Paws for the Holidays: Feast of the Seven Fishes

          Dear Reader, it’s Christmas Eve and Pinkie and I have been staring out of our Bay Window, which has been decorated with a beautiful display of colorful, twinkling lights and converted into to flat screen television.  

        Clyde and Lay-a-dee drive Sterling’s new Aston Martin Sports Coupe with Blue, who remains covered in mud.  He waits in a carrier in the back seat.  They drive him to the cat wash station, which is just outside the Cat Hospital in Stony Brook, on Long Island.

The cat wash station is underground and mainly used to deep wash cats that have been either doused in chemicals, heavy oil, are flea-infested or have some other condition that makes it difficult or dangerous for them to clean themselves as nature intended.  The cat wash station is kept busy and is manned by some interesting characters, who volunteer for the good of their feline brethren.  

        As Clyde and Lay-a-dee approach the area where the cat wash station is located, they lift a secret doorway concealed and embedded into the ground and once open, they descend down the stairs into a basement.  They arrive upon a bustling scene, where several cats of all shapes, colors, breeds, and sizes, wearing a red bandana around their necks are working on a conveyer belt type of apparatus where either a cat volunteers himself or herself to get cleaned, or an owner or group of friends brings the cat in for a wash. 

         We watch as cats deliver themselves to their cleaners or are delivered to their cleaners by friends or concerned citizens and a group of workers take the cat and put him or her into the cat wash module, which is not unlike how a car wash works.  Brave workers assist the cat together, as a unit, to ensure best practices are employed, and cats are not injured during the process. 

       Once the cat is thoroughly soaped and washed, it goes through several steps; the rinse cycle; extraction cycle; flea treatment, and finally its fur is dried and fluffed. Once it’s washed, rinsed, receives flea treatment, and then dried, it’s taken to a grooming area, where its claws are trimmed and its skin moisturized with a special, soothing, herbal oil.

     When it comes to be Blue’s turn, his first impulse is to run, but the team goes into immediate action and seamlessly put him through the procedure as Blue yowls to no avail.  The cats are business-like and professional and do not allow Blue’s protesting to distract them from doing their job properly.  When it’s all over, Blue, spent, sits at the grooming station. He succumbs to the groomers' pampering and allows them to trim his claws while he relaxes and read a Cat Fancy magazine. 

“I envy him,” says Pinkie, glancing at his own claws and making an unfavorable comparison.

“I am sure Lady Hun will trim your claws before tonight,” I assure Pinkie. “After all, tonight we celebrate the Feast of Seven Fishes!”  Pinkie smiles, He knows very well what the Feast of Seven Fishes means.  

Today is Christmas Eve Dear Reader, and we are looking forward to our feast, for which YOU are invited. 

“You mean, Esta dei Sette Pesce,” says Pinkie, ‘the purest’ in Italian. 

Blue is finished being groomed and Clyde and Lay-a-dee escort him to the Cat Hospital to see Dr. Anthony Nanton, the feline specialist.  They are sitting in the waiting area with other cat owners, a change from the regular veterinarian’s waiting rooms, which are usually smelly and uncomfortably noisy with dogs barking rudely. The Cat Hospital's waiting area is decorated with feline-oriented themes and is clean, comfortable and luxurious in appearance, much like a boutique out-patient center, so it has a warm, inviting feeling as opposed to cold and clinical.

     Finally, it’s Blue’s turn to be examined.  Dr. Nanton and his assistant coax Blue out of the carrier and when he peeps out his head, they pet him, and ask him how he’s feeling.  Then, Blue is weighed and examined thoroughly while Clyde and Lay-a-dee look on.

“What happened here?” Dr. Nanton asks in reference to Blue’s torn ear.

“He was in a fight,” says Clyde.

“Well, we can stitch it back on, no problem,” Dr. Nanton calmly says to Blue.

As we are watching the scene, Lord and Lady Hun join us in the living room. Lady Hun is holding a pair of nail clippers and Lord Hun has a grooming brush.  “It’s time for your grooming” they say softly to us.

