Why 3-Legged Cat Press?

I know you're wondering why this is called 3-Legged Cat Press, so I guess it's time to let the cat out of the bag.

*cough*

Well then, here's the story as my lady tells it. A simple tale of a happy childhood memory, yes, but our earliest memories are often our most cherished.

When I was a little girl, before the turbulent teen years when I traded in my pink ruffly dresses for black t-shirts and my Genesis records for Alice Cooper, I actually loved going to church. It was fun sitting in the pew, sneaking sips of the magic juice and snagging a few pieces of what I called tic-tac bread to stash in my pocket for later. When the congregation sang hymns, I swung my legs and chimed, "Dog, cat, dog, cat, kitty, puppy, kitty, puppy!" This amused my brother at the time, but the admiration turned to disgust in later years when "Dog, cat, kitty, puppy!" turned into "Kill 'em all!" (don't worry, it was a Metallica song, not a threat) and "We're Not Gonna' Take It!" We were two slabs of land living on opposite sides of a shaky fault line. Needless to say, our house shook a lot back then.

But in my early years, when I was a cute, dimpled towhead, everybody wanted to adopted me, including Mr. and Mrs. Crocker. They were much older than my parents, and I think they either had kids who were grown or didn't have kids at all. They lived in a beautiful brick two-story surrounded by flowers, including a rose garden. I got to visit them a lot and, although I can't remember anything they said to me, other than wishing they could keep me, I remember being happy when I was with them. Mrs. Crocker was petite and had short black hair. Mr. Crocker was a big, plump man with a bald head who wore tiny round glasses.

My favorite feature of the Crocker house, however, wasn't the gardens or even the Crockers themselves. It was their cat. Now, don't ask me its name or whether it was a girl or boy. I can't remember. I was pretty young, maybe four or five years old. I'm not even sure if it was black and white or a tabby. I do remember that it had only three legs. I would watch this cat hop around, pouncing on bugs in the grass and smelling the flowers like a normal cat. I can't remember if the cat was born that way or if it had been hit by a car or injured in some way. I loved this cat because it let me rub its tummy and the little knob where its fourth leg used to be or should have been. It chased me around the yard and always caught me. Those three legs sure made up for the missing fourth one. I always wondered if it had the phantom itch, that strange sensation that amputees sometimes feel when their missing leg hurts or itches.

I loved that little cat. It was my first cat friend, and its spunk and love of life live on inside of me. Memory is like a severed leg. It's still there in spirit, even when you forget about it. But sometimes it wakes up and begins to itch, then you scratch and it turns real once more. Maybe it's a scientific phenomenon or perhaps the secret of immortality. I have no idea, but sometimes my 3-legged cat friend nudges me awake and I listen to the silence of its eternal meow.

Caption Contest!

Yes, this is yours truly engaging in one of my favorite hobbies. Cassie and Nomad also enjoy this pastime. However, they are bottom feeders, slurping up the remains from the bottom of the tub, while I boldly go to the direct source of what I like to call the magic waterfall. (It's magic because I need only meow and gaze at it longingly, and suddenly the cool elixir begins to flow.)

I realize that I talk about myself a lot, so now it's your turn...to talk about me. Come up with a clever caption for my adorable picture and post it in a comment to this blog entry, or you may e-mail it to me at three(underscore)legged(underscore)cat(underscore)press(at symbol)yahoo.com. The best caption will win a free copy of my lady's chapbook, Thanatology of Moths, plus one or two other surprise goodies for you and/or your cat. (When a winner is chosen, my lady will ask whether you have a cat to help her choose the surprise goodies.) The deadline for this contest is May 30th, so you have plenty of time. I might make this a regular feature if I receive a good response, so get those captions in. I can't wait to read them, after my trek to the magic waterfall, of course. I love you guys dearly, but there's just something about a dripping faucet...

Hope Blooms After The Storm

Ever hear the expression, "Curiosity killed the cat"? I have a new one: "Procrastination kills the cat inside." Which means...well, you know what it means. I've been gone for way too long. But I'm back and that, my good friends, is what counts.

Speaking of counting, my lady's feral cat colony has grown to ten cats, four of them almost-grown kittens. All but two of the kittens have been captured with the help of Indy Feral, an Indianapolis-based organization that promotes TNR (trap-neuter-release) for wild cats that cannot be tamed. After the cats are (gasp!) altered, they are released into the yards of the caretakers who make sure they are fed and cared for if injured. Frankly, I've quite enjoyed the experience of watching these strange outdoor cats through the kitchen window, and it seems to make my lady and her daughter happy, which makes me happy too.

Our new reputation as the neighborhood animal champions brought a new challenge this morning. An injured wild rabbit, who my lady's girl named Bun Bun Brown, was sitting in our neighbor's driveway. Something must have attacked or run over it, and the bunny was in deep shock. After a few phone calls, my lady reached Kristen Heitman of Providence Wildlife Rehabilitation. Kristen took the rabbit in and promised to do her best to heal it, although its injuries were serious so the outlook was not good. In addition to the bunny, other animal lovers brought in four Mallard ducklings orphaned after last night's horrible hail storm, a Coot with a broken leg, an injured Canada Goose who had lost her mate, and a Loon (a rare site indeed) that had been hit by a car.

Kristen works part-time to help fund her rescue service and, sadly, gets few donations. She hopes to create her own website soon and recruit volunteers. If you would like to help Kristen, either as a volunteer or by sending a tax-deductible donation, please call her at (317) 902-DUCK or write to her at P.O. Box 40491, Indianapolis, IN 46240. Providence is a 501(c)(3) not-for-profit corporation.

I hope little Bun Bun Brown survives. There's always hope but, if not, at least the little guy will know the meaning of kindness in his final hours, which is something that all of us deserve, whether we live in a suit of skin or fur.