Cat Wrangling For Christmas

Mozart’s Wife Intimate Mozart

aka Mozart's Wife

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I'm writing about our primary Christmas present, Tony from Long Island, because this little devil is just about a full time project at the moment. Tony is the new kitty kid in our household, bringing our total to three. His evolving relationships with our older felines is about all that's doing around at our house this past few weeks.

Here's little Tony when he first came, sitting on my knee.

Tony arrived in early December. The agreement between my husband and me was that if I took him from friends who already had one too many cats, he would represent our major "house" gift. He came


When Tony arrived--a long day's round trip for his tender-hearted rescuers from Bayshore--he was still small. However, like the monster in 20 Million Miles to Earth, he's grown by leaps and bounds.

Tony has been assisted in this astonishing growth spurt by lots of Purina Kitten Chow(c) and the testicular rocket-fuel contained in two cute gray and white fuzzy balls placed tidily beneath his ringed smoke-gray tail. The presence of these feline superchargers adds another element of uncertainty to our cat integration story. Our elder cats (both 9 years, one with muscular-skeletal issues and the other with PTSD) can scent that this young tom is in super-hero mode, all strength, activity and wacky, climbing the walls cat-a-tude.

Tony at Doctor Mimnaugh's office for his first check-up

His energy level is a bit much for his humans, too, as we are not getting any younger ourselves. He and Willy-Yum had fun playing for a couple of days, but then, I have come to believe, Willy-Yum over-exerted himself and hurt his already weak and injured back. This left him limping and hissing and most definitely not wanting to be jumped upon. This abrupt rejection, in turn, hurt the kitten's feelings.

With those afore-mentioned super-chargers attached, Tony decided to chase and wrestle with the one who had first been fun to romp with and who now, inexplicably, was refusing. That rough play led to Willy-Yum hiding under the bed and not eating. And that led to his kitty parents, who'd only seen the play part of the new relationship, pushing the panic button and taking Willy to the vet for a blood panel.  After we got the bill, I knew that the "Christmas present" agreement was a realistic one, at least as far as keeping our budget under some semblance of control went.

Willy after an impressive leap onto the dryer

We have learned that Willy was not as strong (or maybe even as young) as we'd thought, and that he did indeed have some lurking physical problems we had not known about before. When you take an elder cat from a Kill Shelter as we had done with him, you're most likely getting a pig in a poke. While Willy is a great lap cat, he'd also been frisky and playful. We'd never expected that the addition of a kitten would be so physically hard on him.

Fortunately, I'd been smart enough to get  new laser for red dot games and a new feather toy, so that I can give Tony some of the exercise he desperately longs for. Years ago, in another age, we might have let this rambunctious boy outside, but this has begun to feel owner irresponsibility. First off, this sweet and absolutely NOT streetwise boy could instantly get himself killed or lost--as in "curiosity killed the ... ".  Besides, who knows what feats of ill-advised daring those testicles might urge him to undertake in the exciting out of doors?

So, until we get those fractious appendages are removed--we are counting down the days to the surgery date--I'm doing a lot of cat wrangling. This means supplying litter boxes all over the house, as well as beds and dishes of food and water in various rooms, and these must be washed and refreshed daily. Sometimes Willy-Yum and I are in my bed room for some private time; sometimes Tony is in his bedroom for a time out; sometimes Kimi has to be carried out of the cellar, is her default PTSD retreat. Afterward, she must be placed gently on the couch, combed and brushed a little and protected until Tony's interest goes elsewhere.

Kimi, our anxious girl

We are making use of the elusive antics of the red dot and the tease toys, too. In short, Kitty Mom and Dad are kept pretty busy, while, at the same time, trying not to be "helicopter parents," and allow the cats to work out things for themselves. It's much like adopting a kid in many ways, this delicate business of integrating another sensitive being into our home.  We're doing our best to be responsible, thoughtful caretakers of all of our animal companions.

While this may all sound a bit over the top, as the little old woman next door used to say about her pets, "They are a whole lotta company." and so they are! And if I'd wanted a "new toy" to entertain me, I've certainly got one in Tony. We've never had a cat who watched T.V. before--I mean ALL television--not just birds and small mammals--Tony watches everything, from cop shows to football games. We have to keep the squirt gun handy in order to prevent him hurling himself into the screen.

He's going to be a great cat, our little Tony the Tiger! We think he's pretty great Christmas present, despite all the work involved. 

