The Cat’s Breath Smells Like Dessert
A Tale of Four Sassy Strays
Elizabeth Jain
Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2018 by Elizabeth Jain
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Visit the author’s website at www.elizabethjain.com
Ellerbrook Press
First Edition November 2018
ISBN: 978-1-9995129-0-3 (ebook)
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is dedicated to the caring people who open their hearts and homes to stray cats.
Contents
Hobbes
Liam
Milo
Joey
Never a Dull Moment
Cat Naps and Clean Teeth
Oh, For the Love of Food
Indoor Living
Creative Measures
Fun and Games
Joey's Jeremiad
Holiday Hoopla
YouTube Links
About the Author
Hobbes
The small brown-and-black-striped tabby sat gazing out the window with a woebegone expression on his face. Normally he was a cheery fellow, but today was different. Today he was singing the blues. Head drooping, he contemplated his life and what was missing. What he wanted most were hugs, and lots of them, but he wasn’t getting any. His paws were ideal for giving hugs because the jumbo thumbs offered a firm grip. Why, he was confident he would be able to open a jar if someone handed him one.
His leopard-spotted tummy and the extra toes on his back feet completed his unique appearance.
He had been adopted as a tiny, cute kitten from a shelter, and in the beginning, his family fussed over him. Now he was a year old and still cute, but no one made time for him. Other than providing food and water and giving him the occasional absent-minded pat, he might as well be invisible. Every day he stood at their feet looking up at them with wistful eyes and meowed and meowed for hugs. Why didn’t anyone understand? He yearned to snuggle, but they were busy with work and school. He wasn’t permitted on their beds, so he slept by himself in the cat bed downstairs. He didn’t even have a teddy bear for company, and there were nights when he cried from loneliness. Tucking in with someone would be so nice.
Today the tabby realized his family didn’t care much about him. They didn’t listen to him—and he had a lot to say—they didn’t talk to him, and they didn’t hug him. Worst of all, they weren’t cleaning the litter box to his standards. He hated stepping in a dirty box, and it was always stinky.
“Everyone knows cats are fastidious,” he fumed, “and self-cleaning to boot.” He noticed his people expected a fresh toilet bowl, and everyone flushed after each use. “There’s no doubt in my mind they’d howl their outrage if they raised the lid to reveal a disgusting mess left behind. No one’s listening to me howling my outrage about the odious state of my litter box.” As he stewed over the unfairness of this situation, he had one final thing to say on the subject. “BAH!”
The cat felt a sense of urgency that he should strike out today; like what he pined for was waiting and he’d better go get it before it vanished. He was anxious about leaving his familiar surroundings, but he craved affection and was determined to find it. He hurried to finish breakfast, took one last look at his house, and skipped out the patio door, which had been left ajar just enough to squeeze through. The sky was a robin’s egg blue and the sun warmed his fur—what a glorious July day to search for another home. He was upbeat about his goal; it felt as though he was taking charge of his destiny.
“I hereby nominate myself Hug Hunter Extraordinaire,” he declared, swinging his elbows with a flourish. He headed off at a trot with no idea of what was out there for him but trusted he would know it when he saw it. The tabby was loath to admit it, but his belly was teeming with butterflies. Setting out on this journey had seemed easy from the comfort of his home, but he’d seen a lot of scary things so far and his bravado was fading. Cars and trucks were zooming hither and yon, and he was petrified of being squashed. How was he going to cross the road? Adding to the tabby’s consternation was the hungry raccoon drooling at him from across the way, so he tore up a tree until his stalker lost interest and meandered off.
After a few hours, he grew tired of wandering and needed a rest before continuing on his adventure. He spotted a car with the windows down, so he hopped in and curled up in the back for a cat nap in the sun. The warm seats lulled him into dreams of wonderful things ahead. He was jarred out of his pleasant snooze when someone opened the door and started the car. He stayed quiet as a mouse and risked a peek at the man behind the steering wheel.
