THE MISADVENTURES of OLIVER TWIST/ chapter 1
THE MISADVENTURES OF Oliver Twist l Chapter 1 Feline Foodie
I’m pretty sure my boss knew the moment I said, “I found this stray kitten at the stable …” that we’d be keeping him. I was the one living in denial. A string of perfectly adequate arguments ran through my mind and out my mouth, “We really didn’t need another mouser… on the cat lover scale 1 to 10, I’d really only rate myself a 6….. my current barn cat obviously resented this feline intrusion…….. I knew an excellent no-kill shelter that would take great care of this… precious….. enthusiastic… ….adorable little fur-ball!” Despite my internal examinations and mental wrestling matches, his epic personality and kitten cuteness prevailed, and a long story became short. There was a kitten, we kept him!
From my last installment you already know this kitten’s name is now Oliver, and you have seen his obvious good looks, but you haven’t yet met Oliver “the personality”. We all know typical cat personalities. There’s the aristo-cat who condescendingly allows its butt to be scratched for the briefest of moments before harrumphing off in disdain. There’s the Scared-e-cat who can only be enticed into visual existence by the most tempting of treats (so long as only one of your eyes is showing around the door post on the opposite side of the room). There’s the harass-e-cat who, with a constantly defining purr, insists on having its cheeks vigorously rubbed no matter how important your book, homework, food or sleep! And, there’s the antagonisti-cat that enjoys hiding in the shadows and attacking your feet, for the pure enjoyment of watching you dance across the room like a flamingo walking across a bed of hot coals. Typical cat personality right? Well Oliver is a little more than “typical”. But I suppose that’s what you can expect from the cat that grew up with horses.
Really Oliver is very “cat like”, and exhibits minor tendencies towards all of the above mentioned personalities (he’s a pretty well rounded harass-e-arista-antagonista-cat). But there are a few very “un-cat like” things he has acquired a taste for having grown up with the S.E.C. horses, including trail rides and Triple Crown Senior Feed.
As a kitten Oliver’s determination to remain well fed was infinite. A fact that sank in when I kept track of the number of reprimands, increasing in severity, necessary to defend my food during one half hour lunch break (it was over 150). He could certainly harass with the best of his species as a youngster… but I suppose youth is for sewing a few wild oats and stealing some cheese!! I rather think Oliver would identify well with a Hobbit, as he has always placed great stock in four to five meals a day.
As a kitten Oliver always ran for the office door upon completion of his plentiful breakfast. At first I naturally assumed it was to politely use the litter box… until I observed his state of filthy dishevel upon return!?? What was he doing? Everything that looks muddy is pretty much frozen around these parts in February!
One chilly winter morning I decided to investigate. As I watched, Oliver entered one of our older horses stall, and then it hit me, he was after a second of Triple Crown Senior! A high fat molasses sweetened grain that can be soaked into a mash for older horses. In his enthusiasm to obtain ongoing sustenance, Oliver had apparently been attempting to butter up our two olden-goldies: Otto a 1200 pound Belgian Draft, and Angel a partially blind buckskin paint mare.
It was Angel’s stall he had entered, and despite intelligent maneuvering (can you hear the Mission Impossible theme song yet?) he managed to get on her wrong side and made an unscheduled exit. She dexterously hooked her nose under his belly and tossed him back into the aisle at my feet in a yowling ball of fur. I patted his wounded pride, but decided to let him learn his lesson as he was going to have to live his whole life around the horses. I think eventually he concluded that getting brunch from Angel really was a mission impossible and turned his attentions to our big guy. A fact confirmed when, several days later, the sound of a most desperate yammer directed me to the plate sized hoof of Otto, where only the tiny tail end of Oliver protruded.
I thought, with this latest misadventure he would learn his lesson, but apparently his tenacious appetite for Triple Crown Senior was to overwhelming! Eventually one day I caught him red handed... happily brunching in Otto’s feed tub, getting occasional back scratches when Otto lipped for his food, and saving all of the slobbery excess in his coat for later.
I had to chuckle as he peered up at me, knee deep in mash, licking his chops, purring loudly and literally dripping with horse mash slobber! His moment of glory had arrived! Eventually the reality of sticky wetness on a cold February day hit him and he returned to the office seeking asylum. One dunking in a heated water bucket and a vigorous toweling later he was curled up in my lap, belly full, mission accomplished, purring away. It was at that moment that I decided this little softball sized feline, full of shenanigans and a resolute will to survive, was going to have to stay.
