Blacktop and the Bucket Babies

Blacktop and the Bucket Babies

Name's Blacktop. Gender neutral 'cause who could tell when you're five weeks old. Right? Not all that original or cutesy for a kitten but that is what I am. White on the bottom...now you understand. Could have been 'Boots' for my white paws or maybe 'Stache' for my milky mustache but you get the picture. Oh, and that is also where I picked out my people - on a blacktop road. I had spent the hot August day wandering way too far from my birth barn and mom. Had this forlorn, bedraggled look about me. Could have become part of that blacktop road but The Big Guy and The Lady, did the right thing and pulled over. Of course, I had to play hard to get so scampered into the cornfield. Sure enough The Lady followed me in, very determined to do the right thing. That's when I knew they had the right stuff for sure. I led her a ways away from the road then let her have the satisfaction of rescuing me.

First thing she did when she got me to my new kingdom was nearly drown me in a flea bath. I was so worn out (did I mention how hot a day it had been) I just let her do whatever necessary to make me acceptable. Felt good to be rid of those pesky suckers. I didn't make any demands. That could happen in due time. Otherwise, I was offered all the water to drink, food to eat and fresh litter to potty in I could ever want or need. Getting them trained good.

A kitten's life is not always purr-fect. You have things figured out, then things change. When I first came to live with my charges, two smelly dogs occupied my space with me. Had to have their noses in everything. The larger, aging one had long black fur like my mom's but didn't care to play much, no matter how hard I tried. The other one was ancient. She hurt to move let alone play. But I would lay next to her and she would impart some of her wisdom to me. She warned about bucket babies. She told how once upon a time there had been little people living with the Lady. After time they grew bigger and only came to visit. Then they started carrying in tiny bundles in buckets from their cars. More about them later, but beware.

Now both those dogs are pushing up weeds out back in the abandoned sandbox. Guess someday I'll join them. Funny thing about that sandbox. First time I went out to explore the fenced in bigger world I never noticed that sandy place. I had to beg to get back inside the house to my litter box 'cause there was no place to go out there.

But once the dogs were resting in that place it sure felt good to be the sole ruler of my universe. My people would cater to my every whim. I could curl up to sleep wherever and whenever I felt like it. Of course, Lady's lap was the best place. I also liked Big Guy's desk on top of whatever he was so fascinated by. He got to play with the mouse but he didn't like it when I tried. But my favorite thing to do was knead my Lady's long hair right next to her chin and snuggle in for the whole night. Ah – purr-fect!.

I had them nicely trained to give food or comfort on demand. All I had to do was stare at them long enough until they figured it out. I had the stare down to a science. No one could deny me. If I refused the dry stuff soft foods were offered. Usually they would cave in and give me a taste of whatever they were enjoying. I don't think that Lady ever got to eat a whole plate of food by herself in all of the twenty-some years I stuck around. (Remember, I knew about the sandbox.)

I got to take long trips with them. Was for something Big Guy called 'work'. I hunkered down in the car during the day but at night would watch the big-eyed, diesel-belching monsters sneak up from behind then roar past. Always lots of new exciting places to explore. Sometimes with a kitty that looked exactly like me and mimicked every move I made in the black window. It was on one of these trips where together we discovered 'mini-moos'. Super-sweet milk in tiny cups just my size. We took a lot of those long-distance trips. Still it always thrilled me when we came up the hill, rounded the corner and knew we were home. I always let my people know when we made it.

Life was good, then came those bucket babies. One after another. For years. Now these bucket babies were fine as long as they stayed in the buckets. I could walk right up to them, inspect them and get a good smell. Sometimes they smelled just like the mini-moos and if I licked their sticky fingers they tasted good, too. Sometimes they smelled horrible and were due for something called a change. After the change they smelled all powdery again like newly poured litter.

Unfortunately, these cute critters didn't stay in the buckets forever. Once they got out those tasty sticky fingers were quite dangerous always grabbing at me, pulling my fur and squeezing way too hard if they managed to get hold of me.

I found out these bucket babies were also the reason I couldn't get a decent scratch going on the side of the sofa either. And if I had had any interest in climbing trees, which as a ground dweller I had no desire to do, I wouldn't have been able to get a foot hold. My front claws were no more. Somebody was protecting these bucket babies from me! Didn't they understand I was the one needing protection from them? Thank goodness for the under bed refuge. I learned to hide there whenever they visited.

I will say there was one of these little darlings that once she was out of the bucket for several years she became quite the whisperer. We had great conversations. She got me and got her. Purr-fect!

Mostly I got fat and sassy. I was comfortable on the pedestal, er- -lap, then BOOM! Some other young pesky kitten, always wanting to play, exploded my world. He didn't even have a whole tail! Who was he to think he belonged? He should have been named 'Bush' 'cause he spawned out of the one in my front yard. But no one listened to me. The walking bucket babies kept insisting on calling him 'Bob' I guess due to his tail or lack there of. I tried to warn him about his claws because he was a tree dweller. His dude attitude got a good clipping, too.

I tried to warn him about the bucket babies. Would have shared the refuge but his tactic was to lay in wait, pounce and paw at their ankles when they happened by. But they learned to avoid him after that.

At least my people always blamed Bob for picking on me when we had our 3-am ruckuses. I complained, he wouldn't dare. We came to an understanding. I didn't like him, he tolerated me.

We were complete opposites. Besides the ground/tree dwelling difference he liked hopping around the yard like a bunny; I liked sunbathing on the deck. I liked soft canned food; he preferred the crunchy stuff. I curled into a roly-poly, ying-yang ball; he sprawled. I needed fuzzy comfort; he needed cool surfaces. (Hot kitty/cool cat). I was spayed, he was neutered. I looked forward to long trips; he tried to dominate the suitcases so they couldn't get packed and sometimes the car ride made him nauseous. He was a sleek, fast tabby; I was a chunky, slow tuxedo. I was vocal; he spoke softly. We did agree on baths. Tried to convince the good people we could manage just fine without those. That never worked!

If he kept his distance we could get along relatively fine. Sometimes he got just a little too close and I had to remind him. Oh, well, I guess a cat's life is not always purr-fect.

Truth be known I guess Bob kept me young at heart. Eventually we learned to make nice to each other. It has probably been ten years since the last of the bucket babies left the bucket and I am tired. My bones hurt when I romp with Bob and my eyes are so cloudy I can barely make out who picks me up. It is the first day of a new year. It's my Lady that picks me up. I am so tired. Think I will just curl up next to her chin in her hair and close...my eyes...

The End