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~~Juliet Waldron

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Bohemian Rhapsody

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(It's Mozart's Wife, my friends, under a new title and cover here and there, because of Amazonian-evil-shenanigans.)

I'll call this a movie review , but I confess I'm writing because I've been unable to get my last weekend's viewing of Bohemian Rhapsody out of my head. I've got a case of full on ear worm, too, from hearing all those great songs. This topic is not too far off course for me, because forty years back, I dared to begin novel writing after having my brain completely eaten by seeing Amadeus.  

Although it's a fairly middle-of-the-road biopic, Bohemian Rhapsody struck me similarly.  The movie was, after all, about another human one of a kind, one of those rare people about whom others say: "They broke the mold." Don't think I'll get any argument if I say that we'll never see another Mozart, nor will we ever see another Freddie Mercury--at least, not in this dimension.*

Rami Malek as Freddie at Live Aid in Bohemian Rhapsody

Like Wolfgang M., Freddie Mercury was born with an abundance of charisma, drive, and a mad desire to entertain. A biopic hero with drama-ready flaws and conflicts, Freddie Mercury's bisexuality, when yoked to the excesses of the 70's and 80's rock world, made him one of the many victims of the AIDS epidemic. His career, like those of many many artists, performers and musicians, was cut short. Fortunately, the audience in whose company we saw Bohemian Rhapsody seemed to honor this gifted "sinner."

Freddie Mercury

I went with a friend to whom those dark days of AIDS in the 80's still hold a lot of pain. Magda has custody of the cremains of three dear friends who--as they burned away in their 5th floor walkups--had only their artistic "families" to tend their terrifying disease, and later, to mourn them. 

On my side, things were far more casual. I'd come to hear and see a spectacle with great rock songs.  You'd have to have lived under the proverbial rock not to have heard any music by Queen--even if it's just the football anthem We Will Rock You. Somebody to Love is one of my all-time favorites--and, along with Radio Ga-Ga--one of today's ear worms.

My sons were growing up when Queen was knocking out hits. "Kid" music made its way from behind closed bedroom doors into my ears. While I've always loved classical music and opera as well as rock'n'roll, I never doubted the musicality of this band. To me, Queen's music was operatic, if it not 'opera.' And it wasn't just the lead singer. The other band members seemed to hear the music resident in the spoken word as well. Even when lyrics don't appear to make much sense, the words themselves, the sounds and the mouthfeel, become essential parts of their electrifying composition.

The plot is pretty sanitized -- maybe even homogenized? That, in the end, didn't really detract from my enjoyment. I was a working mom when Queen strode onto the scene and had no time to follow the dramas surrounding rock personalities, so the story was mostly news to me. I really liked this movie far more than I'd anticipated, because of the unexpected sweetness of the story. It was romantic, in a way, with dark moments and all.

Bohemian Rhapsody begins as the freakish, sexually ambiguous and talented hero finds first acceptance and then unlikely stardom through hooking up with a band at the precise moment their lead singer decamps. Farouk--or Freddie, as he christened himself--has finally found freedom to express the craziness and the talent inside. He and the band enter into  touring and performing show-biz destiny.

The dark moment comes when Freddie beaks up the group in order to pursue a solo career. The change doesn't make heart (or even self-preservation!) sense, for deep down Freddie knows he's abandoned his musical family--in a way, his only safe place. The script is evenhanded; no bones are made about that fact that this star needed his band as much as they needed him. Queen--just like the Beatles--was a creative partnership. 

After a plea from his ex-wife, Freddie asks pardon of the other three band members, and Queen goes on to their epic performance at Live Aid. There isn't a focus on it, but we all know that Freddie has also received his AIDS death sentence.

I came away not only liking the movie, but the characters. Here's a show biz story where you expect bad decisions, drugs, fabulous music, and walks on the kinkiest of wild sides, but it resolves on such a quiet, decent--almost domestic--note. Self-knowledge, willingness to forgive and plain old human honesty bring this musical family back together again. A small thing, in the landscape of human triumph, you might think, but this old woman didn't really need another dose of darkness.


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o8Eg-mWdDLc

Freddie, who loved opera, performing with the divine Monserrat Caballe, one of his idols.



~~Juliet Waldron 

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*Yes we're all unique, like snowflakes, but some of us have far more curliques than others!