       Lady Hun picks up Pinkie and hugs him, then starts stroking him lovingly, which he really enjoys, then she very sneakily cuts one of his claws at a time.  Pinkie initially objects and squirms, but Lady Hun has done this so often, she knows to only cut his claw tips to the quick and she is very efficient, giving an air of confidence that Pinkie respects, so he rests assured that she will not injure him.  In the meantime, Lord Hun rubs me under my chin and gently scratches me behind my ears, which feels delightful. Then he proceeds to brush my fur which seems like a wonderful massage on my skin. After we are completely groomed, both Pinkie and I fall asleep…

        Dear Reader, several hours have passed and Pinkie and I are just awaking from our nap at the Big Bay Window.  We see snowflakes falling from the night sky and realize it’s almost Christmas Eve!  It’s magical to see such bright, sparkling snowflakes falling slowly against a dark blue sky.  Our home is charmingly festive.  If you were here, you would smell warm vanilla and sweet scent of orange and apple, spices like gingerbread and cinnamon, and a refreshing aroma of pine.  There is a toasty fire crackling in the fireplace, a Christmas tree, splendidly lighted with a star on top, and everywhere you look, something magical awaits, what a wondrous vision to behold!

       Just now, the outdoor flap opens and in comes Clyde and Lay-a-dee in cat form with Blue, who looks all poofy from the groomers.  “There you are!” cries Lady Hun when she sees him. She is wearing a lovely burgundy colored dress.  She grabs and hugs him tightly.  “Where have you been?  I’ve been looking all over the house for you!” She starts to smell him. “Mmmm…you smell so good….what happened to your ear?” Mr. Hun, wearing a dark green suit, suddenly joins her and exams Blue’s ear curiously. 

He says, “How strange, it looks as if Blue has had stitches, did you take him to the Vet?”

Lady Hun says, “No, but I wonder what happened to his ear!”

“You don’t think he got outside and some kind person may have found him took him to the Vet?”

“I don’t know, but, how else to explain it,” says Lady Hun, straightening her pearl necklace on her neck.  “Maybe one of us absentmindedly turned off the automatic sensor to the electronic pet door and he got out.  Then...maybe he must have gotten into a fight?".

Blue remained obedient and quiet the whole time. 

“Well, I am just glad he’s back” Lord Hun finally says, stroking Blue behind the neck.

Lady Hun looks at Blue lovingly and caresses him. 

“Tonight, we celebrate the Feast of the Seven Fishes, my darlings, the traditional Italian feast of family and seafood!”  Blue’s mouth begins to drool.  We all wait in eager anticipation of what’s to come.   

      Lady Hun puts Blue down on the newly polished wood floor, and she and Lord Hun put on their good coats and go to Midnight Mass.  Upon their return, they go into the kitchen and begin cooking all the food they previously prepared. The smell of cooking, baking, grilling, and steaming, permeates the air with a mouth-watering aroma.  Finally, they bring in the first course, which are the appetizers.

       While the Huns were away at Midnight Mass, Clyde turned off the sensors to the automatic door flap to allow our outdoor cat friends entry.  And enter they did, one by one, until Big Red and Funny Face joined them. Shortly thereafter, Sterling and Lay-a-dee appear in cat form.  This was one of the times of the year, that the Huns allowed us to invite our feline friends for a shared feast.  Funny Face sits close to Blue and everyone joins paws in a circle in a spirit of unity saying the following kitty grace:

Whoever made the stars that shine,
Whoever made green trees of pine,
Whoever dreamed up fish and mice,
Or sun and rain and snow and ice,
Must have the power in His paws
To help when there's a worthy cause.
Whoever gave the birds a nest
Will grant this humble cat's request.

For needy felines everywhere,
I meow my little Christmas prayer.
Please heal the sick
And cheer the sad,
Forgive the naughty,
and excuse the bad.

One more simple thing I ask:
A pool of sunlight in which to bask,
Plus a plate of food,
A safe, warm house,
A loving lap, a catnip mouse.
Freedom from fleas, furballs, and mats,
And homes for all the homeless cats.

[Reprinted from a Cat's Christmas - Stefanie Samek]

          After we say our midnight prayer, we tap paws and Big Red breaks the silence by saying, “Buon Cena della Vigilia,” which means, Good Christmas Eve Feast in Italian.  We remain in a circle where Lady and Lord Hun place platters before us to share.

       Lady Hun says “Buon Appetito!” after she serves us our appetizers, which consists of assorted fish parts Antipasti, peeking toe crabmeat cocktail, and raw oysters on the half shell, and deep-fried sardines.  Big Red rubs Lady Hun’s leg in appreciation.  Many, if not all of the cats, during the round of appetizers, whisper these words: “delicious, heavenly, so good!”

