In the course of one year I had lost my husband, my mother and one of my beloved cats. Devastated with loss, I began to consider getting a kitten. I felt it would bring new life and laughter into the house. It was a tough decision to make. My two cats, Diggory and Nikki, are on prescription diets, Nikki for her weight problem and Diggory for his sensitive stomach. Kittens have to have food available around the clock until they're a year old. So, feeding could present real problems. And then, what if one or both of my cats didn't accept the kitten? There were some ways around that. According to cat etiquette, if you have someone else introduce the kitten into the home, someone who doesn't live with you, then your cats are more likely to accept it. And, if you get a kitten that has similar markings and color to your cats, they are also more likely to accept it. I had tried these techniques before and they worked. But, still there was the risk of having a sick cat. With three cats in the house would I be able to afford the Vet care they would need on my small income? I am a kitten veteran having raised five of my six cats from kittenhood. So, I knew the pros and cons.
Eventually, I called my Vet to inquire about kittens and was put in touch with a local animal shelter. The woman at the shelter, whom I had been referred to by my Vet, said she had one kitten. She eagerly described it to me and reminded me that if I really wanted a little kitten this one was already eight weeks old and you know how fast they grow. It was a male (one strike for - nothing wrong with females, but I already had a female and was afraid she wouldn't get along with another); it was a short hair (getting better); strong personality (could mean he's in very good health); had one blue eye and one green eye (oh, how cute!); and was all white (uh-oh). I asked her if he was deaf. She assured me he wasn't. She asked me if there was any reason why I didn't want a white cat. I really had no reason except that I was more partial to tabbies. But, she told me to come and see him before I said no. So, I did, and he was cute and he needed a home and I needed a kitten. So, I took him. Even though he was listed as an American Short Hair in his Veterinary record, I suspected that he had a lot of Siamese in him. He showed a lot of the physical characteristics. I asked my Vet about it when I took him for his boosters and he said the fact that he had a blue eye, it was very likely. I was excited. I didn't need papers and a trail of pedigree, I had a 'meesie".
Trying to find someone to bring this kitten into the house was turning into an ordeal. After several phone calls, finally, one of my friends said she could do it, but it would have to be quick, because she had another commitment. That was fine with me. I just needed another body to walk into the house with the cat carrier for both of my cats to witness. It was very important that they both witness his entrance and I went through a lot of trouble to get to this point. On July 5th, 2002, I ran up to the Vet where my new kitten was being sheltered. I picked him up and dashed home. My friend, Philomena, was waiting for me in her car. She took the carrier from me and I ran to open my door. After I walked into the house I called my cats. Diggory, of course, was there. He always answers the door. However, when Philomena walked into the house with the cat carrier, Nikki was nowhere to be seen. She was hiding under the bed where she always hides when she senses someone coming who she doesn't know. Therefore, she never witnessed the kitten's entrance and, therefore, she never accepted him. Her growls and desperate looks of, "Where did IT come from and when is IT going?" told me this was not going to be an easy transition.
A god comes down to earth:
The woman at the shelter called the kitten Copi, after an Indian god. I changed his name to Opie, after the sheriff of Mayberry's son. Having a kitten is like having a wild animal loose in your home until it's about seven months old. It doesn't acknowledge you, it doesn't know that it has a name. To the kitten, your house is Disney World. It's little eight ounce body is raw energy bouncing around. Anything in it's path is in it's way and that doesn't stop it. Kittens move like lightening and I sometimes think that they have the God-given power of bi-location. I expected all of that from Opie. But, Opie went above and beyond. "Conan the Destroyer" would better fit his personality. "Strong personality" doesn't begin to describe the head-butting relationship we developed.
My sister suggested a fly swatter for disciplining. "You don't even have to hit them with it. They see that and they run.",she said. When I threatened with the fly swatter, Opie grabbed it between his paws and rolled around with it on the floor. Scare him off with the vacuum cleaner? He sat on top of it to go for a ride.
