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Couches, Drapes, Trees, Claws, and Telephone Poles - Oh the
19 years ago
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Excerpt from “Shasta’s Time” - Dissertation for Doctor of Philosophy in Counseling, 1996
This is just a little glimpse of some of the antics that can be had by turning a 200-lb cougar loose into your life (and house). Enjoy!
Cats love to sharpen their claws. And strangely, when they get the urge to do that, whatever happens to be around that they can rake their claws into, is usually chosen as the victim. In my/Shasta’s house, it happen to be the couch. But only once.
Today had been a strange day. It was Monday. It had been all week. I had only had Shasta maybe a month, and I was almost dreading going home for the thought of being mugged just inside the door. Shasta had started his “greeting” tradition within about the first week of my having him.
So reluctantly, I pulled into the driveway, got out and locked my car, and headed up to the door.
“What the hell,” I thought, praying earnestly that Shasta would come up with a more mellow way to welcome me home every day.
“Not a chance,” I thought right after. I knew him too well. This was the norm, and once the norm was set, it was...set. Forever. One thing about Shasta, he was very, very consistent when it came to certain things.
The keys went into the door, I took my deep breath, and I stepped into my house, bracing myself for the inevitable. I closed the door, then my eyes, and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And...nothing happened.
I listened. There wasn’t any sounds of large, animate objects bouncing off walls down the hall. I opened my eyes. The house looked normal.
“Shasta?”
Not a sound.
I headed down the hall. I checked his/my room. He wasn’t there.
The first thought that went through my head was that he’d run away.
I headed back down the hall, now at a run. I hit the kitchen and picked up the phone, ready to call in reinforcements to help me search. Something caught my eye.
In the living room, which was visible over the counter, I could see something all over the floor. From what I could see, it almost looked like someone had had a pillow fight, and one of the pillows exploded. I put the phone down, heading into the living room.
I had to just stand there for a second, taking in the scene.
The couch’s arm was shredded down to the wood. And even the wood had scars. Deep trenches ran the length of the exposed boards.
Motion caught my eye.
Behind the recliner, in the corner of the room, a tawny colored, almost four foot long, black-tipped tail, twitched next to the wall.
“Shasta? What did you do?”
“Rrrow?” he said, still hiding behind the recliner. “Who? Me?”
I walked over and peered over the chair.
He just laid there, his head resting on his paws, the most guilty expression you could imagine on his face. I really had intended to yell at him. But I couldn’t. He was already looking pretty upset. I didn’t have the heart to even scold him.
I backed off and knelt down in the middle of the room.
“Com’ere Shas.”
He was silent, unmoving.
“C’mon.”
The tail disappeared and Shasta came slinking out from behind the recliner. His head was down, his whole body low to the ground, and if it weren’t for the horrendously ashamed and guilty look on his face, it looked like he was stalking something.
Shasta crept over to me in the middle of the floor, and plopped down, ready to brave my yelling and scolding. He didn’t even look at me.
I didn’t have the heart to say anything for a long time.
I reached under his chin, and pulled his head around so he’d look at me.
“You kinda tore up the couch,” I said.
I think if he could’ve cried, he would’ve been.
“Rrrow-wow,” he said mournfully. “Sorry.”
I had to smile. I couldn’t help it. I had to wonder how long he had been there, hiding behind the recliner he absolutely hated, waiting for me to get home and chew his ass.
I laid down next to him and worked my arm under his neck. I gave him a hug just to let him know I wasn’t really mad at him.
“You know how much couches cost, right?”
He just looked at me.
“Mrow.” “No.”
“I’m taking it out of your allowance.”
Shasta still had this really somber look on his face, but I couldn’t help smiling at him.
He looked up at me as I gave his shoulder a shove - an invitation to wrestle.
“Rrrow?”
“Yeah,” I told him. “Everything’ll be just fine.”
I replaced two trees in the back yard. They were cork trees. Talk about a mess.
I imagine Shasta watching all the white flakes coming off the trees like snow as he raked and raked. Then, all of a sudden, there was nothing left to rake. But no problem, ‘cause there’s another one over here, right? So more snow, and a second shredded tree in the yard.
My initial reaction was basically “Oh my god!”
I should’ve guessed something was up. Once again, Shasta was hiding behind his dreaded recliner.
I replaced the trees. It cost me a lot to get almost grown ones. He shredded those too.
People learn things by seeing, right? Well, so do cougars. I was watching some movie on TV one night. I wouldn’t have noticed anything, but Shasta was lying next to me on the couch, and his ears perked up, and his eyes locked onto the screen. Mine did too.
There was a little kitten on the movie. It ran across behind the couch, and then came back into view heading straight up the drapes.
Later that night, I was in the kitchen getting something to eat, and Shasta was up on his hind legs, leaning against the sliding door, batting at the drapes. I thought the scene was kind of funny, but didn’t think any more about it. I didn’t put two and two together. Not until the next day, that is.
