Bringing Up Frisky: The Consequences of a 'Gift Cat'

My three preschoolers and I were waiting for the school bus. Parka-clad Steven maneuvered his way through the bus door, a paper bag held protectively in his arms.

“Whatcha got, Steve?”

“Is it something to eat?”

Kids always thinking of food! We soon knew what it was because food doesn’t meow! With that revelation, my good humor evaporated!

“Steven Robert,” I began in a firm, motherly voice. A child’s full baptismal name was reserved for serious occasions.

“Mom,” Steve explained, “Mr. Thistle’s cat had six kittens. And he was giving them away!” This middle son could never pass up a real live bargain. “This kitten was the runt of the litter, and nobody wanted it!”

I was tempted quite strongly to head the station wagon down Turkey Track Road! Mr. Thistle, the 4th grade teacher, could have his runt kitty back, paper sack and all!

I did not foresee the consequences of this “gift” cat. The cat that came for dinner stayed a lifetime.

After Frisky entered our home and hearts, life was never the same. She exasperated, entertained and dumbfounded all of us. This little personality on padded feet was melting my cool heart, and it was happening against my better judgement!

In retrospect, I may not have fully appreciated Frisky’s loyalty. I became aware of this quality in the middle of the night. I was in the habit of checking on my sleeping brood. As I cracked a bedroom door, I immediately jumped back at the sound of an alert tiger. The shaft of light from the hall revealed sphinx-like Frisky at the foot of Laurie’s bed. She was faithfully filling the role of watch cat. Nor was little brother, Tom, ever able to crawl in on all fours to spook his older, sleeping sisters without the watch cat alerting them.

I was almost ready to admit this cat was one smart cookie. For example: I emphatically stated that the nearest youngster was to put Frisky outdoors. This was not an unusual request, as I am a firm believer in a daily quota of fresh air for everyone in the household. I soon discovered that Frisky’s whereabouts were unknown! She may have had her accomplices. After this was repeated several times, I had to change my strategy. My war cry became: “Put the c-a-t o-u-t!” I did win that battle, as luckily, Frisky never learned to spell.

Frisky eventually became a mother. One morning the doorbell rang. It was our neighbor’s son at 6’4”. He held a furry ball in his hand. “Our mother cat won’t claim it, and we heard that Frisky had kittens.” We walked to the south window well of the house, and Frisky, proud as a proverbial peacock, was nursing her brood of young’uns. The newcomer was gently placed in the midst of them with Frisky nuzzling it close. No questions asked. Even surrogate motherhood appealed to her.

Whatever Frisky did, she did well. During the summers, she was a constant companion to the children. If they were trekking up the knoll to check on the wild asparagus patch, playing tag in the haystacks, or running across the road to play in our old log cabin, Frisky as following along.

It was typical of Frisky’s quiet style to show impartiality. Soon after her arrival, each child reported at breakfast time her warm furry presence during the night. This led to many an argument. Perhaps I mentioned the possibility of bi-location. Tempers cooled before the school kids left on the bus. They had decided Frisky was simply spreading her presence around.

One daughter maintained that Frisky took over her bunk bed in the middle of one night by getting very close and licking any handy human limb. This continued until the occupant gave up and left the warm bed. It was quickly determined that motherhood was imminent. Quickly a corner was prepared in a closet. The children kept this exciting event a secret.

The kids knew that their dad had a short fuse when the subject of Frisky came up; after all, it was she that had to be chased out of his chair every evening! Any cat birthing in the confines of our house was verboten! (forbidden!)

Frisky’s day-to-day contact was with people. Often I thought this cat does not understand that she is a feline. She continued acquiring human habits while absorbing attention where she could get it.

From time to time, a family member will recall a peculiarity of this memorable cat. Her voice, which was distinctive, mimicking human speech, is the way Steve described it. It was not the ordinary “meow, meow,” but a long drawn-out sentence sometimes with a questioning lilt at the end. A temporary hired man reported his version of a weekend with Frisky while our family was away. I can visualize that grey and black cat peering up at the tall blond Scandinavian. In her special cat lingo he thought she was inquiring, “Where in the heck are the kids?” He couldn’t believe the humanistic qualities this cat possessed.

The kids aren’t the only ones who have memories. I have a few of my own to add to the family collection. I vividly recall one especially hot day on the prairie. Frisky was sitting motionless at the edge of our garden, peering sharply at something. As I followed her gaze, I discovered a sleeping rattlesnake dozing in the shade of the bean bushes! I shutter to think what could have happened if I had been picking green beans that afternoon.

Years later during a college break, Steve, a senior majoring in music education, was visiting the family on Turkey Track Road. He happened to be the only one home when Frisky’s generous heart stopped forever. After 12 years, Frisky’s dish was retired forever.

Our family never had another house cat; no one ever asked. Some pets are irreplaceable.

Helen DePuydt is a regular contributor to the Courier and a member of a homesteading family in the Saco area. All of her stories are true.