In
the office where Q-Notes is published resides perhaps one of the sweetest
and most playful cats I’ve ever encountered.
He came into our life via Associate Editor David Stout and Stout’s
Great Aunt Veer, who lives in Lexington, N.C.
As the story goes the little grey kitten was one of a rather sizable litter
that belonged to a cat that lived at a neighbor’s house. The neighbor
had several dogs and apparently the mother cat wasn’t comfortable
with the kittens in that environment — so she moved them to someplace
less complicated (Great Aunt Veer’s).
“There were five, all cute, but when he walked out of the box I knew
he was the one,” says Stout. “He had some kind of charisma
about him. Aunt Veer laughed and said ‘He’s a little troublemaker,
always getting into something. Figures you’d pick him.’”
Stout encountered the kitten on a few occasions before the staff eventually
came to the decision that it was time for a mascot.
He also picked out the kitten’s name — Oscar Wildecat — after
the cartoon character in the “Queer Duck” series.
He was absolutely tiny when I first laid eyes on him — but in the
year he’s lived with us, he’s come to be very large, thick
and muscular. His shiny, multi-colored grey coat has retained the softness
it had when he was still a kitten.
In the morning he’ll greet you by following you around, rubbing against
your legs and talking in soft little meows. Then he’ll jump to lightening
speed and dash around the office like a cat possessed, oftentimes coming
to rest atop a stack of papers that immediately slide out from underneath
him, spilling him back on to the floor.
His favorite pastimes include drinking anybody’s water but his own,
stealing peppermint candy from the bowl in reception area and throwing
it around the room, rubbing his face profusely against hairy chins, tipping
over garbage cans, trying to climb artificial office shrubbery and plopping
himself down squarely in the center of the conference table during staff
meetings. Right this moment he’s sitting across from me on the sofa
in my office staring directly at me and probably wondering what kind of
trouble he can get into next. On deadline weekends when I’m in the
office alone, he’s a great friend to have around.
Our little animal friends have such short life spans. It can be very painful,
too, when you lose one. My partner’s little old Maltese named Chip — I’ve
written about him a few times here — passed away a couple of months
ago. He was sick and old, but he struggled so hard to hang on. He finally
got to the point where he couldn’t even lift his head up off the
couch and we had to stand him up so he could eat or do whatever was necessary.
My partner couldn’t handle it — so I finally volunteered to
take him to the vet to have him “put to sleep” as they used
to say (as opposed to “put down,” which somehow seems a bit
more callous to me). I stayed with him until the very end, when he just
slumped over next to my body, as though he had fallen asleep.
I thought I would be okay with it because he came into my life along with
my partner and I always thought of him as “my boyfriend’s dog.” But
in the end, I felt quite differently.
I’ve never been particularly weepy — it takes a lot to get
me that way — but as I was driving away from the vet’s office
I was overcome with such grief that I couldn’t stop crying. I had
to pull over to the side of the road to try and get control of my emotions. “Why
can’t I stop crying?” I screamed to myself, as I looked at
the empty seat beside me where the little dog had sat, breathing heavily,
less than thirty minutes before.
When it suddenly struck me that I must’ve looked like a scene out
of some bad sitcom I was finally able to get a grip — but I still
miss the muttering little old fellow. Even if he was a bit grumpy at times — he
was always happily wagging his tail when I came through the door at the
end of the day.
A few weeks would pass before we adopted another dog — she’s
a small rescue mix puppy we named Betty. Probably Jack Russell Terrier,
Cocker Spaniel and Italian Greyhound with some Chihuahua thrown in for
good measure.
She’s extremely affectionate, very polite and when she goes outside
she’s energetic beyond belief. Even though it’s like looking
at King Kong playing with Naomi Watts, she gets along famously with our
neighbor’s Labrador. He runs to fetch a ball and she runs circles
around and under him as he moves, frequently nipping at his heels and ankles
and ears and face. He seems to love every minute of it.
Our cat seems to like the dog, too. She doesn’t automatically hiss
at her like she did the Maltese. But he had a tendency to be a bit aggressive
at times. With Betty it’s all fun and games. She’ll dance around
in front of the cat, jumping forwards and then back and trying oh-so-hard
to convince her to play. It’s nothing short of slapstick when Betty
tries to sneak up behind Midge for a quick butt sniff. That’s where
Midge draws the line — she’ll turn around and growl (one of
those deep guttural “mmrrooww” sounds) and hop off as quickly
as her three legs will carry her, hissing as she goes. Betty will jump
backwards and dash off in the opposite direction before taking a flying
leap onto the couch. Then she’ll immediately assume what we’ve
come to call the Jackal pose. She stretches out her legs directly in front
of her body perfectly straight and side-by-side and perks up her massive
pointy dumbo-sized ears from the relaxed floppy position to full attention.
She usually sits that way for a few minutes looking rather accomplished
about her recent achievement with the cat.
Take a look at our special “People and their Pets” section
this issue. I think you’ll enjoy reading about the many different
kinds of animals queers in the Carolinas like to have as their pets.
David Moore Editor
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