Cat from The Past

I wrote this on Face Book a couple of years ago. Fat-Jack is a cat. He is still Alive. Elsewhere in these pages you will read of his belief in his own immortality, fighting a Raccoon, Fighting Dogs, and generally spending his lives in living large.

This was the first thing I wrote about Him.

He vanished over a week ago. This itself is not unusual, it used to be a common occurrence before the Dog tried to eat him and tore his throat open. We had him snipped and stitched at the same time. He wandered a little after that, but it slowed to a trickle after he got jumped by a posse of Persians and Siamese, they kicked his ass. After that he has seemed to settle down, sleeping on the porch in the dog kennel he commandeered, eating tasty little morsels his obedient slaves (#1 and 2) brought to him, and generally getting fat and somnolent in his dotage. I say dotage because he is old for a tom-cat, 6 human years, which is the exact equivalent to; 6 cat years! I promise, there is not a feline calendar predicting the end of the world, that’s the Mayans, and they’re wrong. I digress, We picked up Wee Jack at my brothers house in Heber 6-7 years ago. His sister came with us. When they were 8 months old wee-jack was cat-napped by a real estate agent. We tracked her down and got him back. But not before she had claw protectors put on. Dang he felt silly, big tough tom-cat in acrylic nails. Poor little guy. But that’s all in the past, far away and long ago.
He vanished last week, leaving not a wrack behind. Remember, this is the cat that sleeps with one eye open. Because of a scar. He is so lazy that he has been mistaken for road-kill. Not just by me, the mailman tried to move his “body” out of the way once. Not my fault that “dead” cats don’t like being picked up by one hind leg and swung like a pendulum. It was not even a very bad bite, and Fat Jack seemed to like the pepper spray..
But this time, he was just gone. For the first day it was a mild annoyance, an empty kennel on the porch, odd but not really. By the third day, we were all a little worried. Well, the GIRLS were a little tiny bit worried. I was nonchalant. By the fifth day, the GIRLS were getting a bit weepy and I had started looking for his body on the side of the road. Monday, we did the round of the shelters, looking at all three of them that steal animals from this area. We pored over the DOA lists, hoping to not find him, but wanting a bit of closure for the kids. Yesterday we hit them all again, and added in a couple of known cat trappers and feral cat feeder types. 

No dice. 

Today, the 8th day since his vanishing act, we decided to give it one more shot. We hit The Humane Society, the County and the City shelter and the nearby vets. Not a hair or hint did we find. As we are coming back into the neighborhood, glum chums all. #1 starts up about this house. She just knows that Jack is there. I am disinclined to check, but you want to be a good dad right? So I hoof it up to the door and bang a few times. No answer, but I do notice an odd aroma, something like the lion house at the zoo. Just for the hell of it I yelled JACK! Instantly there was a loud caterwauling from the garage. It sounded like just one cat, but hey, my ears are broken so I hoofed it to the car and grabbed #1 whose ears work perfectly. The second she got out of the car she starts “I can hear jack!” etc. So then I get the Wife, whose ears also work perfectly. She saunters up to the window of the garage and starts calling “Jack” “Jack” before she could get to the third “J” this furry object comes flying out of the darkness of the garage and splats on the screen next to the wife’s face. Guess What? It’s himself, The Fat Jack. At this point we know that no one is answering, we also know that it’s Jack. His scars, especially the eye, are pretty distinctive. So what’s a guy to do? I smashed the window. Reached in and pulled out Jack. I put the screen back just in time to prevent the other 30 or so cats from pouring out to freedom. Yeah, that’s right. At least 30, all shapes and sizes. The Fat Jack had fallen victim to a cat hoarder. 

The dumb cat.
So, now we are home. Jack is bathed (holy snarking shit!) and wearing a fresh collar. He ate two cans of cat food, farted loudly and fell asleep on the dog. Who seems to be the happiest to see him.
I made an anonymous call to the fascist authorities; they informed me that they have already removed 20 plus cats from this garage. But they will come out tomorrow and look again. Wow, A cat hoarder. So The Fat Jack is safe once again. 

