Day 1,852 of My Captivity

Smudge doesn't understand why she isn't allowed outside. That nasty old interloping tomcat, Mr. Pibb, goes in and out this door at will. Why oh why can't she???

Smudge was the neighbor's cat actually. When they had a baby in the summer of 2002, Smudge was shooed outside permanently. She hung around on our porch through the summer and fall, all the while being abused by the other neighbor's cat Red Tom. She was very sweet and we lavished pets on her and protected her from Red Tom.

One freezing cold, wet, miserable night, Smudge decided indoors was where she wanted to be and our indoors was the only option available. She darted through our legs and past the dog and two behemoth indoor kitties. She went two laps around the house with the three resident critters hot on her heels. With one superkitty leap she went from the floor to the top of the laundry room cabinet, a distance of at least seven feet. How she managed that will forever remain a mystery since she was declawed and had nothing to grab with.

She remained on top of the laundry room cabinet for about two weeks. In the wee hours of the morning I would hear her thunk down onto the washing machine and to the floor. Eating rattles in the dogfood bowl, scratching noises in the litter box, another thunk up onto the washing machine, rustling noises as she rearranged things on the top of the cabinet, then silence. Thus was her daily existence.

I would climb on top of the washing machine and check on her from time to time. Satanic hisses would be the only greeting. Sheesh! What a grouch. What happened to the sweet kitty who hung around on the front porch???

The other critters knew she was up there but after a while they didn't pay her much notice. She eventually got lonely and wanted to be around us I guess, so she moved from the laundry room to a tall armoire in our bedroom. She would come down in the wee small hours of midnight to take care of necessities, but stayed up there throughout the day for about three weeks.

She mustered her courage one night and came down and slept next to Hubby's head. It took courage because the dog was curled up at Hubby's feet. After that she was Hubby's kitty, this little puff of a marshmallow with four feet and a tail.

We had gotten to know her as the sweet little kitty on the front porch. That was just an act. What we didn't realize was that she was almost feral and couldn't be handled. She was a biter. A BIG biter. If we tried to pick her up she became a yowling, spitting, biting, whirling dervish furball. I blame the biting defense on the de-clawing, but that's a rant for another day.

At her one and only trip to the vet they had to bind her in a fishing catch net to immobilize her for shots. The vet, me, and Smudge decided that's all the vetting she would ever need in her lifetime. She needs brushing but that ain't a-gonna happen. She gets all matted and lumpy during shedding season. To dose her with flea goop requires sneaking up on her while she is asleep then applying said goop with lightning speed. I still end up with bloody scratches and bite marks.

It took about three years before we could pick her up without her biting a big plug out of us. She is still a grouch, but can show a few milliseconds of sweetness. She will lay on Hubby's chest while he's watching TV, but three strokes on the head and a skritch under the chin is all she will tolerate. After that we have learned to LEAVE HER BE. Any touching below the neck will be rewarded with a fang-sinking bite.

I don't know what Smudge's life was like before she came to live with us but it must have been pretty bad. All the animals I've ever had in my life were strays, throw-aways, or abused train wrecks. A little love, food and patience will usually turn the worst attitude into a sweet, loving, snugly pet. Not so with Smudge. She may be permanently damaged goods, but she is ours, for better or worse, and we love our little grouch dearly. And we aren't letting her out the door.