Hard At Work

Hi Everyone. Maverick here with another edition of “Cat Tales.” Let me start by thanking everyone for making my column such a hit. I’m overwhelmed with emotion.

Guess what? I’m gaining back the weight I had lost. I lost a lot when I was sick and also when my brother, Alex, passed away. I lost 3 pounds, and that’s a lot of weight for a cat to lose. My face had a sunk-in look that I referred to as gigantic dimples, and now they are disappearing. The one on the left side is anyway. The right side is where I had two tumors taken off, and that still looks a little strange. Writing this column has been cathartic for me. I am less depressed, and I am eating regularly now.

I want to say hello to a couple of new friends – Buddy, the dog, and Winters, the cat. Don’t forget, I want to hear from all of you.

Foremost on my mind is hockey, of course. I guess this is where I have to admit to something. All of you who have been reading my columns since the beginning know I love playing hockey. I can’t seem to get enough of it. Remember how I have been using one of my mom’s antique glass bottles from the olden days that cream came in? They’re the small bottles. She had two of them on the Hoosier cabinet that I loved to knock on the floor and use as a puck. They were great because the glass was nice and thick. After writing my last column, I was up in the middle of the night, and I knocked the cream bottle to the floor to play with, and this time it broke. I was so sad. Not for me, although I do miss the puck, but for my mom. I felt bad for breaking it. But she got up, didn’t say a word, got the broom and dustpan, and swept it all up. She had put me in the bedroom so I didn’t get any glass in my paws. I thought she’d be mad at me and sad that I broke it. She told me that objects aren’t important, but I am, and she was glad I didn’t get hurt. My eyes got all glassy, and I had to swallow a couple of times so I didn’t cry out loud.

There’s one bottle left, but I have left it alone. It makes me sad because I know what it was like when I lost my brother, and it isn’t fun being alone. That’s what that little bottle reminds me of now, that it doesn’t have its mate.

I’ve been doing some new stuff. I found a green basket with holes in it on the counter. It held a bowling ball. Since I didn’t have a puck to play hockey with anymore, I needed to find a new sport. So when I saw the bowling ball in the basket on the counter, I got excited and went for it. I couldn’t get the ball out without tipping over the basket. The only thing is that when I tipped it over, the ball bounced onto the floor and rolled away. Yes, it was the middle of the night when all of this was happening, and of course, my mom heard the commotion and got up. She picked up the basket and put it on the counter, then she turned to me and said, “Maverick, where’s the onion?” OMG! It was an onion, not a bowling ball. But the thing was huge, like a bowling ball. She looked around and couldn’t find the onion, so she turned on more lights, and lo and behold, it was under the dining room table. She took one look at me with her hands on her hips, and I knew better than to stick around for a lecture. I decided I better go to bed.

Last night, I saw that green basket with the holes again, back on the counter without the bowling ball onion. As I looked closer, it looked like it would make a good basketball net, so I got up on the counter and pushed the basket to the end of the counter, then gave it a slight nudge. It fell onto a storage container, sitting on the floor, about six inches in height. I am so proud of myself because that basket landed straight up, not upside down, not on its side, but straight up like a basketball hoop. Maybe, I should play golf. That would have been a hole-in-one. So now I have a basketball hoop, but no ball to throw in it. Tonight, I’m going to have to go on a search for a ball after my mom is in bed. I guess I need to stay away from anything glass this time. I’ll just have to see what I come up with.

Since I have my column now, I thought I’d improve my vocabulary, so I signed up for Word of the Day. The word I am going to share with you is “bugbear.” For such a cute word, I don’t like the meaning. It says it means a cause of obsessive fear, irritation, or loathing. According to Wikipedia, A bugbear is a legendary creature or type of hobgoblin comparable to the boogeyman and other creatures of folklore, all of which were historically used in some cultures to frighten disobedient children. How can such a cute word mean something comparable to the boogeyman? I don’t get it or like it. I don’t think I’ll use that word in my columns. I’ll probably end up having bugbear nightmares now.

This column is getting long, and yet I have more to say. My mom says to write the thoughts down, and then I’ll have something else to write about next time. She’s pretty smart.

Don’t forget you can email me at maverick@eupnews.com. You can also comment at the bottom of my column. I try and answer all mail, and I would love to hear from everyone, whether you have paws or not.

I will leave you with this thought: “How you treat animals will tell me what kind of person you are.” – Dr. Karen Becker

Until next time,

Love Maverick

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Maverick

My name is Maverick, and I am 11 years old, and this is my first column. My mom adopted me when she found me outside her home, underneath her car. Someone had shot me. When the doctor wanted to end my life, she told him if there was a chance that I would make it, then do everything possible for me. She wanted me to know there were good people in this world and know that I am loved. It took five months to nurse me back to health. I had congestive heart failure, too. At the end of the five months, I finally met my two brothers for the first time. Boy, did I love them and my new home. I am so glad my mom didn’t listen to that doctor. If you have any questions or want to comment, you can reach me at maverick@eupnews.com. I would love to hear from all furry and non-furry pets and their moms and dads.

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