A View of the Valley

by Linda Schwanke Lucy kitty is having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad time of things right now.  Lucy went on a hunger strike because somehow someone decided to put her wet cat food plate on the left side of her dry food dish instead of the right side. Everyone knows that wet is right. It was a horrific, traumatic experience for her.  Then, THEN, her favorite formerly fuzzy ball, that is now just a lump of love because all the fuzz has been worn off because of all the love, got lost. I understand that warm laundry is fair game for kitties. I did not notice, because I guess I am the most horrible human ever, that the ball was on my bed and somehow got trapped between the warm sheets and the mattress cover when I made the bed. I had felt something soft under the sheets but, to be honest, ignored it out of fear of what it might be. It didn’t stink and wasn’t wet, so I left it alone and forgot about it. The next time I changed the sheets, I found it. Poor Lucy was right there (warm laundry sends some kind of chemical signal to cats) and pounced on her toy, snatching it up and running off with it. Oh the humanity… er, feline-ity.  Lucy is generally pretty easy going – as long as everything is going her way. Her needs are few. A scratch now and then when she’s ready and able to mentally cope with the indignity of needing some love. A warm, peaceful place to sleep during the day, preferably where she can keep an eye on the dog and the comings and goings of all the humans but a nice soft pile of sweaters on the bottom shelf of the closet is a good spot when she needs some me-time. Dark spaces where her ebony fur blends in, like the open cubby on my great-grandpa’s desk, are fun because she is invisible until she opens her eyes and scares the daylights out of passers-by. Food – in the right place! – and water that the Scout the Wonder Dog has taste tested for poisons. Or any handy water glass left unattended, preferably with condensation on the sides to be licked off first. Or the pitcher of water with the lid left off that’s on the dryer and is meant to be used for the laundry. That’s all. Maybe a couple other things. A clean litter box. A few (dozen) toys. A newly potted spider plant to dig up. And that’s about it.  Lucy is a simple cat. Really.  Lucy is, as I’m sure you can tell and she would be the first to tell you, the most low maintenance cat in the world. Her teasing the dog to start a fight is just to make sure Scout gets some exercise. Her clawing the back of the couch is a reminder that we really need to get a new couch so she’s helping us by destroying the one we have.  Not so long ago there were other issues. Fred for one. Fred was a girl cat named for a song about a guy who didn’t know  anyone’s name so he called everyone and everything Fred. Fred did not give a rat’s butt about Lucy. Fred was going to do what she was going to do, period. Looking a little like a tank, Fred knew what she wanted and didn’t take crap off of anyone, especially some little whipper-snapper kitten. If Fred didn’t like where you were, she climbed on top of you and breathed on you (she had horrible breath no matter what she ate and even though the vet said her teeth were fine) until you moved. Fred slept on Gwen’s head at night and that stupid black thing could go fish if she thought she was going to sleep on Gwen’s head. But Lucy eventually won the day after Fred went to the big catnip field in the sky. Kitties Josie and Daisy, and Freya the Norwegian Elkhound princess, joined Fred but not before making Lucy’s life temporarily miserable. Josie and Daisy did not like Lucy and would make it known to her with hisses and dark, menacing looks. Freya, like Fred, did not care at all about Lucy. Freya, above all, ruled the roost. Any arguments about it were ignored. If a cat wanted to play, tough cookies. If a cat wanted a snuggle, the same. Daisy could, on occasion, cuddle up for a nap with Freya but only if Freya fell asleep first. Poor little Lucy – none of them acknowledged her absolute perfection. When their time came to leave, Lucy was left with Scout, who can easily be bullied, and all was well for a time. Then, THEN, a fat little ball of barking nonsense came to live in the house. Baby Mildred was ok because Lucy could ignore her – and now just runs away when Mildred is in the mood to cuddle and Lucy isn’t. But this new thing – OMG. It’s awful. It barks. It yips. It whines and cries and it’s little stinky nose tries to play and everything is terrible, horrible, no good and very bad. So anyway, a puppy came to live at our house. Lucy is not happy about it at all. The rest of us are trying to help her cope.  Stay in touch. My number is 574-3159. Email me at homenewseditor@newspubinc.com or write to me at the Home News, P.O. Box 39, Spring Green WI 53588.