Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: FRIDAY, June 30, 1995 TAG: 9506300035
SECTION: CURRENT PAGE: NRV-10 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
SOURCE: RAY COX
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
For weeks this has gone on, our entire family cowering in fear between attacks. Finally, the rest of them fled to safe haven. On the West Coast.
Which leaves me to carry on as best as I can.
Uneasy are those who must share quarters with the Forces of Doom. Or, as they used to say in New England in bygone days, ``He who sups with the devil must use a long spoon.''
Would that I were able to maintain the sort of distance afforded by a long spoon, but Rose has other ideas. Battery, mayhem, assault, vandalism - this is her agenda. Treachery, thieving, and blood lust are her calling cards.
These are the miseries that have been visited on us since Rose the Kitten began occupation of our house earlier this spring.
With this Rose, all you get are the thorns.
Rose, you see, is at best possessed of some hideous feline demons. At worst, the devil himself has her soul.
Personally, I'm petrified of this blue-eyed, tailless, mixed Siamese fiend.
``Those bobtails will get that way sometimes,'' said Tammy, whose easy-going cat was Rose's mother.
Funny, Tammy never said anything about the aggressive nature of these beasts when she was offering us Rose.
I do not have the academic credentials of an Ann Landers, but if somebody were to ask me what Rose's problem was, I'd tell them, ``She needs counseling, Toots.''
The children caught on quickly. Rose hadn't even lived with us a week before first one then the other brought Rose to my bedroom in the middle of the night, dumped her on the floor, and said, ``You keep her.''
Each in turn began to cry after discovering that it is impossible during summertime to lie in bed without moving a muscle while being covered from head to foot in heavy blankets. That is the only reliable protection from Rose's nocturnal assaults. Still, although you are shielded from her saber claws and needle teeth, you are subject to sudden awakenings as she hurls herself on you like a fuzzy gray kamikaze every time you so much as take an irregular breath.
At night now, both children's bedroom doors stay shut tighter than the belly of a felon who awaits sentencing.
How bad can a kitten - who probably doesn't weigh as much as a pound -be?
All I know is that the inside of my house looks like a Kansas trailer park after a tornado has blown through. I'm still trying to figure out how she's dragged all the rugs on the first floor into a heap in the living room.
And the shredded toilet paper! The insides of all three bathrooms look like the floor of a gerbil's cage.
``She'll grow out of it,'' Tammy said.
When? After she's turned our upholstery into dental floss?
Before long, my feet and legs will take on the appearance of freshly ground hamburger. It would be all right if you could see her coming, but she prefers to stage her assaults from ambush like a war party of American Indians falling on a column of British redcoats.
Her favorite line of attack is to leap in the manner of a flying squirrel from a chair and fasten herself like a piece of living Velcro on my thigh.
Even Emmett the dog is intimidated. Emmett comes from stout-hearted Pulaski County stock and he weighs over 100 pounds. But when Rose approaches and informs him in universal animal language that she intends to eat his supper and then take her ease on his green plaid bed, he suddenly recalls a pressing appointment at some distant address.
Emmett then will be left to sleep on the hard cold floor and go hungry while Rose, bloated like a tick, snoozes alone in the middle of a dog bed that has 500 times more surface area than she needs to be comfortable.
I'd like say that Rose is a nice cat, but that is impossible. Such an admission may interfere with my future plans for her, but so be it.
Rose, you see, is for sale. Conscience prevents me from withholding information from potential buyers. It isn't just conscience, though. The specter of litigation concerns me.
Nevertheless, I can see some possibilities for the marketing of this kitten from Hades. One of the best ideas is to sell her to one of the local schools for use as a mascot during football season.
I could see her as a Radford Bobcat. In truth, with her nub of a tail and razor teeth, I'm not convinced she isn't going to grow up to be the real thing. A Pulaski County Cougar would be another possibility. You could always tell folks that she lost her tail in a life-and-death brawl with a bear.
In either case, they'll have to keep her in a cage on the sidelines. That is, if their insurance agent is anywhere near as picky as mine is.
She'll look suitably ferocious as she tries to gnaw her way through the iron bars.
And I'll be able to come down from the top of the refrigerator.
Ray Cox is a Roanoke Times sports writer.
by CNB