Cat terrorizes Connecticut town- and brings back memories

Remember what I said below about Islam and dogs?

Well, cats would be a different matter.

Now, don't get me wrong. I don't actually hate cats, and I certainly don't approve of abusing them. But as I read about Lewis and his victims in Fairfield, I find myself thinking back to my household companion when I was in the ministry. You see, I myself was terrorized by a cat for eight years.

It's not that she inflicted bodily harm on me very often. She wasn't abusive or anything. And she only drew blood when she thought the offense truly deserved it. The major problem, rather, was that she was unclear on the distinction between the concepts "litter box" and "parsonage rug." This did not endear her to the congregation, and she ended her days as a farm cat.

Cassie and I because roommates when the woman I was dating at the time- Cassie's previous owner- called me after church one Sunday in tears, and told me that she had taken Cassie to the shelter the previous day because of "terrible litterbox habits." Cassie would be sent to the Great Kitty Condo in the Sky on Tuesday if nobody adopted her- and given her reason for being there, it seemed unlikely that anybody would.

My girlfriend- like several of the older women in my congregation- was a 'cat person.' They all had been telling me that I needed a cat in the parsonage to keep me company, since "it is not good that man should be alone."

I must confess that I had never before heard that verse quoted in that connection. But an active recruitment program was on in at least two states, and several other cats had nearly moved into the parsonage- only to be adopted by those older ladies (who fell in love with them before they got to me)- before that fateful telephone call. I even had a name picked out- and a properly biblical one, too: that of Isaiah's son, Maher-shalal-hash-baz ("Hasten to the spoil, hurry to the prey"). I was going to call the kitty "Baz" for short.

I told my girlfriend that Cassie might be happier in a three-bedroom parsonage than in a tiny apartment, and adjust her behavior accordingly. If she wasn't, I said, her chances for adoption would be better in St. Louis than in Dubuque. So the next day- my day off- I drove the three hundred miles to my girlfriend's house, got the cat, turned right around, and drove the three hundred miles back.

My affection for Cassie notwithstanding (I would not have put up with her for eight years without it), her perversity was astounding (we think she was abused by children as a kitten). Having been declawed, she bit. Not that she was mean, you understand. It's just that she had a temper, wasn't especially fond of other creatures, and would never let me forget who ran our household.

But I never had the heart to take her to the shelter. But I have to admit that the parsonage seemed awfully empty once she was gone. Though the living room rug (especially behind the furniture) did smell a great deal better, and the debris that gathered there tended to be dust bunnies rather than something a little more- shall we say- organic.

And it was probably just as well. I like to think that those last couple of years as a farm cat were the happiest of Cassie's misanthropic life. One of my last memories of her was watching her stroll down a sidewalk while another of the cats on the premises waited behind a bush to playfully spring out at her as she passed. When the other cat pounced, the unfazed Cassie just gave her a distainful look as if to say, "Yeah. Right."

My roommate in Virginia, Mike, has a cat named Scully. A relatively inoffensive beast, really, save for her daily terrorizing of my lizard and her habit of always being in the most inconvenient possible place at the worst possible moment (a trait, of course, she has in common with all of her species). But she gave me just enough of a reminder of what it's like to live with a cat to reinforce my resolution never to get another one.

From now on, I stick with lizards, parrots, and dogs.

And maybe an occasional fish, if it's well-behaved.

HT: Drudge