Our neighborhood like most, has their fair share of domestic animals. In our household, we always had some kind of “Pet” that was supposed to satisfy our need to be in touch with the animal world. Something that you have to keep in mind however, is that there are pets, and then there are “pets.” What that means is some of them are affectionate and appreciative, and some of them just don’t give a damn about the human race. This is unfortunately very true about cats, who are about as independent as a 16-year-old getting their first driver’s license.
About five years after we moved in, we discovered a lot of interesting nonviolent and semi-nonviolent neighborhood animals. One of the most intriguing events involved some friends who lived up on a hill behind our property. They also had four kids about the same ages as ours. They had a couple of horses, as well as a monkey. I don’t think they were trying to train a monkey to ride the horses, but it wouldn’t have surprised me. This little beast was the kind that you used to see with “organ grinders,” with their cute Bell Hop outfit and little tin cup, looking for a handout, and if they didn’t get your attention, would likely bite you on the leg.
Anyway, on one weekend we got a phone call from one of the girls, screaming at the top her lungs that their monkey had gone berserk. Neither of her parents were home, so being the good guy that I am, I went up there to assist in the capture of this wild and dangerous beast. I found my “Jungle Jim” hat and went trotting up the hill. I could hear the yelling and screeching before I got halfway there. Hell, at that point I thought this little monkey had killed at least two of the kids and had cornered the others. I then realized that I had forgotten my elephant gun!
I went in the front door and was astounded at how badly the living room had been trashed. This little monkey could not weigh much over 10 pounds, and this place looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Anything standing was knocked over, drapes were ripped off the wall, pictures were down and broken, and the kitchen was littered with debris. I finally found one of the surviving members of the family and asked where the beast was, and she pointed to a bedroom, which sounded like someone having a serious bar fight.
There the culprit was, showing one hell of a lot of teeth that could not be interpreted as a smile. It was bouncing from window to wall to bed and back again, screeching all the way. Two of the kids were attempting to throw blankets over him, but this monkey was extremely fast. After a few seconds, I came to the conclusion that the best thing to do was get out of there, close the door and let this little home wrecker calm down. I got the kids out and we shut the door with the unfortunate assumption that the monkey could not do much more damage to the room than it already had. I asked one of them how it started. He said they were watching TV and eating lunch, and all of a sudden the “monkey went bananas,” which I thought was an appropriate description.
After about 10 minutes or so, the noise and banging in the room subsided, so I opened the door a crack and saw the monkey sitting on the bed with his back turned. I quickly picked up one of the blankets off the floor and jumped on the bed, covering the monkey. Based on the amount of screeches, I think it safe to say, the monkey was more than just a little pissed. We took it to the garage where they had a cage and summarily dumped this simian in, blanket and all. I went back in the house and looked around at all of the devastation, found my “Jungle Jim” hat and went home. Never heard another thing about the monkey! I have a sneaking suspicion that it was reissued its little “bellhop” uniform, and is now standing with some organ grinder on a corner in New York City, biting unsuspecting deadbeats that don’t put something in his cute little tin cup!
The people across the street were great. She was called Babs and she called him Coot for some reason I never understood, because his name was Bob. They had three kids, and one was the same age as JJ Junior. They had a horse – mean as hell that liked to bite people – which Babs would ride once in a while, and a dog that was named Kip. He was a black lab, very smart and extremely friendly. Kip got along with Rusty, our dog, as well as Rusty my cat. Yeah, that’s right! Rusty the dog adopted JJ Junior, and Rusty the cat had adopted me. Both were strays! We had tried to find their owners, but had no luck, so I suspect they had been brought up to the hills and dumped.
Most of the domestic animals ran around loose in our neighborhood. I suspect that the Town had a leash law, but that it probably only applied to the local teenage “bomb throwers.” Anyway, Kip used to hang around the house, along with a couple of other neighbors dogs, so we saw quite a bit of him. One weekend afternoon, Blue-eyes was in the process of making dinner, which was going to be, excuse the expression, rump roast. Apparently she had taken the roast out and put it on the kitchen counter, and then went off to do something else.
It was winter and a little too cold to be working outside. I was doing some stuff down in the basement and Blue-eyes called me. She asked me what I did with the roast and naturally, I had no idea what she was talking about. She told me it had been on the counter, and now it was gone. My immediate thought was she had put it back in the freezer or one of the kids was messing with her mind. We looked all over. No roast!