Oh my, where am I going? The cat hadn’t factored in this consequence when he helped himself to the car. The trees flashed past the windows in a dizzying blur. Every turn sent him flying. He clutched the door handle, biting his tongue to keep from yowling in terror. Where is the cat seatbelt? The turbulent ride came to a sudden, screeching halt and the driver got out, having no clue he’d transported a stowaway all these miles. The cat collapsed on the seat in relief. A minute later his stomach rumbled. He smelled something enticing and poked his nose between the front seats. The tantalizing aroma of a chicken sandwich emanated from a paper bag on the armrest. He had been full when he left after breakfast, but that was long ago and he was feeling peckish. The cat hoped the man wouldn’t mind parting with his lunch, but in case he did, he’d better be quick about it. He wrestled the bag open with his sizeable toes and stuck his head inside, inhaling deeply. The sandwich, made with thick crusty bread, looked scrumptious, and his mouth watered. He devoured it without delay and gave his face a brisk wash before jumping out the window. Looking respectable for his new family was imperative.
“This must be what it means to dine and dash.” He tittered as he ducked under a bush to plan his next move. Dusk was approaching, so he decided to postpone his trek until tomorrow. He was eager to be in his new home and envisioned a pillow-top bed with his name on it. In the meantime, he improvised with a pile of leaves. As his eyelids grew heavy, he crossed his toes, praying he’d be safe from any wildlife fancying a midnight snack.
As pastel-pink ribbons lightened the sky, he awoke to a clanging noise. He stretched and yawned and saw a woman putting garbage by the curb across the road. He rubbed his eyes to get a better look. He would soon learn her name was Lizzie.
“Eureka, this is it—time for action!” he said, gulping. Galvanized, he jumped up and down like a wallaby, unable to contain himself. His heart was pounding in nervous expectation. He intended to get Lizzie’s attention but only managed to let out a feeble meow. He saw her scan the street for the source of the sound.
Unwilling to squander this golden opportunity, the tabby sucked in as much air as his lungs would hold. “Meeeeoooow.” The sheer force of it startled him, and he almost fell over backward. Who knew he could roar loud enough to flatten nearby plants? The chicken sandwich must have given him extra energy.
Lizzie glimpsed a shadowy silhouette next to the bush and called, “Here, kitty.”
With a surge of adrenaline, the tabby was off, galloping toward her as fast as his surplus toes could carry him. He skidded to a stop in front of her and rolled on his back. Lizzie was struck by the cat’s friendliness toward a stranger.
“You’re spunky, aren’t you?” she commented as she stooped to pick him up, and boy, did she find out how
spunky he was. He threw his arms high in the air over his head. Lizzie chuckled at this goofy cat. “I didn’t tell you to stick ’em up.”
He wrapped his arms around her neck, clinging to her with his mammoth paws, and licked her face with such abandon that he rivalled a slobbering Saint Bernard. He thought he would burst with joy. At last he was getting the best hug ever. And Lizzie was getting the best facial buff ever.
She carried him inside, where his incessant meowing bounced off the walls. For a petite cat, he had the volume of a bull moose. Lizzie guessed he was probably ravenous and asked if he’d be interested in shopping for food. Assuming his clamorous meows meant “Count me in,” she fetched a carrier used by her previous cats so they could head off to the pet store. Lizzie predicted a total melt-down if he were left to his own devices. The cat scrambled in and waited for her to latch the door. He was impatient to see where they were going. A bear hug and a road trip—so far things are grand.
Lizzie introduced herself in the car and asked the cat how he came to be on his own. She got enthusiastic chattering in response. Wherever this little guy had hailed from, there was no mistaking his euphoria in being found. They returned with his food, and after he ate, they went for a check-up. Lizzie was relieved when the vet confirmed the cat was neutered. The tabby desperately wanted Lizzie to adopt him. He sat up straight and put on his most adorable face. The vet noted his exemplary behaviour and said he was a lovely cat with a personality to match.