“Mangia Bene,” says Lord Hun as his gives us our salad of mixed marinated scallops, octopus and prawns.  Everyone is so quiet the only sound we can hear is intermittent munching, and sounds of eating and satisfaction. 

        Dear Reader, if you’ve never had a Feast of Seven Fishes before, you should try this Italian meal to feed the heart and soul! 

Lady Hun next brings in a basket of bread, which consists of Calamari frittatas with oyster dipping sauce and Lord Hun followed with our soup of fish broth.  Both are tasty and flavorful.

Next, our entrees:

One – Mussels in Tuna Sauce (an astounding yummy affect was experienced by all!)

Two –Clay oven baked clams with herbs (this dish was splendor on a plate).

Three –Squid Ink Pasta with Shrimps and Capers (a palate delight!)

Four –Twin Lobster Tails with drawn butter sauce (delicious!)

Five –Caviar Couscous….(to die for!)

Six –Grilled Swordfish….(Mmmm...)

Seven –Pan-seared Cod….(yummy...)

      And for desert, we have smoked salmon ice cream! 

  

        This was one of the best Feast of Seven Fishes we have ever experienced Dear Readers because we shared it with friends.  

We hope you’ll join us back at our Bay Window next week when the finale to Paw-litics of Nature will be posted.  

Don’t forget to click on the Dear Tabby tab on the header of this story Blog.

For now, we are all stuffed and ready for our nap.  We wish you all the best in the New Year from your furry friends at Tabby Tribune:

Gabbers Gazette

Pinkie “Paws”

Clyde

Blue…

Tabby Tattler

The rest of gang here.

Paw-litics of Nature: Part III

         “Get up, get up, get up…” the wind seems to say as it creeps through an opening under the porch of an abandoned house where Blue lay sleeping.

Blue, wounded and exhausted, has fallen into a deep torpor.  As we move in for a close-up, we see the rapid eye movement beneath his furry lids.  

           Dear Reader, Blue is probably dreaming, but with our remote, Pinkie and I can see what is really going on as we view the scene from our Bay Window as if watching it from a ginormous flat screen television:

       Funny Face, Blue’s mother is walking slowly towards him from the south as Big Red advances from the north and Clyde, wearing a backpack, enters from the west, accompanied by Lay-a-dee.  Funny Face reaches Blue first and gently nudges him, but he doesn’t budge.  The mud caked to Blues’ fur is whispering to her.  Funny Face bends her head to listen to the collective speech of the mud, which informs her of what has transpired within the last few hours.

Big Red approaches Blue and politely greets Funny Face.   “That’s a wicked state of affairs,” he finally says, assessing Blue.

           “I’m going back home to get the carrier to transport Blue and I’ll make an appointment for him at the cat wash station near the County Cat Hospital,” Clyde says, after evaluating Blue’s condition. “They may as well stitch his ear back on”.   Blue’s ear, though ripped, was still intact, hanging by a thread.   Lay-a-dee bites at the straps of the backpack that Clyde is wearing, until it opens, releasing a thermos.  Clyde morphs into a human and pours a cup of hot broth from the thermos that he puts beside Blue.  “I’ll be back,” he tells everyone, and then proceeds to come home.

         Funny Face is soon joined by a clowder of cats, all friends.  Lay-a-dee, morphing into human form, runs after Clyde.  Funny Face nudges Blue until he begins to stir. He moans and groans.  His eyes are stuck together with dried mud, blood, sleep fluid, and tears and he struggles to open them.  He also finds it hard to breathe through his nostrils that are filled with dried mud.  His bruised, swollen mouth stings in pain from where the mud and salty swamp water has seeped into his open wounds.  He winces when his mother tries to wipe his face.   She does this in order for him to sip some hot broth, but he cries out in anguish. 

          “I know it hurts,” she tells him, “but you need to keep up your strength so you can heal faster”.  Her words are reassuring.  Blue feels the weight of his limp, mud-caked body and can barely lift his head as he attempts to oblige his mother in taking a sip of the broth.  But, the taste of the swamp water and mud, mixed in with his own blood, masks any trace of meat flavor and is so distasteful, he spits it out in disgust.  

“I want to go home now,” Blue finally says.

“Go home?” asks Funny Face. 

“Yes, HOME!” Blue cries emphatically.

“But, you are home, my son”.  His mother tells him.

“I mean my other home, with my other mother, where I can curl up in the sun by the window and take a long nap!”

“My dear son, you have slept long enough. It’s time for you to wake up.”

“I don’t understand,” protested Blue, looking confused and scared.

