Vicky & Shmoggleberry

Cats are basically sneaky, conniving creatures, one of their best aspects, I believe. They use it entirely to their advantage, and instinctively know which humans are more susceptible to their charm and witchery. They can also detect, with amazing accuracy, their "window of opportunity" and go for it. Had Shmoggleberry turned up at any other minute, on any other day of the year, I wouldn't have kept him.

My then SO was a manager of a reasonable pub band. Many of their planning meetings were held in our flat, and since most bands tend to be fairly nocturnal, the meetings started late, and often went well into the AM. I have a 9 to 5 job, and tend to keep reasonable hours, even on my days off, so I never participated in their meetings.(If I let my body clock get too out of sync by staying up on weekends, I suffer for the rest of the week),

They had a meeting on the Thursday night before Good Friday, and were supposed to be discussing what their performance was going to be for the "Battle of the Bands" on the Saturday night. I went to bed at a reasonable hour leaving them to their meeting. The band members rarely agreed on anything and were often argumentative. This particular night they were having a doozy. I couldn't sleep, and just lay in my bed wishing they'd shut up and leave me alone.

At about midnight I'd have enough, got out of bed and told them all exactly what they could do with their musical instruments (something to do with body orifices and sunshine). I didn't care what it was they were trying to sort out, they could do it somewhere else or not at all. I firmly showed them the door, with much protests from my then-SO about "fairness", and "understanding" (part of the reason why he's now the ex). As the band left, dozy wandered nonchalantly in.

The flat was on the first floor, and you had to go through a door to get to the stairway. To get in to the flat, the cat would have had to have dashed past/under/through the first member of the band leaving, as he opened the "lobby" door, and be up the stairs and past/under/through the last member of the band leaving before I slammed (and did I slam!) the flat door behind them. No mean feat, especially considering not too many sane people would be up and about at that time, let alone having both the lobby door and the flat door open at the same time, even less of a chance of being one that also liked cats. As an aside, none of the band saw the cat as they were leaving.

He was a teenage grey tabby DSH, and completely suckered me with beguiling purrs and the sad mewling, not to mention the way he wrapped around my legs and gave me the "I'm such a cute, pathetic, half-starved creature; take pity on me and feed me" look. "Poor thing", I thought, "hasn't been fed for days", so I gave him some milk and the left overs from dinner.

Of course the lease of the flat didn't allow pets, and I didn't have any of the necessary things to feed or look after a cat (cat litter being the main worry at this point). The ex-SO was dead against keeping the cat, not wanting the responsibility & all, and strictly forbade me from "even thinking about keeping it, or else!" (you can see why he's my ex, can't you?), so with a sad heart, I decided I'd give him a bit of food and take him to the shelter the next day. If it was any earlier, and I wasn't as tired, I probably would have put him back outside to find his way home, but at that point in the night, and the fact I was still really annoyed at the band, I just flopped back in bed and figured I'd deal with the problem the next day.

Ha! The next day was Good Friday, wasn't it? Oh, well. Saturday then. Being Good Friday, I had to go to the 24-hour supermarket, rather than the regular one to get cat-food and consequently got a good lecture about wasting "good money on something that we aren't even going to keep". abhor knew about the ex-SO's attitude, however, and gave the ex-SO 110% of his beguiling ways (knowing, obviously, that I was the easy mark, and was already under his influence). Saturday came, and the ex-SO was still insistent that we take the cat (still without a name at this point) to the shelter.

The shelter, for whatever reason, was shut. I came back with he cat, getting some more cat food, and some cat litter this time, on the way back. I put a notice up on the community billboard at the supermarket about a found kitten (it was never answered). A makeshift bed was installed in the lounge room, and the cat's input and output areas set-up. Not that the cat actually slept in his bed, he tried and tried to sleep on the ex-SO's lap. By Saturday night, the ex-SO had warmed a little, and allowed the cat to nap in his lap. He admitted he was "kinda cute, but we still can't keep him".

Sunday - Shelters are closed. By around Sunday lunch time, kind got his first name "Spooky" (see "Naming of the Cat"), and was being petted by the ex-SO.

Monday was another Public Holiday, and so the shelter was still closed. By Monday evening the ex-SO was making goo-goo sounds to "Spooky" and giving him scratches under the chin. "Spooky" wasn't paying much attention to me, because as I said, I was already under his spell. Before I went to bed on the Monday night, the ex-SO had changed his story to "its a shame we can't keep him, but you can take him to the shelter before you go to work tomorrow". I smiled secretly inside, and wished desperately that "Spooky" would out-do his spell-casting this night, as it was his last chance to stay.

I awoke Tuesday morning to see two bodies asleep on the lounge together, the TV still on. How cute! The ex-SO roused groggily from his sleep and said "don't worry about taking Spooky to the shelter, you'll be late for work. I'll do it later on". I don't know (although I can guess!) what stopped the ex-SO from going to the shelter that day, but when I came home, Moggy (now being referred to as Moggy, because Spooky just didn't sit well) was still hanging around. When I asked the ex-SO why Moggy was still around, he kinda shrugged his shoulders, and changed the subject.

Wednesday evening, and Shmoggy was still there. "If you don't look after him, I'll take him to the shelter, and you'll never see him again". Excellent. I now had a cat. His love-spells had worked (you all know that a cat will always win a war of wills). Ever since the ex-SO caved in and allowed me to keep Shmogg, ShmoglShmoggit very clear exactly who's cat he was - Mine!. Although he'd hang around and nap on the ex-SO's lap when I wasn't there, I was the number-one-lap when I was home. I was the one who he begged for food from, I was the one he left dead cockroaches for. He'd done what he had to do to the ex, and now he could get on with living his life as my spoilt child. When the ex & I split up, I got ShmogleberryShmoggause after I left (more like was kicked out - but this is not the place for that story) Shmoggleberry wouldShmoggny more. (see, cats are conniving - and they always get what they want - and this time it was me!)

Shmogg is my furbaby, I'd be lost without him. He chose me over 10 years ago, got around the ex and has made sure I've been able to spoil him rotten ever since. Thankfully he approved my new beau (now fiancee) and is now training him in "the proper treatment of Cats". Its obviously working well as the fiancee was secretly feeding Shmoglfur baby (see Fiancee can love cats). I'm still his human, but he's figured out that he can play us both off against each other, to his advantage.

Cat, thy name is Skase!

Copyright © Vicky Chapman
August 22, 1998