The kids denied any involvement whatsoever. I didn’t think the roast could just get up and walk away because it didn’t like the thought of being cooked with raw onions and garlic. Right about then, I’m starting to get this spooky feeling that the house has been invaded by a meat eating demon, which likes its meat real, real rare. I figure any minute, something is going to take a bite out of my arm or whatever. We had hamburgers for dinner, which was fine. No roast showed up, nor did any spook, that I noticed. The mystery perplexed us!
A couple of weeks later, I saw Kip by the back patio, and out of curiosity, I walked into the living room area to see what’s going on, just in time to see this dog push open the sliding glass door. He had figured out that by putting his weight against the handle, he could get it open. The case of the disappearing rump roast was closed. I went over and talked to Coot and said, “You owe me a 5 pound rump roast.” I told him what happened and he said “Yeah, Kip learned long ago how to open sliding doors.” About an hour later I was proud owner of a new rump – roast that is!
From that point forward, we made sure that sliding doors were locked to protect ourselves and dinner from this canine burglar. I was concerned that the damn dog was smart enough to pick a lock. Kip also had a newspaper fetish. I think his favorite was the sports section, because when I finally found our paper after he was done with it, that section was usually missing. This dog was a real piece of work! A few weeks later, we discovered him in the kitchen. He devoured half of a chocolate cake, and was unhappy that he couldn’t find the ice cream. The shocking thing is that the chocolate didn’t kill the dog. Most dogs have a collar around their neck, However, I suspect Kip carried a burglar’s toolkit. About a year later, Coot and Babs moved to Chicago. To this day, I’m sure that the burglary rate in their new neighborhood went up by at least 100%.
We had our share of pets over the years, or should I say they had us. Rusty the dog was a loner and had a foot fetish of the first order. My assumption was he had been kicked more than once by his previous owner. His only affection was for JJ Junior, and he pretty well snubbed the rest of us. He wasn’t real playful; he wouldn’t fetch, wouldn’t roll over, rarely spoke, and most of the time if I called him, he just ignored me. However, he was the best damn squirrel deterrent we ever had. I used to watch him take off after these little critters, but I don’t think he ever caught one – but not for the want of trying. He developed a technique of hiding under some bushes near their favorite tree and waiting until they hit the ground, and then shoot after them like a rocket. I figure it was one of his few joys in life, other than his allegiance to Junior.
He had one serious flaw, and that was his distaste for the UPS truck. He wouldn’t chase cars, but maybe figured he could knock over this truck. To his misfortune, one day he got into an altercation and the truck won. He could just be described as a really good dog.
Rusty the cat had something of the same demeanor, however, he could be much more demonstrative when he wanted something. We had no idea how old he was, but I figure at least 12 or 13. He was what I called a Tiger alley-cat, and preferred not to sleep indoors. He wasn’t particularly the house type, liked the outdoors, but clearly the family room and its fireplace was his favorite location inside, especially in the winter. I think he spent most of his nights out in the stall, protecting the horses from the rodents. We never had a mouse or rat problem when he was alive!
If he wanted something, like food, he didn’t try to communicate in any way other than to jump on you. I would be sitting in the family room reading, and all of a sudden this yellow monster would come flying through the air, and land on my lap. It didn’t matter that I may have had a cup of coffee or was trying to read the newspaper, and more than once I ended up with fluid all over my lap and the rug. He wasn’t being playful, he was making statement. If I was working outside on some project, Rusty would come along to supervise. He’d sit 10 or 15 feet away and watch what I was doing. On more than one occasion, I noticed after I completed whatever, he would go over and inspect the work.
One of his favorite tricks was to hide in the bushes or up the tree and pounce on any unsuspecting person walking by, usually scaring the hell out of them. He also pulled this trick on Rusty the dog, at which point the two would chase each other all over the back yard. I think they were probably buddies, but didn’t want to admit this because of the perceived hostilities between dogs and cats.
We had Rusty the cat for about two years. One spring day, he was lying by the family room door, where the sun was shining – his favorite spot – and I was reading. Then I noticed he had not moved in quite a while. I went over to see what was going on, and to my surprise and sadness, he was dead. No symptoms, no demonstration of a problem. He just laid down in the sun and died. I buried him in one of his favorite areas in the back 40 near the corral. Rusty the dog, wandered around the backyard for a couple of days, in my belief looking for his so-called feline adversary. Rusty was a good cat!
Over the years we had a number of other dogs, but never another cat. Those two have always stood out in my memory because of their obvious indifference to any human interface, but at the same time, clearly felt they were where they belonged.
Moral of the story – If you really want a pet, get a turtle and teach it how to bring in the paper. They live longer!
J.J. Addingnuttin 