My Fidget
Only my mother would think it a good idea to bring home a pregnant cat. Part Siamese, it was dark grey yet had cream underfur revealed if you blew on her. We'd just come to Washington and been erupted upon so I named her after a newspaper photo caption 'Yakima Snow.' One of her offspring was a small and beautiful tabby I named 'Evinrude' as she purred loudly. Fidget was the son of Evinrude. A peachy, compact-yet-weighty tom, he had lightning reflexes honed by our play when he was young (and an only cat) with a wine cork on a string on a stick. I'd flail it about and Fidget would seize it. He actually leapt up one day and snatched a hummingbird out of the air. I whalloped him and he spat it out and it flew off. He used the bathtub as a device to play pinball with prey. He'd bat them about then eat them when he was tired of the game. Mice, shrews, even rabbits, were his prey. I had a dream one night about trying to climb a glass mountain. I went down and found a hapless mouse scrabbling at the tub vainly trying to escape from Fidget. I rescued it and released it in a hayfield as it seemed it had communicated with me.
Fidget taught himself to pee in the toilet. He was very smart. He didn't like my husband and hied off into the gully behind the house for the duration of the marriage, but would come if I called. He came one day infested with fleas and wanting help, but left after I fixed him up.
When we moved out he was ecstatic and stayed in the house as before.
Tired must rest.
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