One day, being very angry with him, I shook my finger in his face yelling at him. With a defiant glance, he cocked his little head to the side and bit me.
This was just the beginning. Kittens get into things and they sometimes break things. With Opie I seemed to have been caught up into a whirlwind of destruction and delinquency. The Opie Odyssey really began in mid-September when I came home from work one day, opened my door and was greeted with the shock of seeing one of my beautiful, irreplaceable, expensive lamps on the floor shattered into a thousand pieces. My husband and I had picked these lamps out together. Memories of that day flooded my mind. I felt as shattered as that lamp. I wrestled all night with the decision I felt I had to make. Then, during the night I heard a crash. I got up to investigate. He had knocked down a suncatcher I had hanging in my kitchen It was on the floor in pieces. The next morning I called the woman from the shelter. Heart-broken and reluctant, I felt that I could no longer keep him. We talked for a long time. It turned out that she used to be an oncology nurse. I told her how I had lost my husband, Walter, to a brain tumor. She understood my feelings and where I was at. We discussed the situation at length. I thought of little Opie and how I was the only one he had to love him. If I didn't who would? With his reputation no one would want him and he'd wind up ....
I hugged him and kissed him and told him I loved him and we started over. But, our love/hate relationship was by no means over. Almost on a daily basis the path of destruction continued.
Pandora's box:
Two weeks after that episode as I was sitting on my living room couch talking to a friend about kittens in general and how Opie had broken my lamp, he went flying from behind me, crashed into my other lamp and before I could turn around, my surviving lamp was on the floor in pieces. Now I had to buy new lamps - cheap. The new lamps were thin with metal leaves sticking out from the base. Not only were they a smaller target, but he'd want to think twice about crashing into them. Then, one night Opie, who was sleeping on the couch next to the end table, suddenly jumped out of his sleep and made a mad dash around to the back of the couch and in the process knocked my new lamp on the floor. The lamp survived but the bulb broke. He was probably dreaming that I was chasing him. His list of mishaps reads like a rap sheet: Knocked Walter's picture over and broke frame; Woke up one morning to find rose petals from dried roses I had saved from Walter's funeral scattered all over the bedroom floor; knocked over the fish bowl and emptied fish water all over my carpet. Well, the carpets had to be cleaned anyway and - oh yes - the fish, Joey, survived.
Got out of the shower one night and was getting ready to sit and relax in front of the TV. As I was walking out of the kitchen Opie came around the corner from the other direction and shook his paw splashing me with water. "Opie, why are you so wet?" I said in confusion as I walked toward the living room. Then, in panic, I saw the fish bowl tipped over. Once again fish water all over my carpet. Once again Joey survives. He had scurried into his little house and was saved from being crushed by the glass stones.
As I was watching a movie one night suddenly the television went completely off. Opie had gotten behind my entertainment center and pulled the plug out of the television. There was no way I could get behind there. It's just too large and heavy and impossible to move. I wanted to strangle him. He was chewing on the wires and he wouldn't come out. I was afraid he would electrocute himself but the more I yelled and screamed the more he rolled and played and chewed, giving me looks of, "Your can't touch this!" I was livid, he was cocky. I got my long-handled ceiling duster from the closet and tried to push him out with it, but he grabbed hold of it an pulled it behind the entertainment center out of my reach. My brother had to come the next day and reattach the cord, but not without difficulty. I had to invent ways of blocking the entertainment center to keep Opie from going behind there again. I thought I had solved the problem by stuffing the spaces between the wall and the entertainment center with pillows and big cardboard boxes, but as I discovered, he still managed to get behind there. I finally found a solution. Since I had replaced my bathroom door with a folding door, I was able to use the old door to prevent him from going behind there and causing all sorts of havoc. A door that goes nowhere stuck between the entertainment center and the wall - a door sitting in my living room with the knob end sticking out - in my living room... I suppose I could call it the Opie look. Maybe it will catch on. Cat lovers all over the world could use that look without embarrassment when entertaining company: "Oh, it's the 'Opie' look. Quite popular, you know." One thing I could say in his favor, he's helped me to discover my ingenuity.
