The Big Cat

Ragdoll kitties are just that – rag dolls. When you pick them up, they feel light like a bundle of feathers. When you hold them, they drape over your arm as luxuriously as a knitted scarf. Their blue eyes stare at you with curiosity and when they blink, that means the kitty loves you. When you meet a ragdoll kitty in the hallway and her tail flips up, she’s saying, “Hi! How are ya?” They’re a special kind of kitty, so loving and so soft to pet. Never a bad mood, always calm and congenial.

EXCEPT for Cozy. I don’t know what happened to her when she was born, but the mischievous gene really took hold and hung on with that cat. She’s quite a phenomenon with her long, bushy fur making her look like a musk ox, her coal black eyes (sometimes they’re blue although I can’t remember the last time I saw that color on her), and the charcoal tail that she believes is not part of her anatomy.

But most phenomenal is her behavior. I can pet her two times in a row gently on the head, but the third try is risky. She could just as easily get a tooth-hold on my hand as she could simply sit there demurely. It’s a chance I’ve taken several times with dire consequences; so, now I just pet her twice and leave before she gets any ideas.

Although she only weighs maybe 14 pounds, she can intimidate anyone including dogs four times her size. But our mini dachshund, Orie, has taken the brunt of her moodiness. When he was still trying to achieve his current 20 pounds, he learned a lesson from her that has remained with him for nearly 4 years so far. Me, too. One morning when I was in the kitchen, I heard a sudden scuffling sound on the other side of the island immediately followed by the sight of my new puppy scurrying around the corner as fast as his short, little legs could carry him. He sidled up to my ankle and we both watched in fearful anticipation as the biggest cat we’d ever seen burst around the corner of the island and came to a skidding stop in front of us.

She was full blown; I mean Cozy had somehow increased her fur size to nearly double, perked her unwanted tail up to an unbelievably, expansive bushiness, and furrowed her eyebrows so that she looked as insane as they come. I’m convinced that the only thing that stopped her from devouring both of us was my sharp “COZY!” in a voice that half squeaked and half hollered. It was like I had snapped her out of a delirious tangent. The fur sank back to normal size; her tail drooped and somehow the nasty brows settled back down. She marched off into the living room as though nothing had happened while the pup and I remained side by side frozen in fear.

Both Orie and I learned a lesson that day. Leave Cozy alone. Period.