Cats.

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I consider for a moment: Huey The Wonder Horse.  One thing about Huey – that even my friends who have not had the sheer pleasure of meeting him in person have observed – is that in Huey’s World?  It is ALL about him.  Whatever is going on, whatever the other horses have to say, whatever people are on hand…it’s still ALL about Huey.

I should mention that this is one of the MANY things I love about Huey.  Including that “”ALL about him” includes “Being the Wonder Horse” which means “Unreasonably Responsive to Requests from the Rider”.  If I were asked what my first three thoughts about Huey were, they would be:

1) I cannot believe I have access to a horse of this quality…while I’ve been around horses for decades, people who are actually learning to ride properly don’t usually get the opportunity to meet a horse of this quality, let alone ride one regularly, let alone OWN one.  Huey, I swear it, he’s the Horse of My Dreams.  Literally, actually, although I don’t feel a discussion of that is something I want to get into in a public blog.  If you want to know more, send me a message.

2) If I had three horses like Huey…my life would both be infinitely more complicated, and infinitely more interesting.  It’s probably just as well I can only afford to support one at a time.

3) When I die, I want Huey to carry me over to the Other Side. I had a dream last week that I’d died, and everything was very confusing, but at the end of it, there was Huey, and he was telling me that he’d REALLY learned some cool things that he REALLY wanted to show me RIGHT NOW so I should jump on, never mind about that saddle.  I woke up in tears, and I can only hope that this was what will happen.  A Heaven with wings and harps and all that rubbish is meaningless to me.  In MY heaven, it is mostly about 10am and the weather is particularly fine and the sky is deep blue and there is Huey full of oats and ready to go, and Roy hanging out with that “Whatever! I love it!” look on his face.  I only hope that in my heaven, I can ride all morning and ski all afternoon and apres ski all evening.  Or, maybe, my heaven has skiing all morning, riding all afternoon, and apres ski after that.  Well, either way, it bloody well better have skiing and horses in it.

In all this, it’s easy to lose track of the fact that Huey The Wonder “It’s All About ME” Horse is NOT the only critter in my life.

There is also Buster “I Don’t Need Any Special Moniker Because I’m That Damned Cool” Kitty.

Buster Kitty is not tremendously impressed with Huey The Wonder Horse.

Buster Kitty’s take on Huey can be summed up briefly:  You Stink, And You Need A Shower.

So Buster Kitty gets overlooked a lot, here.  But he should not.

Buster is freaking AMAZING.

As far as we can tell, vets, and Animal Control, and such, the story goes thus:  There is a kitten.  Kitten (for some reason) winds up on the Streets of Madison (Wisconsin), alone.

Now, people in New England love to complain about how harsh the winters are.

I, on the other hand, having lived in Wisconsin for six years, know that the winters here in New England are a Complete Joke.  When I moved here, locals kept assuming that (as a Texan) I’d be somehow…I don’t even know what…intimdated? impressed?…with the New England Winters.

This is what I have to say as a Texan who transplanted to Wisconsin:

You gotta be f***ing kidding me.

My only concern with the New England winters?

They don’t get cold enough.  Sure, they get kind of cold.  But they don’t stay that way, blast them.

Frankly, I’d 100% rather have a winter that sinks promptly down to 15 degrees Fahrenheit and then stays there, with nocturnal forays down to the negative temperatures…like it does in MADISON than the psychotic, neurotic, angst-ridden winters of New England.  One minute we’re thinking 15 degrees.  Next, it’s “oh no! We meant FORTY degrees!”  Rinse, lather, repeat.

From a skiing standpoint, this means wet snow – if any, and after last winter, I begin to despair – and LOTS AND LOTS AND LOTS AND LOTS OF MUD.  Because the primary output of freeze-thaw-freeze-thaw-freeze-thaw is MUD. In MADISON, we have one (1) mud season.  In March.  Or April.  In New England, we have Mud Season every other week or maybe every three weeks.

It SUCKS.

Anyway, Life For A Kitten Alone is 1,000 times harder in Madison than it would be in New England.  And yet, There He Was: Buster.

Not that I knew him at that point.  If I had, I’d have scooped his little grey and white fuzzy butt into the house and brought that all to an end.  But no.  What happened before he came into my life?

1. He learned to survive alone, with no family, no bed, no litter box, no bowl of food, no treats, no soft bed, no nothing…as a baby.  Or, at least, as a young cat.  Same difference.

2. A car hit him and busted his jaw, top and bottom.  His response to this?  To sit down, stunned, on the side of the road.

3. Animal Control gets called by some Well-Intentioned Citizen of Madison (and to you, Nameless Individual:  I extend my deep and profound gratitude every day of the year!) calls the cops, he gets collected, and taken to the Dane County Human Society.

where 4. Some Insightful Individual (Thanks! Erica!!) has the “feeling” that this cat that has just been brought in by Animal Control will be “a great adoptable cat” and persuade the organization to fix him up instead of putting him mercifully to sleep

and 5. same individual (Thanks! Erica!!!) takes him into foster care while he recuperates from reconstructive surgery and the traumas and rigors of life on the streets.

And, by the timeI encountered him, what is left of all that is a cat that has to be kept in a kennel by himself because when let out, he beats up every other cat to steal their toys.

Oh, wait, I’m discerning a common theme here between Huey The Wonder Bully Horse and Buster Kitty.

They are both Tough Nuts.

They are both individuals that came through Significant Exigencies and wound up under my care, where I say to them both the very same thing:

I Honor The Creature You Are.  I Love Your Spirit.  Don’t Change.  Just F***ing LISTEN To Me When I Tell You What To Do.

Oh, lord, there’s a Message in this for me somewhere, isn’t there…

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About Lori Holder-Webb

I'm a Southern Woman by birth and a Texan Woman by upbringing...and yet I find myself living in New England and married to a New York City boy. Up here we use the same currency as we do at home, and I don't need to travel with a passport, but the commonalities pretty much end there. The language is different, the jokes are different, the people are different, and the weather and terrain sure are different too. I moved away from Texas in 2002, and ever since then, I've been the stranger in the strange land... I've had some questions about the name of the blog - if you were not alive, or living abroad or under a rock, or in grad school during the late 1980s, Oldsmobile attempted to shuck its stodgy image with a series of commercials intended to bring brand appeal to the younger generation: this car, they said, is not your father's Oldsmobile. If you have a morbid curiosity, hit YouTube for William Shatner Oldsmobile...it will take you right there.

2 responses »

  1. >They are both individuals that came through Significant Exigencies.

    You are what you adopt… 😉

    >I Honor The Creature You Are. I Love Your Spirit. Don’t Change.

    Amen. (And I won’t even try that last part on you–I know it’s useless.)

    xo

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