Muffin the Terrible
After Kim died, Muffin morphed into a howling, spitting, growling, seven pound terror. My friend, Peggy, said the cat was just lonely, now that Kim was gone and probably angry, too. I disagreed. Angry was a bit of tail snapping, some hissing and, maybe, an unsheathing of her claws now and then. This was not just anger. Muffin, the scrawny and tiny seemed to have been possessed by the spirit of the Jungle Book’s Shirkan the high and mighty.
Even Marlena felt Muffin’s wrath. On a weekend she came to visit, Marlena made two awful mistakes: the first was that she did not give the cat the proper attention; the second error was leaving her red leather gloves inside the pocket of her jacket. The jacket, folded neatly and placed on the window seat by the front door, was one easy jump for an agile Siamese cat.
When Marlena was ready to go out for dinner, she took her jacket, put it on and reached for her lovely gloves which were lovely no more. I heard Marlena’s screams in the kitchen.
Inside her pocket and only in the pocket that contained the designer, red leather gloves, Blueberry Muffin had emptied her bladder.
Where Muffin hid for the reminder of the weekend is anyone’s guess, but when Marlena left for home Sunday evening, Muffin reappeared just in time for dinner.
The remained of the that week, I kept a sharp eye on Muffin. I also made certain to close all the doors to empty rooms, restricting Muffin’s access to some of her favorite hiding places. I wanted to make sure she would not repeat that awful trick in any of the rooms.
One can only be vigilant for so long. I had Marlena’s engagement party to prepare for and there was much to do. With too many things on my mind, I admit Muffin was a little neglected. One morning I reached for my jacket, jumped into the car and drove to the supermarket. After parking the car, I put my keys into the jacket pocket and heard a faint splash. In horror, I reached in to retrieve my car keys.
Muffin had struck again.
Here I was standing in the middle of the King Kullen parking lot staring at both my car keys and my right hand soaking wet—with an extraordinary amount of cat urine. I wondered if the the car’s ignition would even work with the key dripping with cat pee.
I really wanted nothing more at that moment than to strangle the cat, but when I got home, Muffin was no where to be found.
This time she stayed away from the house for an entire week. I truly believed that this time she would not return, but she did. One evening she entered the house through an open kitchen window. As she jumped in, Muffin landed in Madison’s direct path. They met for the first time nose to nose.
The new puppy jumped back startled only for a moment before pouncing puppy style on the cat.
Muffin screamed and lashed out at the puppy, scratching her nose. Madison howled in pain and ran straight to me.
I reached for my new German shepherd puppy to wipe the blood from her nose. Muffin growled and lashed at my hand.
“Cut it out, Muffin!”
At the sound of my voice Muffin’s tail whipped angrily side to side and her ears were flat against her head. She held her ground.
Muffin’s eyes and mine locked in a short staring contest.
“You will leave this puppy along. Do you hear me?”
Muffin growled her answer. Yes, she heard me. But the cold, blue glints in her eyes warned me. Muffin was planning retaliation.
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