One night, in a cat fit, he ran behind my recliner and while in flight yanked the lamp plug out of the wall with such force that it bent the prong. It took a pair of pliers to straighten it out. Once again, knocked Walter's picture over and cracked the glass in the frame. Got up one morning for work and found my jewelry case on the floor and my earrings scattered all over the carpet to the four winds. Of all the junk earrings I have I'm still looking for the other half of my one truly expensive pair. Every day when I'd get home from work I'd gingerly look around the house to see what he'd been into that day.
Mama Balon's Restaurant 24/7:
I had to find a way to confine him during the night until he got old enough to be on his own. I had considered getting a kitty play-pen which is a large cage with shelves. It gives kittens room to jump and play. But, they are expensive. For the time being I was able to keep him in the basement. I had a room that was finished off with carpeting. I put everything he needed in there and cat-proofed it. I hated leaving him there alone every night in the dark, especially when he'd cry. But, it was the only way. My basement isn't heated, so I had to find a way to confine him upstairs for the winter which wasn't going to be easy. Keeping him upstairs presented new problems. It meant that he would be able to get into Diggory's food. Nikki usually finished her allotment of food before bedtime, but Diggory was a nibbler. What I had to finally resort to was bringing the other two cats into the bedroom with me at night and close the bedroom door. I put Diggory's food into a margarine container. That way when he finished eating I could close the lid so that Nikki wouldn't get into it. I kept the container on the bed with me so during the night if Diggory wanted to eat all I had to do was remove the lid and replace it again without having to get up. On week-ends when I could sleep in, I also put Nikki's food into a container. That way, in the morning I didn't have to get up (I don't consider myself lazy, just creatively inventive). The problem was when Diggory or Nikki wanted to leave the bedroom. I'd have to get up and open the door. What I thought was a good idea had turned me into a valet in a cat eatery. First they'd want out; then they'd want in. Sometimes they would hesitate in between the door, "Let's see, do I really want to go in right now? No - maybe - hmmm." At three in the morning I really needed a new approach.
And, they each had their own distinct way of knocking. Diggory is the traditional 'paw at the door' kind of knocker. Nikki, on the other hand uses the technique of trying to push the door open by throwing her dainty twentysomething-pound body at the door. And, Opie - sounds of the door molding being dismantled (crazy glue patched it up just fine). This had to stop because I was losing sleep and I was getting very grouchy. So, I gave in and finally bought a kitty play-pen. It worked well. Opie even liked it although, he would complain about being locked in at night. But, it helped him to get on a better sleeping schedule.
Tornado alleycat:
While he was spending nights in his kitty play pen, I would get his litter pan ready and keep it covered on top of my washer in the basement until it was time for bed. One night he went downstairs and knocked the litter pan over, spilling the clean litter all over my washer and the floor. The litter had gone everywhere, including into the tub. I was afraid to drain it out of the washer for fear it would ruin the washer and clog the drain. The only way I could think of cleaning it out was to vacuum it out with the hose attachment on my vacuum cleaner. I wondered if I had the distinction of being the only person in the world to have vacuumed cat litter out of my washing machine.
The day finally came when he graduated from his playpen. Well, I sort of had to stop locking him up at night because one night after I locked him in he started yelling loudly and bounced around the cage like a ricocheting bullet. With those protests I knew I'd never get any sleep. Besides, he liked sleeping in the bedroom on the computer desk chair. So, I put a quilt on it for him to snuggle in. But, his early morning antics proved that he wasn't slowing down quite yet. One Saturday morning around five thirty I woke up to the sound of things dropping. I went to investigate. Half asleep in the dark I found a bag of some sort on the dining room floor. Confused, I picked it up. "What's this?" I asked myself. Then I saw a large, dark wave of something on the floor. I tried to focus without my glasses as I stared in wonder. "What's that?" As I attempted to turn on a light, I stepped in cat food. When I turned the light on I found that Opie had gotten into a cupboard in my kitchen and emptied the contents of it all over the floor. He had chewed large holes in his nearly full bag of cat food and had dragged it into the dining room. I wanted to murder him.
