Chapter 3:
Shakespeare
Things were going well for Nicole and I. We were enjoying our new puppy, and were getting along well with one another. We soon moved into her brother’s house because he was moving back to Kelowna to pursue a career in business other than restaurant management. As part of the agreement for her to take over the restaurant, we were to rent his place– an old heritage house across from the city public works yard. It was extremely large with a partially restored interior. The yard was also very large, and it had a big dog run in the back.

Soon after moving into our new place, we had decided to take the plunge and get married. We set a date far in the future, and settled in quickly. Her brother had joked that it looked like all of the pieces were in place to start a family with the impending nuptials, the house and the dog. We were in no hurry to start a family and settle down before I obtained a permanent position or before we did a little traveling though.

We frequently made trips to Kelowna because Nicole’s family lived there, and because it was nice to spend some time in the big city sometimes. One Friday we made plans to go into Kelowna, and were discussing what we might want to do when we were there. "Hey, how do you feel about going to the cat show with my parents Saturday," Nicole asked, "My mom says that there will be lots of interesting breeds there."

"Hmm, pure breed cats? If you want to check it out we can, but I’ve never been that interested in pure breed cats myself. I find that I prefer crosses when it comes to cats."

"What about Simba? He’s a pure breed, and you like him."

"Well, he’s o.k., but I don’t think that he would be the cat that I would choose for myself."

"No problem, I don’t think that we are looking for a cat ourselves. It should just be fun looking at the different cats."

"I guess that you have a point. When you put it that way, what do we have to lose?"

**********

We traveled to Kelowna the night before the cat show, stayed at Nicole’s parent’s house, and woke early to get to the show. After saying goodbye to Finn in the puppy pen outside, we arrived at the local arena shortly after the show opened. There we witnessed a scene of absolute pandemonium. It was organized chaos, as we watched people literally try to herd cats. There were cats and owners everywhere, both grooming themselves to look their best for the judges.

We saw big cats, small cats, short cats, and tall cats. There were cats of every color, cats with long hair, cats with short hair, and cats with no hair. Lots of meowing and purring permeated the entire scene.

We wandered for about an hour, taking in the splendor of the many breeds of cats. I noticed that Nicole was obviously affected by the show, recalling that before she been forced to give up her cat, Boo, shortly after we left U.B.C. because of it’s penchant for the destruction of her parent’s house. I sensed that we’d be leaving with a cat before we even discussed it. We wandered up and down row after row, talking to breeders and petting kittens.

She started off innocently, "So, which breed do you like best?"

"Well, I really like that Maine Coone," I replied cautiously as I looked over at the cat, They are nice cats, and they’re great mousers. Something to think about in an older house."

"O.K., we don’t have mice and that’s gross," she replied.

I tried again, realizing that I had chosen incorrectly. "Hmm... Those American Shorthairs with the stripes look like little tigers are really nice cats."

"Yes, they’re pretty cool, but I’m not sure I like them best."

I was getting warmer, and I knew it. Going for the prize, I tried a third time, "I like the British Shorthairs too. The blue cats are really cool looking, and their fur is really nice to pet."

"They are nice, aren’t they? I really like the pink kitten."

"Well, let’s go and take another look at them."

We spent the next hour or so looking at the British Shorthair kitten, leaving and wandering the cat show, and returning to ogle him some more. He was pink, had a tiny body, and a rather large head. His eyes followed us everywhere, and they seemed massive in an almost cartoony way. He played with our fingers whenever we put them in to pet him, and seemed to be a healthy and happy little cat.

I could tell that Nicole was conflicted, but I did not want to interfere too much with the decision making process. It took about an hour for her to verbalize the fact that she wanted the kitten. Finally, she said, "He’s really cute, and I do miss Boo. We could get him. What do you think?"

"Well, if you like him, he looks like he would make a great companion," I replied.

"The lady said that he’s three hundred dollars though, that’s a lot of money. We could get a cheaper cat somewhere else."

"We could, but do you really like this cat? If you do, three hundred dollars is quite a bit of money, but it’s not that bad compared to what keeping the cat will cost us in the end. If you really like him, then you should get him."

Her smile told me that this time I had answered the question correctly. We purchased the cat, signed the paperwork, and got instructions from the proud breeder. The contract had, we noticed, some very interesting stipulations. I asked the leader about one that seemed somewhat unusual, "Um, it says here that we can’t let the cat outside, ever, under any circumstances. Why is that?"

"Yes, that is correct," she offered pendantically, "British Shorthairs are agoraphobic."

"Agoraphobic?"

"Yes, they have a fear of open spaces. They’re defenseless outside because they freeze in panic."
"Our cat will freeze, if it gets outside?"

"Yes, they’ve been bred to live indoors for hundreds of years."

Turning to Nicole I joked, "We’re getting a pink cat with mental issues?"

She smiled and rolled her eyes, "No, they’re fine as long as they live inside. We would keep him inside anyhow."

Thanking the lady, we put our new little cat into a pet taxi that I had purchased while Nicole finished up the paperwork. The little guy looked between the bars of the cage and mewled furtively while sticking his paw out to swat at anything near enough. With that, we picked up a couple of cat toys in the lobby, and then headed back to Nicole’s parent’s house with our new addition.

***********

Taking Finn and Shake home the next morning was challenging in Nicole’s little RX-7.
We packed Shake’s little cat carrier into the tiny hatchback, and Finn laid between my legs as usual, but showed infinite excitement about the prospect of getting into the back to play with his new friend. Shake, for his part, looked far less enthused about the prospect of meeting the canine family member, and huddled up in the back of his cage.

