It’s the Thought That Counts
Great moments in building history: What a good kitty
My husband and I have refinished the doors in our house three times in the past two years. The reason is our cat, Alley, who is a nearsighted klutz: kind of a Mrs. Magoo with fur. But we embrace the many quirks of our rescued foundling, from her need to sleep wrapped around my neck to her complete and total aversion to closed doors. To her, closed doors are the enemy. That includes the evil coat-closet door, the sinister pantry door, and the dreaded bathroom door, which she has learned to push open—self-taught—to the surprise of houseguests who are heard to mutter, “Wait, wait! There’s someone in here!”
Any door she can’t open by herself must be opened immediately by the nearest owner of an opposable thumb. Hesitation results in an ear-splitting chorus of yowling and scratching, culminating in the need to sand and repaint the door.
Knowing this, when my husband and I prepared for an afternoon of home improvement—me painting the hall and him tiling the bathroom floor—I said, “I’m not going to lock Alley away. She hates it. And besides, she’s asleep.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said.
“Oh, she’ll be fine,” I said. And Alley was fine—until she woke up and decided to go mousing.
My cat possesses a fine mousing instinct but, unfortunately, no mousing ability. With her poor vision, she has been known to stalk hairbrushes, balls of yarn, and wool socks, but I never expected her to stalk the paint roller.
Quicker than I could yell “Alley! No!” she did a classic four-legged pounce into a roller tray full of paint. Then the race was on. She immediately shot straight up, executed a bank turn off the wall and, performing a high-speed spin, raced down the hall, leaving behind a trail of yellow paw prints. In hot pursuit, I scurried after her, shouting loud but useless commands such as, “No! Stop! Don’t jump on the sofa!”
With paint up to her knees and flying from her tail—did I mention she’s a long hair?—I watched helplessly as she darted into the living room, onto an end table, down the length of the sofa, across the Oriental carpet, then into the dining room and up onto the buffet, skidding its length before making a record-breaking leap over the table and landing on the kitchen counter, where she finally ran out of gas. There, she sauntered over to her food dish, gave her belly a few nervous licks, then looked at me nonchalantly as if to say, “So then, what’s for dinner?”
Alley yowled all through an impromptu bath using the kitchen-sink sprayer. By the time the water ran clear, she was so mad that she wouldn’t come near me for the rest of the day.
While I removed yellow paw prints, my husband, barely containing an admittedly well-deserved “I told you so,” moved on to setting the floor tile—a black-and-white pattern of 4-in. white tiles accented with 1-in. black tile insets—in preparation for grouting the next day. Three hours later, I finished painting the hall just as my husband set the last tile.
That night, we fell into bed exhausted, although the cat, still angry at the indignity of a public bath, refused to join us. Despite my fatigue, I missed my furry neck warmer and found it hard to sleep. Early the next morning, the cat woke me by pawing at my neck. Then I heard something hit my pillow with a dull thud. “Oh yuck,” I groaned, thinking she was still mad about the bath and had deposited a revenge offering. “Alley, what did you bring me?”
I pried open my eyes and looked at her gift, but to my surprise, it wasn’t something best left in the cat box. She’d brought me one of the black tiles from the new bathroom floor.
“Cripes!” I heard my husband from the bathroom. “You should see the floor! Every single black tile is cockeyed. And one’s missing!”
Purring, Alley nudged the tile closer to me, proud of her ability to select just the right gift. I knew it was her way of saying, “I forgive you for the bath. See, I brought you a mouse.”
I wiped a little glue off Alley’s whiskers, scratched her chin, and said, “What a good kitty.”
Drawing by: Jackie Rogers
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