The private life of the cat who...: tales of Koko and Yum Yum from the journal of James Mackintosh Qwilleran

Vitamin pills, for example. No one at the pet shop told me how to administer the formidable tablets. I consulted my neighbor, Rosemary Whiting, who had raised, successfully, cats, dogs, and children.

“Simple!” she said. “I’ll demonstrate.”

First, I learned, you catch the cat, who has become an expert at mind reading.

Rosemary knelt on the floor of the kitchenette with Koko between her knees. “The secret is: Stay calm,” she said. “Tell him he’s a good kitty. Stroke his fur. Gradually circle his head with your left hand, applying pressure to the hinge of the jaw. His mouth opens. You pop the pill down his gullet. Gently grasp his jaw to close his mouth while stroking his throat until he gulps. . . . Success!”

Koko had been cooperative and stayed between Rosemary’s knees as if waiting for another pill.

“It’s all in knowing how,” she said. “Stay calm and the cat will relax.”

At that point Koko gulped again and deposited the pill on the floor—damp but otherwise intact.

“Oops!” she said.

“He’s relaxed, all right,” I commented.

“No problem. We’ll repeat the process, and it’ll stay down. He’ll get the idea.”

She was right. The pill stayed down—for a couple of minutes. Then Koko heaved a convulsive burp and shot the pill into the adjoining living area, where it disappeared among the seat cushions.

See what I mean?

 Next, someone who seemed to know advised me to have Koko’s teeth cleaned, saying that Siamese require dental prophylaxis oftener than other breeds. I made an appointment at the pet clinic.

Koko made no protest. He had been to the vet before and actually purred when his temperature was being taken. He seemed quite at home on the examination table until . . . a firm hand forced his mouth open.

Then, before the good doctor could assess the situation, Koko galvanized into a missile of catly energy. An assistant reached for the flailing legs. I yelled, “Koko!” and grabbed his lashing tail! But he turned inside out and somehow landed on top of an eight-foot cabinet, from which he glared down at his pursuers and uttered a tirade of Siamese curses. Anyone who has not been cussed out by an angry Siamese doesn’t know what profanity is all about!

Oh yes, he jumped down after being ignored for a few minutes. He jumped down to the examination table and opened his mouth!

See what I mean? My theory is that cats in general and Siamese in particular have a wicked sense of humor. They enjoy making us look like fools.

It’s like this: There are thousands of house cats, barn cats, and cat fanciers in Moose County, and readers of my “Qwill Pen” column enjoy hearing about the antics of the Siamese occasionally. They are awed by the handsome, intelligent Koko, but they love the sweet little Yum Yum with her dainty demeanor and iron will. In fact, there is a Yum Yum Fan Club in the county.

Members of this unofficial organization send her crocheted mice that squeak and plastic balls that rattle. Her most precious possession, though, is a silver thimble, a gift from a dear reader no longer able to sew. “Cats,” she said, “love thimbles.”

Yum Yum has always liked anything small and shiny, but she is absolutely infatuated with her thimble.

She bats it around with her delicate paw, carries it from one venue to another in her tiny teeth, hides it, forgets where it’s hidden, then cries until I look under rugs, behind seat cushions, and in wastebaskets to retrieve it.

She has deposited it in the pockets of my jackets, in a bowl of mixed nuts, and down the drain of the kitchen sink.

I should take it away from her, but I haven’t the heart. She would pine away and die.

Many of her playthings vanish, especially her dearly beloved silver thimble. In fact I’ve been moved to write a limerick in her honor:

Little Yum Yum is quite a cat!

She walks thin and sleeps fat.

One of her joys

Is losing her toys,

And she never knows where her thimble’s at!

I have appealed to readers of the newspaper. All solutions to the problem will be thoughtfully considered. Address me in care of the psychiatric ward at the Pickax General Hospital.

11.

cool koko’s almanac

While researching Benjamin Franklin’s life for column material, I was reminded of his wise sayings published as Poor Richard’s Almanack and I thought, “Hey! Koko could steal his idea! Old Ben wouldn’t mind; he had a sense of humor. . . .” Here’s the first installment.

A cat without a tail is better than a politician without a head.

There’s a destiny that leads a hungry cat to the right doorstep.

Home is where the sardines are.

No matter how humble, a free meal is not to be sniffed at.

Where there’s a will, a cat will find a way.

Soft cushions are for cats—all others use them at their own risk.

What goes down must come up, if it’s a pill.