Big Red confronts Blue.  “Blue, if you go back to your human masters in your comfortable, fake world, you will never know what you really are and you will always be a known as a shameless, pathetic coward that ran from adversity and challenge”.

Funny Face adds, “Living with the Huns has made you weak and pitiful.  You are not the same son I left struggling on the lawn in the Hun’s backyard that they rescued as a kitten”.

“How will you survive if something happens to your Masters?” asks one of the elder felines.

“You and your friends will protect me,” Blue answers.

A thunderous rumbling among the cats is heard as they exchange opinions on the issue at hand.  Big Red throws his hands in the air to quiet the clowder.

His voice cuts through the silence. “Maybe she can, maybe she can’t…” Big Red addresses Blue.  “Is that what you really want or need— to hide behind your mother’s tail, when you can and should face your fears and defend yourself?  What you need Blue, is something every cat should have, besides nine lives.  And that is COURAGE and PRIDE.”

Blue asks, “Where can I get this courage and pride?”

“Courage and Pride are attributes that most cats already possess.  You just need to connect more with your cat intuitiveness and instincts for survival. You need to condition your mind and body Blue.” Big Red taps Blue on the temple for emphasis.

“Must I?” Blue whines.

“Tsk, tsk. Tsk…,” is the sound of disapproval the other cats make in unison in reference to Blue’s response.

“Are you not a Russian Blue?” asks Big Red.

“I thought I was…”

“Russian Blues are Archangel Blues.  They are regal and strong and don’t back down from a fight, even if there be a smidgen of Russian Blue running through your veins, that should be enough to shield you, especially against any threat from a punk loser like Rage and his band of hoodlums!”

“Rage and his gang been terrorizing our colony for years,” states an elder cat. He picks on the most vulnerable—kindles of kittens and senior colonies”.

“That doesn’t say much for me,” says Blue, embarrassed.

“Well, you are an in-door cat, newly oriented to the outdoor world, so what can you expect?” says one of the elder cats.

“What can I do? How can I defend myself against Rage and his gang? He will probably kill me if he catches me on his turf again.”

“Not if I train you to fight him” says Big Red.  “I have fought every one of them, and I know their strengths and their weaknesses.  But, you will need to fight them all, one by one and it must be a public event, so everyone can witness you displaying courage and pride as a benchmark.”

“Will you do it?” Funny Face asks Blue. “Rage and his gang not only killed many kittens and seniors, he killed your father.

“What?” Blue feels a deep pain in his heart.  “How did it happen?”

“Your father’s leg was caught in a rabbit trap and his leg was so severely damaged, he could not walk let alone run. Rage and his gang had been in a turf war with your father and his colony for the boardwalk, which included the swamp area, for years.  As your father was alone at the time, Rage and his thugs seized the opportunity unfettered, to kill him.

 “What a coward.” Blue sighs.

“Yes, something you can overcome with my guidance” promises Big Red.

Clyde returns with Lay-a-dee. They have the carrier to transport Blue to the groomers to get bathed and then the veterinarian to have his ear repaired.  Clyde puts Blue, who is reluctant, into the carrier and secures the latch.

“Let’s get you cleaned and stitched!”

“You’ll be as good as new in no time,” says Lay-a-dee, smiling sympathetically.

Clyde places the carrier on the ground so Big Red and Funny Face can say their goodbyes.  Meanwhile, He and Lay-a-dee take turns petting all of the other cats.

“Enjoy your holiday festivities Blue, my friend. But, when the last crumb of Christmas pudding is gone, don’t forget to begin your training with me.  Do it for your father’s honor.”

Funny Face places her paw warmly on Blue’s. 

“Do you have any last words of advice for me Mother?”

“In reference to Rage,” she says gently.  “Go West Virginia back-woods-hood-cat on his furry butt.  And, don’t forget who you are.  We will meet again soon, my son”.

Clyde picks up the carrier and he and Laya-dee walk towards the house.

                                  Our Story concludes next week....

Warm Wishes for a Happy Holiday Dear Readers and don’t forget to click on the “Dear Tabby” tab right near the header of this blog.  

Paw-litics of Nature – Part 2

             Like dark liquid running from a spilled inkwell, the two wretched cats behind Blue, advance forward, until he can feel their fetid breath assault both sides of his nostrils.  They begin vigorously sniffing at the sack of foodstuffs that lay in front of him.  Upon opening it, one of them exclaims, “Look at this spread, fit for a King!” 

