House Cougar

I often refer to my cat, Francine, as "magical".  In truth, calling her "magical" is a thinly veiled way of saying she's crazy as hell.  As with all living things in this world, God giveth with one hand...and taketh away with another.  My cat is no exception to this rule.  She is blessed with a beautiful and soft calico coat, and has always been robust and healthy.  There's just one problem:  She's bipolar.  One minute, she's curled up on my chest while I'm reading a book, or rubbing against me pleading for attention.  The next, she's eyeing my jugular vein and planning a brutal attack on my neck and face.

I remember meeting Francine for the first time during a no-kill shelter adoption event at PetSmart, in Huntsville, AL.  She was quite lovely,  calmly curled up in her little cage.  When I noticed she was named Francine, I was smitten by the quirkiness of a cat with such an overwrought, human name.  I quickly learned that she was about fourteen months old, and had already been in three homes.  Being a totally naive soul, I disregarded this fact and proceeded to adopt my first cat.  After getting her settled in my home, I was rather dismayed to find she was sick with a cold.  Nevertheless, after a few days of my doting on her, she recovered.  This is when the less docile side of her personality began to emerge.

Over the years, I've developed a rather keen ability to perceive impending shifts in her mood.  When relaxing around my home, I typically have an object at the ready with which to swat her away.  You know something is awry when her tale starts to twitch...or her eyes begin to cloud over.  Sometimes, when I sense her stalking me from behind, I'm able to turn and yell a stern, "No ma'am!".  I've found that direct confrontation is the best policy when it comes to defending myself.  Unfortunately, despite my continued vigilance, there are still times where she is able to launch a successful attack.  After such an attack, she knows it's best to run and hide, as it is hard for me to resist wanting to beat her (at least a little).  

A number of years ago, my work supervisor at the time pulled me aside.  With a look of concern, and a serious tone, she asked me if I was OK.  She had noticed the lacerations on my face, and was obviously concerned for my well-being.  Perhaps she wondered if I was a victim of domestic violence.  If so, she was right.  I had to explain to her that I was attacked by my cat. 

More recently, I went hiking through a rain forest on the Olympic Peninsula of Washington.  At the entrance to the trail, there was a sign providing survival tips in the event one encountered a bear or cougar in the wild.  As I reviewed the sign, I realized that I was already prepared to handle such an attack, merely through years of experience living with Francine.  Tips included the following things I already do in my own home:

1.)  If you are approached by a cougar, do not turn your back and run.  Attempt to make yourself as large and formidable as possible through flailing your limbs and yelling loudly.

2.)  If you are accompanied by a small child, immediately pick up and hold the child, as he or she could be viewed as prey.  (Conversely, one could also offer up an ill-behaved child as a distraction for the beast, and then turn to run for safety.)

As a sidebar, I now plan on providing a similar list to anyone who will be caring for Francine when I'm out of town.  I would certainly hate for one of my friends to be mauled while attempting to fill her convoluted and flowing filtered water bowl.

Thankfully, small children are rarely in my home.  In any case, Francine and I have co-habitated for the better part of nine years.  Since my hiking excursion,  I now fancy myself as living with a house cougar.  All joking aside, she is my buddy.  For better or worse, I made a commitment to provide her with a "forever" home.   That being said, your prayers and well-wishes are always welcome.  For now, she's curled up at my side, purring.  At any moment, however, I could be swatting her across my bedroom with a pillow...yelling, "No ma'am!"