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A Woman and Her Fur

By Julie Grenness

Once upon a lifetime, this old chick owned a lady cat. My fur friend was so much fun, both girls together. But, like everyone else, my girl pet started aging, thus developing health issues.

So, one day, I popped Lady Kitty into a cardboard pet box, hopped in my car to head off to her appointment at the vet, who was also a lady. The vet pronounced a diagnosis and a treatment. “Give your cat one of these tablets twice per day. This is how to do it.”

The ever-capable vet held the jaw of my feline. She inserted the med, and it duly got swallowed. My female fur friend looked stunned, then clawed my arm as she was placed in her container. Much yowling commenced as I sorted an extravagant fee for what I later realized were only human tablets in a different format, with a slightly different name. But three times the price, funnily enough.

In the car again. Hissy fit from Lady Kitty, who escaped from her cardboard pet box, to wind up under the brake pedal, still furious. I had to pull over to the side of the road, only to receive another clawing.

We arrived home, but my lady cat was in a massive huff by then. So she promptly left the building via the pet door to sulk in the garden in the rain. The hours passed by, and it was time for her next tablet. “Give your cat one of these tablets twice per day.” “Yeah, right,” thought this old chick. “Yeah, right, fluff that!” thought the chick’s Lady Kitty.

“Is this like Pavlov with no dog?” I wondered. “Why were there no Pavlov’s cats?” I stood in the rain in the dark in the back yard, but trying to get Lady Kitty back was really hard. It was like a futile Catscan.

Eventually, this sodden female feline deigned to venture indoors to the girls’ abode. I administered the aforementioned tablet. Lady Kitty swiped again, then ran to the back of the couch, to spit the dummy and the tablet, with a fur ball, on the carpet. Well, really, Lady Kitty, what gets behind the couch stays behind the couch, especially at that hour of the night.

“Am I being too soft on Lady Kitty?” I wondered. In the morning, my cat let me pat her as I fed her tablet hidden in chicken. Eating around the tablet, Lady Kitty cleaned her bowl, leaving her tablet sitting there, shining like an abandoned shining pearl. The fluffy fur female sat in the middle of my bed, like the Queen of Egypt she really was in another reincarnation. My whole pad was her temple.

This was a chick moment with another tablet due for Lady Kitty. I approached the great fur huff some hours later. Her beady eyes said it all. My Lady Kitty, showing little arthritic condition requiring these tablets, disappeared behind the couch again.

Yes, what ends up behind the couch, stays behind the couch. Wisdom of an old, wise woman. I went to bed, demoralized by my little female fluffy cat, needing a new shirt, perhaps a tetanus shot, and amazed by the hyper-efficiency of the lady vet. Maybe things would look better in the morning. This really needs a woman’s touch! “Yeah, right!” thought my lady cat.

Once upon a lifetime, this is a true tale of a woman and her fur.

— Julie Grenness

Julie Grenness is a poet and writer in Australia. She’s a former teacher who now tutors and mentors young people.

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