A Tall Tail

This is a collection of stories of the shortcomings and goings of a cat named Wallie. Documented for all to read, is a collection of very tall tails, my indiscretions and my adventures from my life on a farm where I abide, (and never leave - if anyone asks). In typical feline fashion, I solemnly swear that none of this is true and I take no responsibility for any events that may or may not have actually happened (including the dead mouse reportedly found in the community mailbox last week).

By way of introduction, I’ll share that I am a long Himalayan - barn cat cross. That sounds fancy right, but the truth is that both my mom and dad are barn cats. My mom is very down-to-earth, a great mouser and a solid shade of grey. My dad, on the other hand, looks part polar bear due to his large mass and Himalayan pomp and fluff. He walks around like he is the King of the Pride on the Serengeti. No one has the heart to tell him otherwise. Our little piece of Africa is a lavender farm in a small town on the Pacific NorthWest, so small in fact, that farmland can still be found “downtown”. This makes the perfect place for a cat to live on the wild side. But times are changing, the city is growing and more and more of the farmland is being bought up by developers.

As chief cat, and the only car allowed in the farmhouse, I oversee a family of 7. I ensure that they do a good job, working hard to buy me whatever I need and take care of my paw and ma and all the other barn cats. I see myself as a benevolent dictator. The family is composed of Suitcase who is married to Betty and they have 5 children. Suitcase is very predictable. He goes to work everyday at 8 am and returns at 5. He refuses to acknowledge my existence and I often penalize him for that by peeing in his shoes. Betty, on the other hand, is hard-working, creative and compassionate. Though I suspect uneducated, she always appears put together and manages to pull off a surprising amount of tasks all on her own. Despite often feeling overwhelmed, she only confides it in me. I love her unconditionally because she feeds me. In return I reward her handsomely, with bird wings, mouse gizzards and other parts of my bounty. The children, in order, I have named Sleepy, Apple, Pigtails, Superman and Uno. Sleepy is 15. She got her name, she loves to sleep. Even before she became a teenager she loved to fall esleep reading her Shakesphere graphic novels in the yard on a big blanket under the pine tree. Apple is 12. He was named after the little icon on the computer that is always in front of his face. When I look at him straight on there is a little graphic of an apple where his nose should be. If I had to describe him I’d say he is 5 ft tall, skinny with a 13” rectangular head, no eyes and an apple for a nose. Sometimes he screams incoherent sentences like, “Come and get me”, “Game Over!” and “Shoot, shoot shoot” at no one in particular. I am never sure if he's talking to me or not so I frequently keep my head down and run. In general he does like animals and the summer when Betty unplugged the internet he spent a great deal of time with me booby trapping the yard. Pigtails is next. She is 7. Betty puts her hair in pigtails every morning. Pigtails resists claiming she wants her hair left tangly. A tangly Pigtails looks like a mangy lion. Betty chases her around the houses with the hairbrush and tackles her while she screams bloody murder. Humans! I frequently like to watch this. It is one of my favorite parts of our morning routine (besides breakfast). On this inside I roar with laughter because if Pigtails didn’t take one for the team, you can bet Betty's going to brush me instead. Superman is my favourite. He’s 8. He spends a lot of time outside pretending he can fly. Most afternoons in the summer, me and the others, sit in the grass and watch him like a sitcom, as he launches himself in mud puddles, horse plops, compost piles, hay bales and anything else that make Betty and the girls scream when they see him returning. Superman is also kind. He has followed me on many a yard adventure and reminds Betty to feed me when she gets overwhelmed and forgets. Finally, Uno. Uno is the baby, she is 5. I call her Uno because she’s always missing one of something that she should have two of. She is so busy trying to catch up with everyone that it’s like she often forgets to finish getting dressed.

As I record this first entry, a storm is passing. I sit perched on the back of the sofa. Betty is in the kitchen washing of the vegetables she picked from the garden before the rain came. She keeps looking at me and smiling. Uno is sleeping below me, holding her doll that is wearing matching pajamas. Every time she exhales she blows a strand of hair up and over her nose. I keep telling myself to ignore it, but It is absolutely. driving. me. mad. I feel my claws extending and retracting. I look at Betty.

“Be good Wallie!” she warns me.

How does she know? Is the hair bothering her too? Don’t worry Betty! You make my favourite diner and I’ll take care of this for you. Before I can overthink it, my tail curls at the top, my hind legs rise. I feel my butt swing side to side and BOOM! I pounce on Uno’s chest, ready to avenge the strand of hair. Uno wakes up startled and begins to scream like I stabbed her. Okay, I may have accidentally stabbed her a lil’ bit with my claws, but still this seems like overkill. I look at Betty who is running toward me. I am in trouble. My crawls are hooked in Unos pajamas and I jump up and down doing chest compressions in an attempt to free myself. Betty is converging.

“Wallie!!!!” Stop.” she’s screaming.

I need a cover story and quick. Uno sits up and begins to cough in between wailing. The wad of gum that she was chewing before she fell asleep drops out of her mouth.

“Oh Wallie! You saved her!” Betty says, completely misreading the situation. “What a good kitty!”. She scoops up Uno and scolds her for chewing gum. “Wallie, saved you! We need to give her a special treat for dinner”.