A shaggy cat, and her story

What I'm about to tell you regarding a certain furry cat is the truth.

I swear.

Miss Kitty, as you know, is the amply endowed calico cat that has graciously allowed my wife and me to maintain a residence in the house attached to Miss Kitty's garage. We are permitted, at no extra charge, to park our vehicles inside the garage.

The setting of this tale -- the garage -- is of some importance.

It is an average two-car garage. Other than automobiles, workbench, storage unit, trash cans and grill, the only thing in Miss Kitty's garage that you might not have in your very own garage is a small-animal carrier with a sheepskin liner on top of an electric pet-heating pad.

We do not question whether it is wise or in a cat's best interest to spoil a four-legged animal. We are well-trained. We do only what is expected by a feline of superior intellect.

Miss Kitty has my wife trained to add a few tasty treats to the food dish after my wife drives into the garage. First, Miss Kitty allows herself to be petted by jumping into my wife's lap when the car door opens. Then -- and only then -- my wife is permitted to get out of the car and get the treats.

Failure to comply with this ritual can have severe consequences.

We should know.

When Miss Kitty doesn't get her way, she doesn't scratch us or bite us or shred the pansies that are still blooming in the urns outside the family-room door. That is not the style of an intelligent cat. Instead, Miss Kitty punishes us. She hides from us, reminding us of our anguish and despair when she disappeared for two whole weeks and returned without explanation last year.

Most recently, Miss Kitty has discovered that humans have an enormous, perhaps limitless, capacity for taking pity on small creatures, no matter how conniving they might be.

She has learned, for example, that sweet meows produce a light pet on the head or a gentle stroke of the fur along her back. On the other hand, meows of pain and torment -- for no reason whatsoever -- result in being swooped up into the arms of whichever human is nearby.

This is why our cat frequently sounds like it has arrived at death's door. And it is why our neighbors may be wondering if they should call the Humane Society.

But the latest ploy is exceptional even for a cat of Miss Kitty's cunning.

My wife came home one night recently and parked in the garage. Miss Kitty emerged from her heated abode as usual -- but with a terrible limp of the right front paw. Or was it the left?

As might be expected, my wife bundled Miss Kitty up in her arms. And petted her longer. And gave her more treats.

Miss Kitty's limp only worsened.

When I came home, the cat was barely able to walk.

This lasted long enough that my wife insisted I take Miss Kitty to the vet. No, I said, I think we'll wait a day or two.

Saturday afternoon, my wife and I were in the family room. I saw Miss Kitty stroll by the window as sassy as you please. No sign of a limp. I went to the door and called. Instantly, Miss Kitty turned toward me, hobbling along the brick path with a terrible limp in her left paw. Or was it the right?

"Look at that!" I said to my wife.

She refused to believe the cat was faking -- deliberately pulling the wool over our eyes -- just to get extra attention. Until she saw it with her own eyes.

If you drop by my garage, I'll show you a cat who is too clever by half. It must be terribly difficult to remember to limp on your right front paw when humans are watching. Or is it the left?

R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.