FLOYD THE DOG

The bright orange card I found waiting for me in my mailbox said in bold print, Dog Warning Card. Underneath that was printed DANGEROUS DOG. The word dog in both places was marked through and alongside the word dog appeared the word cat. Obviously, my cat was a first. A description of the offending cat followed. It read, black and white, longhaired cat looks sweet, but is dangerous.

At first, the notice took me aback, and then I got a little miffed. What kind of nonsense was this? Who had left this absurdity? Certainly it could not be my long-time postman, who surely knows that my cat is harmless. Most likely, it was the substitute post person, who occasionally serves this route.

It was plain to me that the reference was to my cat, Rascal, who has taken it upon himself after the death of my husband, to become my protector. As long as the solid front door was opened, and he could look out through the top-to-bottom glass storm door, he would station himself either lying right in the doorway, or just off to the side, and assume his self appointed guard duties. At night, the cat that once loved to curl up next to me in bed, has taken to sleeping on the stairway, ever ready to defend his charge…me.

When a stranger approaches the door Rascal leaps from his prone position, claws and fangs bared, a low rumbling growl emanating from his throat. He remains in this position as long as the intruder dares remain at the door.

I discovered this was the case, when from my vantage point in my office, while working at my desk, I saw a delivery man walk toward the door and then make a hasty exit back to the safety of the front walk. When I checked to see what had caused the deliveryman’s sudden departure, I caught Rascal in his Terminator act.

This attitude was not always the case with Rascal. As many of you know, I run a self-funded cat rescue. Rascal was one such rescue, having arrived on my side doorstep several years ago as a very young cat. He is one of many, but has always stood out in the crowd, by, on more than one occasion, living up to his name.

He was not a mean Rascal, just a playful one, though some other feline family members might not look on his antics so kindly.

A handsome, tuxedo marked cat, blessed with a beautiful silky coat and full, fluffy tail, Rascal distinguished himself from the crowd by becoming the household’s Mr. Congeniality. He, along with Princess, my beautiful white kitty with the Mediterranean blue eyes, were the official welcoming committee when anyone came to visit. He fawned over visitors and soon became a favourite of friends and neighbours alike.

He was also quick to befriend any newcomers to our feline family. He especially loved the five kittens we were blessed with by the ill-fated Lady Angel. It was Rascal who took it as his sworn duty to supervise the kittens’ upbringing, especially when Fate saw fit to take Lady Angel from us when the kittens were only five weeks old.

The kittens were raised under the wise eyes of our senior statesman, King Tut, who taught them their manners, and their ever mindful guardian angel and playtime supervisor, Rascal. Always up for a good game of hide and seek, or feline hockey, played with a catnip mouse for a puck, Rascal would keep his young charges entertained and properly exercised so that when naptime arrived, they were more than willing to curl up beside him on my bed and dream kitten dreams. I was never sure who was having more fun Rascal, or the kittens.

One of the more amazing things about my feline family is that they never developed a hierarchy. There is no Top Cat. Though all will show deference to an elderly cat like King Tut, or a sick cat, there is no ill will to be found and all managed to live in peace and harmony, this was especially true of Rascal, who did not seem to have a mean bone in his body.

So his conversion from Mr. Congeniality to the Terminator was a major lifestyle change brought on by the most serious of circumstances and his obvious love for and devotion to me. I felt it my duty to defend my feline protector and so I wrote the postman a note.

Dear Postman:

I got this postcard in my box yesterday saying that I have a “sweet looking, but dangerous cat.”

First of all, unless you enter my house without my permission, at which time, my cat, dog, me, whoever, would be perfectly within their rights to send you packing, you are in no danger from him. He is not an outside cat, so you are not going to encounter him en route to my mailbox, or to my door, in your efforts to deliver the mail. He has not been taught to open the door and let himself out, nor does he dart out the door and attack people, so that is not a threat to you, either. If he did get out, he would be more likely to run off, then at you. And, should I welcome you into my house, you will find that he is, actually, Mr. Congeniality, himself.

Ever since I rescued this cat as a kitten, he has been very close to me. When my husband passed away last August, he took it upon himself to see to my safety. That is why he attacks the door. I have never known a cat to do this. But, in reality, he IS the very sweet kitty he appears to be. He is just trying to scare would be intruders from my door to keep me safe. I would think he is more effective at scaring off a burglar then any dog would be. Smart, caring kitty, if you ask me. Everyone should be so lucky to have a friend like him.

Hopefully, that should settle this matter. If you have any questions, or would like to assure yourself further that he is as I say, I will be happy to invite you in on your next delivery and you can pet him.

Have a good day. I do appreciate your very fine service.

Cordially,

Karen Lynch

PS: My husband, Gray, was a real American hero, who retired from the Army’s Special Forces after a long and distinguished military career, and after having been award three Purple Hearts, Two Silver Stars and a Bronze Star with V for Valor. Gray would have found your card very amusing. He would have been very proud of Rascal and would probably have awarded him the Medal of Honor for bravery above and beyond cat designated duties for his efforts to keep me safe.

I placed the letter in the mailbox the next day and waited for a reply. I did not have long to wait. As I walked to the post-box to pick up the day’s mail, the postman pulled up to the post-box across from mine.

It was the postman we’d had for years.

He was most apologetic, explaining that in all the years he had been delivering mail, he had never seen the likes of what Rascal had done, and though he knew he was not in any real danger still took it upon himself to write the warning.

It has since been repealed, though Rascal still goes through his attack mode every time a stranger approaches the door.

As we meander through life with our pets, we seldom give them the credit due for the intelligence they possess, for the deep feelings they have for us, the gratitude they feel for our kind hospitality and loving care and the devotion they have for our welfare.

How many times has your pet come to console you when you were sad, laid next to you and commiserate with you when you were ill, done something funny just to make you smile? I bet they have done it a lot.

Mr. Congeniality became the Terminator when the man in my life was no longer there to protect and defend me. Though, Rascal still loves to lie by my side and catch a nap, to follow me around the house in hopes of getting a cuddle or a rub under the chin. He still romps with the kittens, who are now 2-years-old, but still like to play and, if you should come for a visit, he will still fawn over you so you will come to love him. But, if you mean me harm, know you will have to come through him to get to me, and like the brave soldier Gray was and Rascal is, he will take no prisoners.