Lizzie smiled at her new family member and said, “Let’s go home.” She christened him Hobbes but sometimes called him by the apt nickname Huggy Bear. From their first hug, Lizzie knew she and Hobbes were kindred spirits and the universe had brought them together.
Hobbes was gung ho to explore and spent the next hour poking his nose into every room—with a cursory glance behind furniture, under beds, and in closets—and inspecting the view from various windows. This will do nicely, he thought, taking note of the bird feeder. There’s lots of bustling entertainment to be had in this house. With that, he hurtled toward the window, leapt high, and found himself fixed in a Spider-Man, spread-eagled pose. This was his first encounter with window blinds, and he was not amused.
Lizzie heard the commotion and took the stairs at breakneck speed, dreading a catastrophe. She wasn’t prepared for the scene that greeted her. With limbs splayed, a confused Hobbes looked over his shoulder at her as he hung tangled in the blinds. He couldn’t fathom why he was ensnared by this rattling metal contraption. Lizzie was horrified to see the slats bent haphazardly. She carefully plucked Hobbes from his restraints, mindful not to cause further damage to the blinds—or his ego. She set him down and he skedaddled. He wasn’t going to linger for a stern lecture. He put window blinds on his list of booby traps to avoid. Lizzie painstakingly aligned each slat and told Hobbes all was well. He heaved a sigh of relief. Starting off on the wrong big foot would not be prudent.
When ten o’clock rolled around, Lizzie put a plush cat bed on the floor in her bedroom. She’d purchased it at the pet store earlier. Thinking Hobbes would be gaga over his first present, she turned to show it to him, but he had disappeared. “Hobbes,” Lizzie called, “where did you go?” Then she saw where he had gone. He was chilling on her bed, comfy as could be.
Hobbes thought this giant pillow-top bed was dandy. “Wow, visualizing what you want really works!” he said, bouncing to judge the firmness.
“Oh, no you don't.” Lizzie was insistent and put him in his bed. “This is your spot.” She climbed into bed and felt a plop on the mattress.
Hobbes, dogged in his resolve to sleep like royalty, was kneading the blanket into a nest. Lizzie put him in his bed, but he bounced back up as if he were on a trampoline. Hobbes was a cat with a mind of his own. Lizzie compromised and put his bed beside her. Hobbes was happy with this arrangement and snuggled next to Lizzie. “This is the cat’s pyjamas,” he murmured as he drifted off. The following night, Lizzie announced it was time for bed and Hobbes, not needing to be told twice, raced up the stairs ahead of her and was tucked in when she appeared.
Day after day, Lizzie held her breath waiting for a response to the ad she had placed in the local paper, but no one claimed Hobbes. That was fine with her since she already loved him to bits, but how deplorable that his family didn’t want this darling cat. Hobbes wasn’t bothered by it, because his life had improved beyond his wildest dreams. This was his forever home with his hand-picked mom. He'd found his pot of gold at the end of the rainbow—a house filled with an abundance of love for him.
It didn’t take Hobbes long to adjust to his new abode, and whenever he stood at Lizzie’s feet, she picked him up for a hug or a whirling dance to a song on the radio. ABBA’s Mamma Mia was his favourite. Lizzie was certain Hobbes would let her hold him all day if she had nothing else to do. When she hugged him goodbye before leaving for work each morning, he clung to her neck with such tenacity she could hardly pry his toes off her to set him down. She’d unhook one paw, and as she attempted to remove the other paw, he clamped the first one on again. He hammed it up with his “please don’t leave me” face to persuade her to stay.
One day, Lizzie came home from work and Hobbes wasn’t waiting at the door. She called him, thinking he was curled up on the sofa, but there was no sign of him. She checked her bedroom and found him in a deep sleep on the pillow next to hers. She whispered his name and he sat up, stupefied, staring at Lizzie, then her pillow, then back at Lizzie. His thoughts jumbled together. What the heck is going on? I didn’t hear the alarm clock. Why does Lizzie look presentable at this hour? Her hair and makeup are done, without my expert supervision, and she’s dressed in her good clothes. How did I miss all that? Oh no! Is breakfast finished too? He was so discombobulated. Lizzie explained that it was five o’clock in the afternoon, not five o’clock in the morning. A relieved Hobbes ran downstairs for dinner.
