Bupkes

Since I've already addressed the rest of the pet family, it's only fair that I finish with the only feline in the group, Bupkes our Manx cat.  When we bought this house, Karen was told that a dead mouse had been found in the basement -- since the owner, a widow, snowbirded and wasn't in the house during the winter months -- and that we, of course, would be getting a cat to keep the mouse population down.  That was acceptable to Karen, who once had a cat or two, but it posed a problem for me:  I'd always been allergic to cats.

I never owned one, but I've been to vets' offices and friends' houses where cats roamed free and I got all puffy-eyed and sniffly very quickly.  But since this was going to be a utility, I told Karen I'd take Benadryl and gut it out.

Karen quickly located a guy in the country who was giving away cats and quickly scheduled a meeting.  We drove out there and saw this little tiger of a cat, with perfect coloring and black and grey stripes and a stunted tail, and Karen said we'd take him. Having no history with cats, I quickly agreed.

We got him home and had him in the apartment where were living until the closing on our house was finished.  He had the jitters of being introduced to a new environment that included two bulldogs, one of whom, Custer, was goofy as heck and liked to chase him all over the apartment.  We learned early on that he'd have to be declawed in the front paws if we hoped to have any furniture left, since Bups, as we came to call him -- short for Bupkes, or nothing in Yiddish, for what we paid to get him -- loved jumping and climbing all over the place.  One of his favorite things to do was dive under the sheets and blankets in a curious game of hide and seek.

It fell to me to take Bups to the vet.  Try as I might, I was unable to get him in the portable kennel to drive him to the vet.  Fortunately, he had no qualms about being held, and even more fortunately still, the vet wasn't that far away, so I held him as I drove him to the vet.  I'm still amazed that I got us there in one piece.

When we moved into the house, Bupkes immediately took to the basement.  So far, in the nearly three years we've lived there, he's brought us two mice and two starlings.  Mostly, he antagonizes Custer and wrestles with me, although he's finding it's too his advantage to let me hold him and stroke his back instead.

At night, Bupkes will jump on the bed, find his way to my head and have me rub him.  When he's had enough of that, he'll plop down right next to or on my face.  I'm so used to it I know when to adjust so that he's not on me directly.  During the winter months this is actually quite welcome.

The one thing that's proven challenging is keeping Bupper's name straight when the grandkids come over.  We offered them the chance to name Bups, thinking that it wouldn't be too bad but forgetting that the offer was being made during their infatuation with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.  The little one, in love with Leonardo, named Bups Leo.  Every time they come over we have to adjust and call him Bups.  I'm not sure if it confuses him but it sure confuses me.  I've been known to slip a time or two and refer to him as Bups.

My hope is to one day teach him to jump up in my arms from the floor, something I've seen done online.  As it is, he'll come when he's called, so he's part dog already.  I refer to him as the puppy-cat simply so he doesn't feel left out.  Given his disposition, he's part bulldog as it is.

And all this time, I've never had to take one Benadryl.  What a blessing.

(c) 2017 The Truxton Spangler Chronicles