I thought I was the master of my house, but I was sadly mistaken. My children, once again, got exactly what they wanted without my consent. I guess there is no denying it. I am now the proud owner of a cat. Oh, but not just any cat. A Bengal Cat. A rare breed apparently worth hundreds of dollars if I could prove its family lineage. And you ask; How does a simple man like Mr. Ohh! acquire such a valuable animal as this, when he is not really a big fan of such animals? It happens when your family mutinies against you. That’s how.
It all started with a school project. So many things these days do. When I went to school, they just pushed facts into our heads. They never wanted us to go out into the community, and be nice. We could join the Mafia, rob banks, and kick puppies as long as we memorized Lincoln’s Gettysburg address. Which, by the way was 5462 Cleveland Street. But those days are gone forever. My son came home one day and informed us that he had to go out into the community and do a good deed.
He decided to volunteer at an animal shelter. This required commitment. He trained for six hours and had to sign on for eight weeks. I would have said “Heck with that!” But he is better than me.
Week seven is when he brought the beast home. I admit it is a beautiful animal, but I told him it had to go back. Then the sobs started. He informed me, his boss said it was probably a purebred runt, and the breeder let go into the wild rather than feeding it. He said if we kept it just a few days we could sell it for hundreds of dollars. I thought idiot would pay five-hundred for a cat? Then came the ultimate line; His boss gave this kitten to him for free!
I didn’t want a cat. I’m allergic to cats. BUT the thought of five hundred dollars for three days of sniffles appealed to me, so I told my son he could keep it in the garage. The con was on. First, I noticed my lunch was missing. I asked my wife, and was informed the kitten was hungry. My five-dollar can of sardines, which I was craving all day, was fed to a cat! I decided then and there I was not putting another cent into that animal. I stuck by it too. At least until my daughter told me the kitten needed a place to go to the bathroom. Off to Wall-Mart
I was angry, but I justified it by saying I could recoup by selling all the stuff I bought to the sucker who paid five bills for a silly cat. I purchased a pan, litter, cheap kitten kibble, a few cans of moist food, a carpeted box so it could stay warm, cat treats, a catnip mouse, and a plug-in pad that would purr like its mother to calm it down at night. A bit of advice; Never EVER shop with your daughter if you have to buy for something cute! I spent eighty-four dollars for the stupid animal to live in the garage. I was almost ready to move in there and see what comforts my family would buy me.
Next day my son gave me some good news. He found the breeder that lost the cat. As it turns out, it had not been abandoned, it had run away. That was good news. It was worth more, and the owner told my son he could keep the kitten, more good news. Then the hammer came crashing down. All we had to pay is one-hundred-forty-five greenbacks to register the animal with TICA and process its papers. I said he could have it back with all the paraphernalia, but my second son is so much smarter than I am. He told me that with papers my five-hundred-dollar cat could be worth eight hundred, maybe a thousand. The dollar signs rang in my eyes and I paid the money.
Two days later we had a freeze. This is when my wife stood against me, complaining the garage was too cold. You guessed we brought the kitten inside. I grumbled and plugged in the mommy-cat pad, and went to bed. In the morning would you like to guess what I found in my bed? A certain spotted ball of fluff using my hip to keep warm. I noticed it and complained. My wife on the other hand. Ran and got the kids and the camera. I wasn’t allowed to move for the next four hours because he was so cute an it would disturb him. Nobody was concerned about my cramping leg, full bladder, the work I had to do, or how hungry I was. No, it was all about the sleeping ball of fluff. Well you can bet that kitten was listed on-line, for sale as soon as it woke up. By the way, by some strange coincidence the ball of fluff never saw the inside of the garage ever again, much to my dismay.
In the next days we had a couple of hits on the cat no body wanted to pay what I wanted, because the cat never had its shots. My intelligent son was on me again. If we took it to the vet, we could get more for it. So, kitten and I went off to the vet. Have any of you ever ridden in a car with a kitten, and no box? Let’s just say he didn’t like it. He shredded the sleeve of the T-shirt I was wearing, and the arm underneath, opened a gash on my cheek as well as many scratches on my hands. When I got to the vet, they held him over night so I could go to the emergency room.
Four stitches, about a mile of gauze, a tetanus shot, and a two-hundred-dollar insurance deductible later, I went home without the murderous beast. I thought my wounds, would convince my family that a cat was a bad idea. This wasn’t exactly the case. It was more like three people crying and treating me as an outcast, because I left him someplace unfamiliar and he would be scared. I couldn’t take the silent treatment any longer so at seven pm that night my son and I went back to pick up our little boy. The vet told us how beautiful and strong an animal we had, and we should be proud of our little girl. GIRL??? I was told it was a boy. That’s understandable, but rest assured this is a girl. My son smiled, “Dad a female is worth more.” Well the doctor sedated the kitten, we paid our three-seventy-two for services, and drove home.
When we got there my daughter decided we should we should call the cat Capn’ Blood after what happened to me. So Not Funny!
To make a long story short, once Capn’ B had a name it was all over. The listing stayed active for another two weeks or so, then was taken down and we had a new family member.
I have often wondered what idiot would pay eight-hundred-six-dollars for a cat. Now I know.
And don’t anybody laugh!