Lizzie later asked Hobbes if he wanted a hug and, sensing his eagerness, lifted him under his armpits with one hand and told him to step up. Hobbes plonked one humongous foot in Lizzie’s upturned palm followed by the other, and she hoisted him up. This became the routine lift for hugs. Lizzie was bowled over by his cleverness. “How did I get so lucky to find you?”
Hobbes asked himself the same thing.
Hobbes had more tricks up his sleeve. Well, they’d be up there if he wore a shirt. Lizzie was warming his food to make it tasty, and the moment inspiration struck, he vaulted from the floor to her shoulder, aping the flying monkeys in The Wizard of Oz. Lizzie screamed in alarm, wondering what had landed on her. Once Hobbes got this bird’s-eye view of the food preparation, there was no going back to the floor. His ninja attacks guaranteed a whopping reaction from Lizzie, but it was time to up his game. After an exceptionally satisfying visit to the litter box, he charged through the house and into the kitchen where Lizzie was chopping vegetables. As he flew behind her, he high-fived her butt with his paws and, without breaking stride, resumed his slapdash route. In the distance, he heard Lizzie shout, “Hey, no need to be cheeky.”
One morning, Lizzie and Hobbes scared each other. She’d finished brushing her teeth and opened the bathroom door. As she stepped out, a brief but ear-popping meow blasted her. Lizzie shrieked and nearly fell back into the bathroom from shock. When she last saw Hobbes, he’d been sleeping downstairs. Now he was patiently waiting on the dresser for Lizzie to emerge. The second she did, he let loose with his happy hello. Similar to her reaction, he came close to toppling off the dresser in fright. Lizzie suggested he tap on the door next time.
Hobbes was obsessed with items hazardous to a cat—thread, string, twist ties, zippers, buttons, and electrical cords. His sharp eyes routinely spotted frayed edges on towels, sheets, and blankets—all begging to be chewed. Luckily Lizzie saw what was happening before he could unravel and swallow fragments. She kept threads trimmed, and worn towels stayed in the closet. Lizzie’s habit of tossing her coat on the railing when she arrived home ended when Hobbes atta
cked the zipper, crushing the pull tab with his teeth until it broke. Hobbes also liked to chew buttons, which Lizzie discovered one morning while dressing for work. Several bits of decorative plastic were scattered on the floor and her shirt was no longer fit for stepping out in public.
Hobbes and his dog-like habits were confounding, and Lizzie child-proofed her home on the double. That meant no more tossing clothes on a chair or leaving window blind drawstrings and electrical cords exposed to her little troublemaker.
Every evening, Lizzie asked Hobbes how his day went and told him about hers. Hobbes had an impressive grasp of vocabulary, and Lizzie insisted to her friends that he understood everything she said. When Lizzie asked if he was hungry, he ran to the kitchen. When she asked if he wanted to be brushed, he scooted to the basement and sat on the bench. Along with his word comprehension, Lizzie was astonished to learn Hobbes liked to be vacuumed. Whenever he saw her vacuuming crumbs from the table with the soft brush, he jumped up for a light-suction massage.
Hobbes reckoned his life was perfect. He firmly believed nothing could alter his beatific existence. Until…
Liam
The scrawny orange-and-white cat crouched optimistically on Lizzie’s front porch. He had been skulking in the neighbourhood for weeks, wishing a compassionate person would adopt him. He once had a home, but his people moved away and callously left him behind to fend for himself. Although it traumatized him, he’d done his best to soldier on, but now, in the stillness of the night, he was in a pensive mood. For months he’d heard his parents discussing the move and was anticipating the fun of exploring their new house. His heart broke in disbelief on that fateful day when they piled in the car and drove off, never to return.
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