The next morning around the same time as the previous morning I woke up to something crashing somewhere. I didn't want to know and went back to sleep. Later, when I got up and went into the kitchen to view the devastation I found a little shelf I had on the wall and all it's contents on the floor. A ceramic cat my aunt had given me was on the floor broken in two. And, from the garbage container he had pulled a piece of tin foil from the previous nights dinner containing the droppings from my broiled hamburgers, chewed into pieces and scattered all over the place. I looked at him. He looked at me and dashed out of the kitchen. He stopped and turned around to look at me again, expecting a chase and a barrage of nasty words, I suppose, and scooted off again. But, I laughed. The shelf was placed back on the wall with all of its' contents in place; the ceramic cat I was able to glue back together; and the tinfoil was swept up and went back in the garbage. I laughed. I think I was finally able to laugh because I had surrendered.
Not long after, I had to call a repair man to come and look at my washing machine. For some odd reason, it wasn't cycling right. I thought maybe it had something to do with the cat litter getting into it. I explained the problem to the repair man and he didn't seem to know what could be causing it. He was really busy and wasn't able to come right away but he said he would call me the following day. In the meantime, I was still able to do my wash. I just had to turn the dial to get it to agitate, and then again to get it to spin and drain properly. I did two loads of wash that way until, by the third load, I noticed that the buttons on my washer didn't look right. Of the four buttons that told the washer at what speeds to agitate and spin, one of them should always be pushed in. But, none of them were. So, I pushed the button that I always used and did the load. Everything went fine. I called the repair man back and left him a message. I explained what had happened and said I suspect that my kitten had something to do with it.
It's not over 'til it's over:
Ah, peace. It's nice to finally be able to sit down at night, watch a little TV. with Nikki lying in the recliner dosing like she used to before Opie came on the scene. Diggory sleeping next to me on the couch. Opie, off by himself in the bedroom listening to mice running around in the walls. He's finally starting to grow up - or maybe not. Crash! Glass breaking! I ran to the bedroom to find that he had knocked my desk lamp over, a bankers lamp with a heavy brass base and thick glass shade. It was hanging by the cord off the side of the desk like an anchor off the side of a ship, it's glass shade in pieces all over. Thank goodness it went over the side. If it had fallen forward it would have crashed into my computer monitor and that would have made a fine explosion! In dazed resignation I bent over the devastation. The bulb didn't break at least...humph, halogen...thank goodness the bulb didn't break. Those halogen bulbs are expensive.
Opie had made it to his ninth month. Just when I thought he was getting better, I realized the other night that murder is still an option. I had friends over a few weeks ago. We were sitting in the dining room laughing over Opie's antics as I read to them what I had written about him. Then, as we were enjoying a game of Clue there came from the bedroom a very loud, long crash. I just looked at them and excused myself. He had knocked the lamp on my bedstand over. It was on the floor along with a picture of Walter and just about everything else I had on it. The bulb, of course, was gone. It was in pieces all over the carpet. After I cleaned up the mess, I didn't know what to do because I didn't have anymore bulbs left. Well, almost none. I still had the halogen bulb from the other lamp he broke. I tried that and it worked fine. Even though he knocked that lamp over a few more times in these past weeks, the bulb managed to survive.
