mia basically said, “I want you to be my person.” The woman, I cannot remember her name, could not resist.

And the last kitten was gone.

And Smoky was in an uproar. He looked everywhere for the kittens. He called for them in every room of the trailer. He stopped eating for a few days in protest. His children were gone. So he spent as much time with Gail as she would allow. He needed way more attention than he had needed for over two months.

Diabola never said a word. She had been an excellent mother. But she wanted to be just a cat again. Motherhood was of no more interest to her. Her attitude was “Been there, done that, no need to do it again!” Did I tell you Smoky had been fixed in the middle of all this? Smoky didn’t care. He thought he could still make babies! He was living with three females, two spayed and the third one about to be, but every day he checked to see if any of them were in heat.

The end…