Once again, Shasta didn’t mug me at the door. Once again, I found him hiding behind the recliner. But that was after I discovered why.
The drapes in the living room were never open. I liked it dark in the house, and everything that could be closed or pulled, was. The first thing I noticed on entry to the house, was that the living room was filled with afternoon sun. Definitely strange...
I stood at the end of the entryway, looking into the living room. On the floor in front of the sliding glass door, the drapes lay wadded up, rod and all. Just by the way the rod had been pulled out of the wall, I didn’t even have to guess what had happened.
“Shasta? Com’ere so I can kick yer butt.”
“Mrow.” “No.”
“Yes. I wanna kick it real hard.”
He never pulled the drapes down again, and after the shredded-cork-trees-in-the-yard incident - the second time - I finally got smart and bought a twelve foot piece of used telephone pole. Shasta fell in love with it, and it gave him something he could rake his claws into to his heart’s content.
It was actually kind of sobering. If there was ever a display of sheer strength, I think it was Shasta and his telephone pole. He could actually rip small pieces of wood off the pole. It was incredible.
This is just a little glimpse of some of the antics that can be had by turning a 200-lb cougar loose into your life (and house). Enjoy!
Cats love to sharpen their claws. And strangely, when they get the urge to do that, whatever happens to be around that they can rake their claws into, is usually chosen as the victim. In my/Shasta’s house, it happen to be the couch. But only once.
Today had been a strange day. It was Monday. It had been all week. I had only had Shasta maybe a month, and I was almost dreading going home for the thought of being mugged just inside the door. Shasta had started his “greeting” tradition within about the first week of my having him.
So reluctantly, I pulled into the driveway, got out and locked my car, and headed up to the door.
“What the hell,” I thought, praying earnestly that Shasta would come up with a more mellow way to welcome me home every day.
“Not a chance,” I thought right after. I knew him too well. This was the norm, and once the norm was set, it was...set. Forever. One thing about Shasta, he was very, very consistent when it came to certain things.
The keys went into the door, I took my deep breath, and I stepped into my house, bracing myself for the inevitable. I closed the door, then my eyes, and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
And...nothing happened.
I listened. There wasn’t any sounds of large, animate objects bouncing off walls down the hall. I opened my eyes. The house looked normal.
“Shasta?”
Not a sound.
I headed down the hall. I checked his/my room. He wasn’t there.
The first thought that went through my head was that he’d run away.
I headed back down the hall, now at a run. I hit the kitchen and picked up the phone, ready to call in reinforcements to help me search. Something caught my eye.
In the living room, which was visible over the counter, I could see something all over the floor. From what I could see, it almost looked like someone had had a pillow fight, and one of the pillows exploded. I put the phone down, heading into the living room.
I had to just stand there for a second, taking in the scene.
The couch’s arm was shredded down to the wood. And even the wood had scars. Deep trenches ran the length of the exposed boards.
Motion caught my eye.
Behind the recliner, in the corner of the room, a tawny colored, almost four foot long, black-tipped tail, twitched next to the wall.
“Shasta? What did you do?”
“Rrrow?” he said, still hiding behind the recliner. “Who? Me?”
I walked over and peered over the chair.
He just laid there, his head resting on his paws, the most guilty expression you could imagine on his face. I really had intended to yell at him. But I couldn’t. He was already looking pretty upset. I didn’t have the heart to even scold him.
I backed off and knelt down in the middle of the room.
“Com’ere Shas.”
He was silent, unmoving.
“C’mon.”
The tail disappeared and Shasta came slinking out from behind the recliner. His head was down, his whole body low to the ground, and if it weren’t for the horrendously ashamed and guilty look on his face, it looked like he was stalking something.
Shasta crept over to me in the middle of the floor, and plopped down, ready to brave my yelling and scolding. He didn’t even look at me.
I didn’t have the heart to say anything for a long time.
I reached under his chin, and pulled his head around so he’d look at me.
“You kinda tore up the couch,” I said.
I think if he could’ve cried, he would’ve been.
“Rrrow-wow,” he said mournfully. “Sorry.”
I had to smile. I couldn’t help it. I had to wonder how long he had been there, hiding behind the recliner he absolutely hated, waiting for me to get home and chew his ass.
I laid down next to him and worked my arm under his neck. I gave him a hug just to let him know I wasn’t really mad at him.
“You know how much couches cost, right?”
He just looked at me.
“Mrow.” “No.”
“I’m taking it out of your allowance.”
Shasta still had this really somber look on his face, but I couldn’t help smiling at him.
He looked up at me as I gave his shoulder a shove - an invitation to wrestle.
“Rrrow?”
“Yeah,” I told him. “Everything’ll be just fine.”
I replaced two trees in the back yard. They were cork trees. Talk about a mess.
I imagine Shasta watching all the white flakes coming off the trees like snow as he raked and raked. Then, all of a sudden, there was nothing left to rake. But no problem, ‘cause there’s another one over here, right? So more snow, and a second shredded tree in the yard.
