Tortie Tuesday: Adorably Deplorable Cats

This one really needs photos of the cats. I didn't make the time to snap those photos while the light was right. Bad me. So, introductions are in order. Samantha is a one-year-old "tortie" calico, mostly black with some orange-and-buff spots above, large patches of white below and a big orange-and-buff tabby patch on her face. Burr is a black-and-white Manx mix tomcat. Serena is a calico spring kitten, born to Samantha and Burr earlier this year, mostly white with distinct patches of black and orange-and-buff above. (Both Burr and Serena have the weakest possible form of the gene for partial albinism; their black patches were charcoal gray rather than black when they were kittens, and their coats are mostly white.) Traveller is Serena's adoptive brother, almost entirely black with a very small white bikini patch below, and white skin.

“Deplorable,” Serena nonverbally said. “Isn’t that a bad thing?”

“It is and it isn’t,” I said. “It is a word that has recently developed contradictory meanings.”

“Whatever, then,” Serena nonverbally said, “as long as it means humans and not me. Gotchalast, Samantha!” She galloped under the porch.

“Young people,” Samantha nonverbally said, declining Serena's invitation to play tag. Samantha is one year old and very conscious of the dignity of her age.  “Hey! Are you about to cook?”

I was about to cook. Samantha could tell by the paraphernalia I was hauling through the yard—food, water, matches, a bag of garbage, and the Dutch Oven. A Dutch Oven is a heavy indoor-outdoor cooking pot with a snug lid that seals out ashes. I usually use one to cook things that are simpler and less trendy than the recipes in this book:

“I’ll wait in the office,” said Traveller, “until you come in and comb my fur. You never know. I might have a flea.”

“You are no longer the deplorably flea-bitten kitten who came here a few weeks ago,” I observed. Though of course nowhere near to growing into his paws and ears, Traveller is now a true black kitten rather than a rusty, flea-dirty one. The flea comb rarely catches a flea in any part of his silky coat, but he enjoys the way the fine teeth mimic the feeling of being groomed by a mother cat with a bristly tongue. He is still noticeably longer, leaner, and lighter than Serena—but not nearly so much lighter as he was. “Now come out, Traveller, so I can close the door. The mosquito population this year has been deplorable.”

“Won’t,” said Traveller. “I see things have been moved during the week. I want to climb up and have a good look at them.”

“Traveller,” I said, beckoning him with wiggling fingers, “if you annoy me you’ll regret it.”

“No, really, I must just test that quilt and make sure being laundered hasn’t affected its comfort rating,” Traveller nonverbally said.

“Traveller!” I said. “I am now officially annoyed! Come along!” I picked him up by the scruff of the neck.

“Please don’t hurt him,” said Samantha. “You still like us cats, don’t you?”

“Yes, Samantha, I still like you,” I said.

“Say it like you mean it,” pleaded Samantha. “You can’t properly say you like a cat with both your hands full.”

I put Traveller in “Cat Jail” (a metal cage) and locked the door. “I like you, Samantha! I like you, Serena! Actually I like Traveller too, but he needs to learn that what he was doing was a Bad Idea.” I set the Dutch Oven on top of the cage and emptied a packet of rice into it.

So far I've found this mix not only digestible, and affordable, but also fantastically easy to cook over a small trash fire. Amazon sells it by the case; your local supermarket probably sells individual four-pack boxes. (One pack makes a side dish for four humans; or, with beans and/or meat, a main dish for two humans, or for one human and three cats.)

“Are those La Costeña Pinto Beans?” Samantha nonverbally said.

In my part of the world the Dollar Store usually has the best price on La Costena whole beans, but they're also available on Amazon. The cats like them because the spices are tempered with a little soy oil...which may or may not be safe for me, depending on how much glyphosate the individual farmer exposed them to. One tin plus one packet of rice makes a quick vegan meal, for two humans or one human and three cats, for $1.50. Supplement with fresh veg or fruit from your not-a-lawn and/or garden for total frugal vegan nutrition...assuming unpoisoned soy oil.

“Samantha,” I said, “show these kittens how to back off! Back! Back!”

Samantha backed off. She's come a long way from the deplorably nervous, hypervigilant kitten I adopted last fall. She's learned to trust me, to cuddle, occasionally even to purr, and to back off when told, as well as coming when called. She'll never take Heather's place, but she is an intelligent Listening Pet.

“Play with me, Serena,” Traveller pleaded, as I carried the Dutch Oven to the metal barrel in which I cook.

“Here,” I said, “is the bean tin, if you want to lick it.”

Samantha and Serena did.

The afternoon sun was shining down right onto the Dutch Oven, and the wind was favorable, so the week’s junkmail and onion skins burned up nicely. I watched three thin scraps of wood blaze up and burn down to coals. It took about as long as the mother cat and kitten took to lick the salty juices out of the bean tin. During this time Traveller sang a sad little song, something like:

Oh woe, woe, woe, woe.

I am a lonely and a lonesome Traveller.

Oh woe, woe, woe, woe.

I will never see my real mother again,

Woe, woe, woe, woe.

Serena’s mother doesn’t really love me,

Woe, woe, woe, woe, woe!

And neither does Serena’s human,

Oh woe, woe, woe, woe.

Serena is the only creature on earth who cares about me,

Oh woe, woe, woe, woe,

And even she deserted me for an empty bean tin,

Oh woe, woe, woe, woe!

I am the most pathetic, forlorn, neglected, and rejected—

Woe, woe, woe, woe!

--Cat the Earth has ever seen, though also the cutest,

Woe, woe, woe, woe!

If anybody ever really loved me, I'd have much to offer,

Woe, woe, woe, woe!

--Though I said nothing about sharing any tuna treats,

Because I am a tomcat! Woe!

“He is regressing deplorably to the human-dependent communication habits of his lonely infancy,” said Samantha, licking her lips. “He was learning to talk silently, through gestures and posture, as any successful small predator should do.”

“Should I let him out now?” I said.

“Why bother?” said Samantha. “Who needs another tomcat in the world?”

“I do! I do!” said Serena, so I let Traveller out.

“Put a bean tin ahead of me will you?” he nonverbally said to Serena.

“You can lick the salt off my face if you like,” said Serena.

“Deplorable!” Samantha deplored, beginning to wash her own face. “Forgets all about her own mother. Does that have anything to do with humans wanting to call themselves deplorable?”

“As a fad word ‘deplorable’ seems to have staying power,” I said. “It’s two years old but I’m still seeing ‘Adorably Deplorable’ shirts on Zazzle. It’s all because a certain human annoyed a lot of other humans by suggesting that, in order to practice good will or even to avoid hating other people, we had to agree with every bad idea those people had. People who understand that that’s not true are sort of proud to be what she called deplorable.”

https://priscillaking.blogspot.com/2016/09/are-we-deplorable-yet.html

“Like Traveller insisting on sitting on the clean quilt? Or like you insisting on not letting him?” Samantha winked.

“Probably both,” I said. "Or like you not nursing Traveller. Or like Traveller distracting Serena from washing your face."

"Are all of us deplorable, then?" Samantha blinked.

"I wouldn't call us that," I said, "but Hillary Clinton probably would. You know, I think that in cyberspace everybody should use any name but their own, but in real life a woman changing the name by which she's publicly known is sort of deplorable, too."

"Even if humans like their meals hotter or colder than cats do, I think humans eating before they share with the cats is deplorable," Samantha nonverbally said, "but I like you anyway."