But, last Friday, when I got home from work and went into the kitchen, there on the floor were packages of bulbs that I had bought recently. Opie had somehow gotten into my cupboard above my refrigerator where I kept the bulbs and knocked them all down on the floor. Thank goodness none were broken. But, that wasn't the worst as I was about to find out. I had stopped at the grocery store before coming home and I had something to put into the freezer. When I opened the freezer door the light didn't come on. I looked at the outlet and discovered that Opie had knocked the refrigerator plug out. Panic went through me as I went into a barrage of cursing trying to get a hold of the cord, which was just out of my grasp, to quickly plug it back in. I checked the meat and vegetables I had in the freezer and, to Opie's great fortune, everything was still frozen. After I had everything back to normal I looked at him, innocence gracing his little face. What could I do? Just look for another way to prevent him from doing that again, I guess.
Fire and water:
Well, a few weeks have passed. Of course, the halogen bulb is gone. In fact, the whole lamp is gone. I found it on the floor, the neck bent and the shade torn and kinked in. Stupid me, I tried to straighten out the neck and turned it on. It sparked and the halogen bulb blew. What was I thinking? I got a cute little headboard lamp for my bed now. It's been surviving so far.
Opie is ten months old now and has managed to put a few more things under his belt this past month. I was awakened one night by a strange sound. It must have been about two thirty in the morning. I heard this glug, glug, glug, bloop, bloop. Was it the furnace? Was it out of water? Couldn't be, I just checked it the other day. Glug, Glug, bloop. It's Opie. He's playing with something, that's all. I felt better. Glug, glug-glug. My confidence that everything was fine began to whither. I'd better see what he's doing, I thought. I got up and went into the dining room. I could see that there were things on the floor. To my horror, I looked up to find Opie on top of my piesafe - the only place I could find to put my fishbowl out of his reach. He had knocked all my knick-knacks off the top and was trying to get the fish! I grabbed him and ran to put on the light. I thought the worst, but Joey survived the attack by running into his little house. The glugs and bloops I heard was Opie trying to get his paw into Joey's house. This was a nightmare. For the time being I put Joey in the bathroom and kept the door closed. He now resides on my desk at work.
Opie continues to look for things to do at night after I throw him out of the bedroom around two thirty or three. He sleeps nicely on the bed with me until that time, then he wants to play. One morning when I got up and went into the kitchen I found two of the burners on my stove yanked out of their sockets and my little blue shelf on the floor, this time in several pieces. How thankful I am that my stove has dials that have to be pushed and turned to go on. Opie seems to have a fascination with water and electricity - thankfully - not at the same time. He likes to splash the water in his water dish that sits on the floor near the stove. Then, as the water trickles down the side of the stove he sits and stares at it totally mystified as if he's trying to discover it's purpose.
The other morning as I was brushing my teeth in the bathroom, he came in and hopped up on the sink. Then, he stood up on his hind legs and started tugging on the Indiglo nightlight, attempting to yank it out of the outlet with his front paws. Why he thought it should come out of the outlet only he knows, but I had to admire his strength and determination to get the job done. I'm sure he must think that his name is "Opie-no!" because I hardly ever say his name without the without the adverb being tacked on to it.
My two other cats, Diggory, who is thirteen years old, and Nikki, who is seven years old, live pretty much peacefully with Opie as long as he behaves. Diggory gets annoyed when Opie lies in ambush and attacks, but he's let Opie lie next to him and has even licked him. Nikki hasn't said a civil word to him since he arrived. When he gets too close or threatens a playful attack, she growls and that's usually enough to keep him at bay. There have been a few times when he did attack and was met with teeth-bearing, ear-leveling hisses and growls. Then he would back off and sit and look at her in a puzzled way as if to say, "Why don't you like me? I'm adorable." But, the look on her face is enough to know what she's thinking, "Get away from me, kid. I'm the queen around here and you better get used to it."
When I look at Opie as he's sleeping, it's impossible to believe that he's capable of all the things he does. This sweet little animal, all white and fluffy soft. When the light hits him a certain way, I could see shadows of fawn coloring hiding in his fur, more evident on the top of his head and at the base of his long, luxurious tail. Sometimes when I hold him and speak to him softly he closes his eyes and tilts his head towards me and I kiss his little face. My little white angel...
Copyright © Julie Balon
March 31, 2003
