Jack The Scribbler

As domesticated animal companions, cats require very little attention, especially when compared to a few socially-inept, self-absorbed, and sorry-ass bums I have unfortunately encountered these past few months.
Besides daily feeding, felines only need annual rabies shots, the occasional bath, and regular cleaning of their litter boxes.
Which is not the case at all with other supposedly sentient but nevertheless irritating human beings.
Unlike regular, well-adjusted felines, these vexing, intolerable entities demand more than just food and shelter but also inordinate amounts of patience and sympathy than what is generally required under the law and the Geneva convention.
As a result, these so-called “people” deplete my goodwill and reduce whatever is left of my Christian charity.
No wonder many individuals — myself included — prefer felines over their fellow human beings, given half the chance.
Take the overweight grey and white cat we keep at our apartment.
Although aloof, independent, and sometimes even insensitive by nature, the five-year old cat we adopted five years ago only becomes demanding and noisy when he runs out of dry food.
However, once his bowl is refilled — done twice a day max — he is a bother to no one, preferring to pursue his worry-free indoor existence under the bed, on the stairs, in the bathroom, or ensconced inside a special square basin in our bedroom.
Originally a stray cat living off the cold, inhospitable streets of Western Pennsylvania, our British shorthair cat is now living the life of luxury, although in another country with only one timezone, two seasons, and limited choices for wet cat food.
But during the past month, his charmed life was sorely interrupted.
Since his skin had developed a fungus, he had to be given a bath twice a week using a special shampoo. It was an experience that my cat and I rarely looked forward to.
Given felines’ legendary aversion to water, our cat struggled to escape from the bathroom while I did my best to keep him in it.
Despite this discomfort, I don’t think he’s ever going to complain, especially now that his skin condition is improving.
With my wife and I always at his disposal and a loving vet on call 24/7, the cat previously known as Alex is, without a doubt, living it up.
Although he appears to miss his scratching post, he nevertheless manages to stretch his limbs using our chaise lounge upstairs and our couch downstairs, ruining our precious and not exactly inexpensive furniture.
But then again, that is the price we pay for keeping a cat inside our apartment and ensuring that the rats are kept out. Bet you can’t do that with a bum.

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A slightly different version of this piece was posted two years and a month ago at a separate website. Picture of fat feline taken early this year.

THERE are better ways of starting the New Year than getting a skin rash after giving your cat—who happens to be afflicted with ringworm—a much-needed medicated bath.
However, skin rashes and a host of other conditions, medical and otherwise, are simply the lot of humans who, for better or worse, choose to live their lives with felines.
Although cats may occasionally share what they have with their human companions (i. e. fungal skin infections), they are nevertheless one of the most well-behaved, low-maintenance animals ever to tolerate the existence of human beings.
Besides being capable of living on their own without any external assistance for a maximum of say, four days, indoor cats—if properly trained—can also take care of their own business with any available litterbox. (Just make sure that you leave enough food and water for the duration and that the litterbox is clean.)
But then again, I’m biased.
After all, my wife and I continue to share a two-room, two-bathroom Quezon City apartment with an indifferent, overfed, seven-year old, gray and white British shorthair cat.
As our sole domestic companion, Minggoy continues to enjoy privileges never before accorded to any of our friends, relatives, and house guests.
Since his needs, interests, and welfare are secondary to no one’s, not only is Minggoy allowed to lie down on my desk at any time—even if I am in the middle of a deadline—he is also permitted to visit any of our bathrooms, occupied or otherwise.
Despite these exclusive rights, Minggoy has been spending Christmas and New Year’s Eve all alone for the past five years.
Ever since we brought him home to Manila (in a previous life, he prowled the streets of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania), Minggoy hasn’t exactly been welcome to stay at my in-law’s place, where we usually spend the holidays.
Self-serving as this may sound, his forced solitude during the season is for the benefit of both himself and his faithful companions.
If we insisted on bringing him with us during the holidays, my mother-in-law would have flown off the handle, especially since she has undergone serious allergic reactions to any and all forms of animal hair.
For his part, Minggoy would certainly have gone positively mental from the continuous physical harassment that can only come from our nephews and nieces, one of whom nearly suffocated him by pulling him by the neck and squeezing really hard.
Fed up with human expressions of fondness, Minggoy promptly hid under the bed, never leaving until he was absolutely sure that it was time to go home.
From that day onward, as soon as he was brought back to the apartment, he rarely ventured outside, preferring to curl up inside a square basin, take up generous space on the couch, or declare the bed his eminent domain.
Which to this day, makes us wonder where he got ringworm. Probably from me. But that’s another story.

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Written just days before Minggoy disappeared early this year, this blog entry was not posted until now, since my wife and I still suffer from pangs of guilt whenever we recount the episode of his temporary loss. Ever the spoiled cat, Minggoy came back two nights later and he was welcomed with love and affection, even though he had dirty paws.