The saga of the fat Jack.

Fat Jack as a a wee un (he was just Jack then)

Fat Jack in his formative weeks ;-)

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Our furry friends

 *NO ANIMALS WERE HARMED IN THE MAKING OF THIS BLOG*

Except me.
As you may, or may not know, I have a cat. His name is Fat Jack and for the most part.
 He is a bad ass.
He was the first Feline to be Issued a man card.
He likes his women and his food ready and waiting for him.
He sounds like Barry White. (But I am the only one that can hear him)
He had a staring contest with Chuck Norris and not only did He win, he went to Chuck's house after and peed on all of his sunglasses.
Yeah.
Fat Jack is a pretty cool dude.
He got his name because, well, he is fat. 25 pounds of lean mean sleeping machine.
A few weeks ago he Jumped a full size Raccoon.
From the sounds of things it was apparent that Jack had been leisurely eating his midnight snack out on the front porch and Vladimir the coon came sauntering over.

Thats when Jack jumped him.

Thats when the coon got a hold of Fat Jack and bit a coon sized mouthful right out of his ass.

Thats when Tom shot Vladimir.

You get the Picture?
Good.


Cause now a couple of weeks have gone by and Fat Jack is all but healed. He lives outside so I haven't worried too much about the blood clots and dried yuck and coon spittle all over his fur.
At least.
Not till yesterday.
That was when Child #2 informed me that Friday is the "GREATEST DAY EBER!!!!!"
Pet Day.
and she was going to be taking Fat Jack cause he is the coolest most famous cat eber.

So.

He needs a bath.
I had never bathed a cat before.
I have seen movies of lions swimming rivers with little lionets in their mouths, and I have seen the sister in laws Russian Van Kitty happily playing under a running faucet, so I figured it would be simple. Easier than the dog anyway.
I mean, geez, he may be THE FAT JACK, but he is still just a little kitty.
I should have a theme song. Something like "Tom is dumb, he is just dumb, he is really really dumb" and just insert it into the soundtrack during these moments.

I filled the tub up with about four inches of warm water and had #2 standing by with the Johnsons baby soap, perfect for babys and kitties.
Then I grabbed Fat Jack and
pay attention here it goes pretty fast
I tried to set him in the water but those ten, inch long razor tipped weapons of death started spinning at mach 8 or so and his 25 pound body proved to have not an ounce of fat on him as he turned and yowled and spit and snarled and twisted and turned and somehow jammed his paws, all four of them, onto the side of the tub as I pushed him towards the water.
At this point he began to scream for help and his Buddy, my yellow-bellied neurotic IBS afflicted Mr. Dog ran in and bit me on the leg.
Then Jack gave me a little love bite on the wrist.
So he earned a moments grace while I slammed the door of the bathroom with the dog in the hall and me and Jack and #2 in the bathroom. She is still standing ready, holding the soap, giant tears running down the sides of her face.
Because.
I was hurting her Kitty.
Here I thought that the damn cat was kicking my ass, silly me.
So I manned up, looked at the spot where Jacks used to be, and dunked him.
then I held him while #2 dumped the entire bottle of soap on him. I figured, why stint?
I was holding him still with one hand and soaping the gross of off him, all was well.
Then he started crying.
Not soft manly sobs either.
he was wailing, sobbing, heart broken and letting the entire world know it.
#2 joined in, then Mr. Dog, never one to pass the chance, chorused in with Howling from the hall.
This went on. Through the soaping and the rinsing of the cat.
He even continued as I lifted him up out of the water and wrapped him in a dry towel.
At which point he did three things.
Bit me, farted and then started purring.
He lost his man card.
The women are gonna make him do some chasing for a while.
and worst of all.
Late late last night.
Chuck Norris called.
He wants a rematch.

                                                                                love taps