When we eventually did make it home, we made certain that the kitten stayed in his carrier until he reached the relative safety of our bedroom. Once in the room, we released him to let him explore. We showed him his litter box first, then played with the little guy using a feather and string. He jumped at the feather indiscriminately. He jumped forward, backward, and sideways– often ending up landing on his back or head and turning the myth upside down about cats always landing on their feet. He seemed unperturbed by an apparent lack of catlike reflexes; however, and continued to play with us for quite some time.

Finn waited for us patiently outside the room, looking through the French doors to see what was going on. Initially he laid on the floor looking curiously, but eventually ennui set in. Feeling left out, he began to whine. I went out for a moment to appease him, and shushed him gently. Eventually though, I went back to the room to see what Nicole and the new baby were up to. This time, Finn stood at the French door, eagerly watching us play. His tail started wagging in earnest, and quickly built up unbelievable speed. Letting out a yelp that I would never have thought could come from an animal that small, he jumped up and down and started running back and forth in circles. The twin facts that Finn wanted to meet the cat, and that he was feeling left out were very apparent by this point.

I went out into the foyer again, petting Finn and cooing at him. In spite of the attention, he tried to pull away and look in the door to see Nicole and Shake. It became very apparent that he wanted to meet the cat. Not sure of what we could do, I went back in to talk to Nicole.

"He really wants to meet the cat," I began.

"Shake’s way too small though," she replied.

"Well, they’ll meet sooner or later, so we might as well make it sooner. That way we’re here to control the situation."

"Hmm... I guess so. Maybe you can hold him while Finn meets him and sniffs him."

Well, our idea seemed solid, so we decided to execute it. I took the mewling little cat out of our room, so that he could talk to the pup in relative safety. As I approached, Finn ran up with his tail wagging. I held Shake out for inspection as Finn approached, and as predicted he sniffed at the cat furiously to try to ascertain just who and what he was. Unfortunately, Shake was less enthused about the idea than Finn and I were.

As the dog began to sniff, Shakespeare’s reaction was so quick and so visceral that I did not have time to react. He sunk his little claws through my shirt and into my chest. Using the leverage that he found in my flesh to climb his way up onto my shoulder, jump down, and then flee for the relative safety of the room with Finn hot on his heels. The cat ran under the bed, in a vain attempt to hide from Finn. As I ran into the room, all that I could see of the two pets was Finn’s backside and wagging tail sticking out from under the bed as he foraged for the cat.

Pulling Finn out, I ushered him out the door as he squirmed frantically in an attempt to return and play with his new friend. Shoving him out the door, I was assailed with mournful whines as he jumped up and down in excited anticipation of playing with his miniature playmate, if only he could sneak by me. Having finally shoved Finn out the door; we tried to coax Shakespeare out from under the bed, so that we could comfort him. It took some time to get him out, as he had decided that the protection that we could provide from the black beast was dubious at best. We finally lured him out shortly before bed with a Pounce treat. Seemingly forgetting the incident after the treat, he purred and allowed us to pet him. We had all survived the first day, but we had also come to realize that the future would likely hold challenges for us all.

**********

As we adjusted to the pets presence and they adjusted to our expectations, things started to return to normal in the house. Finn realized that the bathroom was outside and that the cat was not a chew toy, and Shake figured out (mostly) that the scratching post was for scratching and the carpet was for walking on. Finn came to love Shake, and the worst that he ever did to the cat was an occasional saliva bath that cost him nothing more than his dignity. Shake came to tolerate Finn, but did not go out of his way to hang out with him. He was a grumpy little cat for the most part, but I quickly taught him that cat’s claws were not for use on human flesh or puppy noses.

After a bit of training, things seemed to work far better for both pets and animals. As Finn was barred from the bathroom in the new house, I even began to bathe with the door open. As I soon learned to my detriment, however, the lessons learned by one pet were not necessarily always transmitted to the other.

Shake really enjoyed coming in every morning to watch the bath. For all of their fear and loathing of water, cats are invariably fascinated by it. He would hop up onto the toilet seat to watch the bath run, and then sit beside me and talk as I cleaned myself.

One morning, Shake came in as I ran my bath, and he perched himself watching in rapt fascination. As I got into the bath, Shake decided to come closer to see the water. Jumping from the toilet seat to the tub’s lip, he sat contentedly and watched as I bathed. The longer that he sat near the water, the greater his bravery and curiosity became. Eventually, he reached down with one little paw to swat the water. It was an incredibly cute scene, watching the little cat play with the fascinating bath water.

Unfortunately, the cute scene did not last long. As mentioned before, Shake was not the most agile kitten when he was young. In fact, sometimes he was downright clumsy. This was a volatile combination for a cat sitting on a narrow ledge, mere inches from deep water.

Demonstrating an incredible lack of forethought, I played with the little guy. I splashed the water, then he reached in and splashed the water, I splashed it again, he splashed it again. Back and forth it went, until Shake overextended to reach the spot that I splashed. He slipped on the damp tub wall and cannon balled into the water, flailing his little paws as he fell.

Before I could react, a tiny ball of fur, fangs, and claws burst from the water. Shake literally flew out of the soapy water to the side of the tub. Unfortunately, he was unable to find purchase with his claws on the side that he chose, so he flung himself to the foot of the tub. Once again unable to dig himself out, he threw himself over me and over the side of the tub and onto the bath mat.
Shake furiously shook himself off. Then, taking one slow step after another, shaking all the while, he made his way out of the bathroom with all of the dignity that he could still muster. After checking myself to see that he had not cut an artery with his berserk, slashing fury, I began to dry myself off. Nicole came to the door shortly thereafter.

Looking at the water and fur that covered nearly every part of the bathroom she asked me, "What just happened?"

"Um, Shake decided to take a bath with me," I responded as I looked over the mess myself, "Don’t worry, I don’t think that he’ll be doing it again soon."