Yet Garby made it a point to never lose anymore a beat of his life.
Nobody knows when he started to exist. What everyone knows was that he had always been around that landfill. Climbing left, scraping right, sleep at the corner, playing on the heap, missing one inch off the wheel of garbage truck that often put his peers to end.
It just so happened that he chose to lay and enjoy the sun in relatively cleaner place (well, there was no heap of rubbish) when he was spotted, taken, and found himself in a setting he never knew in his whole 15 weeks of life on earth.
Surely what was life for him then – dirty fur, filthy face, horrible smell, fleas of the whole universe, worms of entire planet- become unacceptable.
While he usually ate off the garbage bag, he now has to use a plate. While he usually ate what he wanted, he can now only have rations.
But what he used to know as “food” then, was completely different, and he likes his new place’s rations a lot better. Fresh fish, minced beef, ground chicken, scrambled egg. Kibbles ina large bowl he can swim in, and milk is just one heck of a terrorizing meow away. So “excessive” cleaning (as in bath) and “disinfecting” (as in deworming and flea medication) is acceptable, though never understandable.
He fits in just fine…
He climbs the kitchen counter, he charged on a full running grinder, he licks on the blades of the chopper. He spilt the whole bowl of (kitty) milk when he push one off the table because he cannot resist the wonderful smell. He tried to swim into a pot of hot home-made food, he walked through a hot stove (with effort). He swatted the little ones and took their food, he scratches the back of old ladies (and gentlemen) also to steal their food, and even though he was deep in the other side of universe during his sleep, as soon as he heard the spoon, or the knife, or the plate, or the cutting board, or whatever he knows associated with food, we can bet at the count of three he’d be right on the back of our hand.
Have anyone seen a cat fly? I mean, fly, like Superman off the edge of a tall building and up up and away? Garby climbed the kitchen cabinet and jump right down head first into the pot of food as it boiled!
I was too far away but there was a ladle in my had so I batted him off. He crash landed on a pile of plates, but at least he’s not dead. Me? Close!
This cat house on the hills become the cat horror house on the hills with screams from cats and human alike whenever Garby was on site with his eyes set on food.
That was the last straw that broke my back (we have no camel here, just me and Sheilla), so Garby stays locked in the bathroom until everything is safe to be trotted on or swum in.
I asked him how hungry he had been anyway, that he become so fearsome in his pursuit of happiness? He just looked at me with lips filled with cream cheese and I knew I’d never know.
It will just be a tug of war in patience; a level up challenge in anger management, or a life exercise in handling temper. Garby is a cat. A three and a half months old cat with no experience of good life, at least until he found us.
Just like what I thought would happen, one day he woke up with very bad indigestion that lasts for two days and cost him whatever food he gobbled down to the T.
Then, he changed. A little.
When I sat down on the floor, he sat with me. Quietly, neatly, with manners. No meowing, no hissing, no swatting, nothing. When I hold him he doesn’t squirm. He stays put and enjoy the view. When it’s time for him to go into quarantine, he walks into the bathroom and stays on the mat, right through the end.
If anyone was asking whether we tried leaving him around when we cook after his changes, we did. His demon came back to possess him and we’d scream our way in horror throughout the night, trying to keep him from killing himself and blow the entire house to ashes along the way.
Hence, until we find proper exorcism for his possession, he stays in the bathroom whenever we hold cooking utensils.
Hopefully someday he will realize that he is not going anywhere; and that he will find security in knowing (and remembering long enough) that he can eat whenever he likes, whatever he likes, and never to worry of hunger haunting him ever again. Hopefully someday he will realize that he has friends, not competitors. Hopefully someday he will realize that he has life, not struggle; he has family, not frenemy.
Hopefully, as fast as he learns his name (within 24 hours), he will learn that life is not always the hunger game, or catching fire.
Life can be Hakuna Matata.
What a wonderful day.