My initial reaction was basically “Oh my god!”
I should’ve guessed something was up. Once again, Shasta was hiding behind his dreaded recliner.
I replaced the trees. It cost me a lot to get almost grown ones. He shredded those too.
People learn things by seeing, right? Well, so do cougars. I was watching some movie on TV one night. I wouldn’t have noticed anything, but Shasta was lying next to me on the couch, and his ears perked up, and his eyes locked onto the screen. Mine did too.
There was a little kitten on the movie. It ran across behind the couch, and then came back into view heading straight up the drapes.
Later that night, I was in the kitchen getting something to eat, and Shasta was up on his hind legs, leaning against the sliding door, batting at the drapes. I thought the scene was kind of funny, but didn’t think any more about it. I didn’t put two and two together. Not until the next day, that is.
Once again, Shasta didn’t mug me at the door. Once again, I found him hiding behind the recliner. But that was after I discovered why.
The drapes in the living room were never open. I liked it dark in the house, and everything that could be closed or pulled, was. The first thing I noticed on entry to the house, was that the living room was filled with afternoon sun. Definitely strange...
I stood at the end of the entryway, looking into the living room. On the floor in front of the sliding glass door, the drapes lay wadded up, rod and all. Just by the way the rod had been pulled out of the wall, I didn’t even have to guess what had happened.
“Shasta? Com’ere so I can kick yer butt.”
“Mrow.” “No.”
“Yes. I wanna kick it real hard.”
He never pulled the drapes down again, and after the shredded-cork-trees-in-the-yard incident - the second time - I finally got smart and bought a twelve foot piece of used telephone pole. Shasta fell in love with it, and it gave him something he could rake his claws into to his heart’s content.
It was actually kind of sobering. If there was ever a display of sheer strength, I think it was Shasta and his telephone pole. He could actually rip small pieces of wood off the pole. It was incredible.
.......
can cats cry?
But tears are really only a part of "crying". I have seen animals that have all the classic signs of depression, and even the same body shuddering that might accompany sobbing in moments of what appear to be obvious sorrow. It /looks/ the same, so in my little universe, I have to conclude that they can indeed cry, just like we can, but without tears. I'm sure more than a few of my fellow scientists and colleagues would offer argument to that theory.
In truth, we'll probably never know for sure. Until then, I have to say, if it looks like the color blue, then it's probably the color blue. But I could be wrong. :)
The review board recommended that I try to get it published, which I pursued for a while, but I got the "no" responses from all the publisher for almost a year of trying. In the end, non-fiction just doesn't attract enough readers, so...
I should probably note that while I /do/ make attempts to interpret the body language and "words" that the animals have, it's really all just best guess. I certainly don't want to be misleading and claim that I can actually understand what they're saying; I can't. The Spirits know, I wish I could! In earnest, I truly with I could have sat down and played a nice game of chess with Dagger! But alas, I am but a stupid human.
About the greeting, I actually mention that specifically, and credit Bill Watterson. Calvin and Hobbes is the greatest! I have every book!
Anyway, thank you for your comments; I'm glad that you enjoy these little excerpts.
When I'm down, they know it, and it's not so much that they try and cheer me up, as they are just "there" with me. It helps. I can't even say how, but it does.
Animals, whether domestic or exotic, play a far larger role in our lives that we give them credit for. If course, that's a totally biased statement, mostly because that's the way I feel, based on my pretty much lifetime of being around animals. :)
Don't worry about the "babble". I think you'd have to go a long ways before you'd be able to steal the Babble Award from me! :)
Your welcome. The way I see things, the entire reason I'm here is to share all this with everyone who'll listen. If just one person gains a better understanding and appreciation for these magnificent animals, then my mission has been accomplished!
I'm glad to've shared a little piece of it with you.
Ps. When I was a child. I see a cat cry once. But that time because I use a Chemical Marker draw a star on his forehead. And then. He cry out. I think Marker make his eye hurt. Hey! That time I was a little kid and I think it's cool to have a star tattoo on my cat's forehead.
I'm glad you enjoyed the little excerpt. I'll keep posting more over time. :)
I guess it's all the fond memories is why I post the little snippets: so I can share the joys and laughs with everyone!
Just one question to which answer I could not find in previous journals though I may have over read it completely. How were you so lucky to get a cat like that into your (friends) house if you dont mind me asking?
I was more than a little crazy at the time, so it all worked out in the end: Shasta had a great home, IMHO, and could roam freely, almost at will, and I endured - less than gracefully at times - all the different shenanigains that only a cat can dish out. It was a great learning experience, probably for both of us.
In truth, I would trade even a little bit of the experience for all the wealth in the universe!
I'm glad you like the excerpts, and I'll definitely be posting more as time goes on. :)
I have some very fond memories of Shasta, so I'm very happy to share them, especially if they make someone else's world a little brighter! :)
PS: You said publishers weren't interested. Was that to the psychology paper, or to a collection of shasta stories? The latter might have better luck.