Peggy Sue, Part Deux

When we last checked in, our heroine, Peggy Sue, was holed up in my bathroom cabinet, resolutely , yet politely, refusing to be tamed while awaiting her date with destiny – an appointment at the local spay and neuter clinic.

I never did tame her, but I did get her spayed.

Now she’s living in my garage. Sort of.

The original plan was to return her to her home turf and into the bosom of the colony she had helped found. However, the colony underwent a profound demographic shift during Peggy Sue’s tenure in my bathroom.

In a turn of events worthy of a tragedy by Shakespeare, a mean cuss of an abandoned black tom cat had moved in, chased off Peggy Sue’s two grown sons, beat up and impregnated her daughter and staked his claim to the old homestead with a series of well-aimed, pungent sprays.


Feral cats, territorial creatures that they are, don’t really cotton to relocation, but I didn’t see as how I or Peggy Sue had much of a choice.

So into my garage Peggy Sue went with her carrier lined with now-familiar towel, her litter box and her food and water bowls. After about a week, I cracked open the door remembering that cheesy poster so prevalent on dorm room walls during my long-ago youth, “If you love something set it free, if it comes back it’s yours. If it doesn’t, it never was.”

The next day all that remained of Peggy Sue were a few tufts of grey fur clinging to her terry blankie.

For nearly a month, I left food for her every evening at dusk, humming a few bars of “Peggy Sue” in the direction of my neighbor’s bamboo privacy hedge across the alley way where I fancied a feline shadow lurked.

The kibble was always gone in the morning, but no further sign of Peggy Sue. One grey dawn, I did see one of the other neighborhood cats squeezing his growing belly under the garage door. Mystery solved. Looks like Peggy Sue wasn’t coming back. Still, perversely I continued to set out food and a few of the treats she had grown so fond of.

Last Friday I came home a little later than normal. A familiar head with a bobbed ear cautiously peered from under the garage door and up at me with wide-set peridot eyes. Peggy Sue? She mewed in the affirmative and ran to the privacy hedge, talking to me all the while.

She had plenty to say.

She looked well fed, healthy and relatively well-adjusted.

So, now she’s back -- if she, in fact, ever really went away. Does that mean, she’s mine? Not really. She never was, probably never will be. But we’re still talking, and we’ll always have “our song.”

So now you know why I’m less blue ‘bout Peggy, about Peggy Sue.

To Stroke or Not to Stroke, That Is The Question

Is your cat lovey-dovey one minute, and downright mean the next? I have often noted the differences in my cats' personalities. One of the major differences is their varying thresholds for affection -- both giving and receiving . How quickly those thresholds can change!

Koko is a love bug whose favorite activity in life is to be snuggled into the crook of my side or knees, kneading away and purring his funny little out-of-tune purr. That said, he has a very low tolerance for actually being picked up in my arms and carried around.

Henry is a "Don't call me, I'll call you" type. As I have said before, he is SUCH a guy. That said, when he wants attention, he wants my FULL attention and will go around poking me until I give it to him.

Ernie, Roxie and Nettie, on the other hand, love to be picked up. Ernie, bless his heart, is just too big for me to pick up too often. I can do anything to Roxie, including rubbing her face and sticking my fingers in her ears and she won't let out a squeak. Nettie loves to be held, but can get pissy if I try to put her down, rub her too hard or even rub her too often. She actually curls her upper lip at me when I give her the wrong kind of attention.

Sammy is an attention whore who meows and head butts until he gets my attention. But after about three strokes, he throws the personality switch and comes after me. I have little bruises from Sammy's love bites all up and down the underside of my arm.

CJ is undoubtedly the most distant of my cats. From the time she was a kitten, she has been a loner. She doesn't even seem to like her siblings, except for Sammy, with whom she has always had a weirdly close relationship. Days will go by without seeing her. The Recurring Gentleman Caller and I had been seeing each other for three months when he asked "Did you get a new cat?" while pointing to CJ who had surfaced for a drink of water. That said, on rare occasion, she will come up to me, head bent, and sit by my side patiently waiting for a stroke on the head.

Apparently, dual-personalities is a common trait among cats, and major headache for the people who love them. But according to this article, we shouldn't take it personally.

They're just being cats.

Gotta love 'em.

I'm a Winner!

Bonjour, y'all! Just found out I won this great little cookbook in a blogging giveaway over at "My French Corner."

I love food, I love to cook, I love France. Lately I haven't had time for much of any of it, so a 10-minute French cookbook sounds custom made for me. I can't wait to try it. And the period illustrations look too cute.

If you're a Francophile, pop on over to "My French Corner." It's an adorable (and very readable) blog about adding French touches to your everyday life. It's one of my faves.

Bon weekend (this has made mine!)