The Little Pack

Last night, just after I had fallen asleep, I awoke to the sound of crying: sad, strange, quiet, constant cries. Archie was crying repeatedly, and it was not his usual cry. I was concerned, so I got up to check on him. Sigh. He was just lonely. He was at the door to the bedroom and began purring as soon as he saw me. Its important to note that the other door to the bedroom is always open… I reached down to pick him up and he quickly headed down the hallway to the kitchen, looking over his shoulder to ensure I was still following him and trotting just out of my grasp. I should explain that he loooves to get attention in the kitchen for reasons I have never understood. Anyway, he soon galloped into the kitchen, threw himself on the floor and rolled over with all fours in the air. What else would I be doing at 1:30 in the morning? So, I sat down next him and petted him and sweet-talked him while he purr-cooed. Poor thing felt absolutely attention deprived. I carried him into the bedroom to be us so he wouldn’t be alone. Silly me, why would he want to be with us in there just because he’s lonely? I should have realized it clearly made more sense for me to sleep on the kitchen floor. He left. And a mere few hours later, he woke me up because he was crying again. Some people have babies that wake them in the night needing comfort… I have a cat. It’s almost the same, right?

Yup… that time of year again. This picture isn’t quite as pathetic as the first time we had him groomed, but it makes me laugh all the same!

Over the last week I have shared a favorite memory with almost all of the pack. Tonight is one so big, it needs no title other than Archie’s name attached to the word “Incident.”

One evening my husband and I had a friend over for dinner. After dinner, my friend and I went for a walk with IO and Jack. Archie was a wee thing, a tiny orange furball and maybe 10 weeks old at best. When we came back, I saw my husband standing on the front porch holding little Archie up to the sky. That’s odd, I thought. He seemed relieved to see me and quickly explained that he had “broken” the cat and now Archie was making a funny noise. “What?!”, I exclaimed. And this is what he told me happened:

My husband was sitting in the recliner reading the paper, when Archie suddenly went crazy. He began making strange growling sounds, “Raow raow ra-raow!” at the top of the spiral staircase. He continued growling, raced down the stairs, and smacked headfirst into the wall opposite the stairs. Before my husband could process this spectacle, Archie continued the rampage and galloped across the living room towards my husband. He tussled with the cord to the lamp, knocked it over, simultaneously breaking the light bulb and causing the room to go dark; all before yet again hurtling headfirst, this time into the floor-to-ceiling window behind the aforementioned recliner. Upon hearing the thump, my husband immediately sat up to see if he was okay, released the footrest on the recliner,  closed it and promptly heard that horrifyingly unmistakable sound that every cat owner dreads hearing. You know, the same bloodcurdling sound that occurs upon accidentally stepping on a cat… Yeah, that sound, times about a thousand.  Archie had apparently decided to take cover in the chair, and my husband, in trying to make sure he was OK, had unwittingly smooshed him in it. Finally, my husband rescued Archie. By this time he was wheezing so my husband brought him outside, thinking the fresh air might help…

…And this is when we walked up. I put my ear to Archie’s chest and listened to the wheezing sound. Terrified that he had somehow punctured a lung I looked at the clock and gave myself a maximum of 10 minutes to decide if emergency vet care was necessary—it was a Sunday night, because why wouldn’t it be? Within a few minutes his breathing had returned to normal. He seemed to have simply knocked the wind out of himself.  We laugh about it now, but man, did he ever frighten us that night.

This morning started with a serious breakdown. The dogs began to “celebrate” my awakening before I was actually getting up. They would bark and leap off the bed at my slightest movement. Once I finally got up, I came out into the living room to laundry that was strewn from one end of the house to the other. They, and by they, I really mean Cheyenne and Dixie, had taken dirty clothes out of the hamper. They had gotten into the shoes and thankfully settled for carrying them around instead of eating them.  Soon they were chasing each other. Meanwhile, the cats were chasing each other, Archie was eating dog food, Dixie was in the kitchen,woofing and twirling around on her hind legs, begging for breakfast. We let Cheyenne out and almost immediately heard the distinctive ruckus of birds. Which means that a mama bird was defending her young from none other than our beloved Shoo Shoo. I knew I was in for it today before I ever even had a sip of coffee.

Talk about inappropriate nicknames! Archie became the Little Guy when he was just a kitten and was truly a little guy. It stuck with him, even after he clearly outgrew its meaning. Archie greets me every morning. I get up first and the dogs stay in the bedroom with my husband. This is our time together. When he first sees me, he purr-coos and will often meow (actually it is more of a cry) to tell me how he missed me. (I will leave out the part that this seperation is self-induced. He could sleep in the bedroom too if he so desired.) He rubs against me and follows me everywhere I go. I turn the facet on for him and often spend several minutes holding him as I try to make my breakfast. He clearly cherishes this time. As a general rule, I hate mornings, but I do look forward to these special moments everyday.