      “Help yourselves fellas;” says Blue cheerfully, “I can always get more.”

No sooner are both cats devouring the food then they are propelled up into the air by the Alpha cat. He pounces onto the scene, slapping them out the way before they can gobble up all of the food.  “What’s wrong with you two?” the Alpha roars.  “These are his leftovers!” He points his paw at Blue, exposing his razor sharp, jagged claw.  “If he can provide a banquet like this for us— imagine what he’s eating every day!”

We are watching the scene from our Bay window, using the remote, Dear Reader.  Blue is so naïve!  He and I may have our issues, but I would not want to be in his situation and I feel for him as I know he means well.

“Looks like trouble for Blue,” says Pinkie. “He should just stop talking and run home.”  

I see the Alpha cat approach Blue.  We continue to watch…

“Who are you?” the Alpha asks, facing Blue directly and staring down at him.

Blue tells him his name and extends his paw. 

“I’m Rage,” says the Alpha.  That’s Bludgeon and Boo behind you.  And these two besides me are Wrench and Gunner. He grins showing off his sharp fangs. 

“It’s very nice to meet all of you,” says Blue politely.

Rage lashes out, “Enough with formalities! What is your business here?  What feral colony do you have allegiance to?”

“Uh-h-h, I just wanted to bring food for the flood victims, I don’t belong to any colony...my mother is Lady Hun, I live with her in her house.”

Rage asks, “Who is this Lady Hun? Sounds highbrow to me, what kind of hoity toity cat is she?”

“She is not a cat, she’s human”, explains Blue. 
The cats exchange riveting glances with one another and collectively flash Blue a look of disdain.

“Well, if she's your Mother, then what does that make you?” This question is asked by Boo.

“My Mistress calls me her ‘furry child’” says Blue proudly.

They all laugh.  But, Rage glowers. “You know, you’re a cat of course?”

“Well, I am sort of cat, but not an ordinary cat. I am a very special Russian Blue.” Blue is beaming as he says this. They all burst out laughing.

Boo grimaces. “Is that right?  Then what are we?”

“Well, you are….I don’t know…alley cats, maybe feral, abandoned strays perhaps…”

“We are all the same!” says Bludgeon.

“No, I am not like you,” Blue says, defending himself.

“How are you different?”  The cats are all eyeing Blue for answers.  Blue starts nervously babbling at a rapid pace:

“I live in a beautiful house where I am loved, pampered and cared for, have food to eat, toys to play with, get regular doctor visits.  I am cultured, educated, not vicious or violent. I am not preoccupied by the daily drudgery of survival or territory, so I can enjoy life and work on developing myself.  I—

“Enough!  You self-centered, egotistical little brat!” Rage swipes Blue across the face with his claw.  Blue yelps in pain and begins gathering the food back up into the blanket and starts to carry it away, but Bludgeon and Boo block his path. He backs away and Wrench and Gunner hiss at him and he is so fearful, he loses his grip on the blanket. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” asks Rage.

“I’m going home” says Blue, “This food was intended for the flood victims, not you!” 

He attempts to escape, but his efforts are in vain as the gang of cats surrounds him.

“You know something? You need to learn a lesson, and  today is your lucky day, 'cause we’re going teach you,” Rage tells him in a threatening tone of voice.  

“Hold him down,” Rage orders the other cats.  They obey. Blue struggles to get free from their grip. 

“You think you’re special?” Rage says tauntingly. “You think you’re not like the rest of us?”

“I did not mean that the way you think” pleads Blue.

“You may not know it yet, but you are a CAT, my friend, one that is no different and no more ‘special’ then the rest of us.” 

“I just meant that I live indoors in a nice home—“

“Then, why are you on our turf?”

“I just wanted to be charitable to those less fortunate.”

“Who is less fortunate, us? We don’t need your lousy charity or your judgments you ignorant, spoiled, fat cat! Were you anywhere to be found when those wayward teen-aged boys were torturing our feline brethren to death for fun, or the pound took away our friends to be exterminated?  No, you’re just a cat when convenient.”

“You misunderstand me…” Blue pleaded.

“Oh, you're superior to us, and we’re too dumb to rationalize anything, is that it?”

“No, I—

”Shut the frankfurter up!” Rage stuffs an old dirty sock into Blue’s mouth.  "How does that taste?"

The cats take turns clawing and biting Blue. 

Rage brashly shouts, “Bite his ear off!”  Blue, in full panic mode, starts squirming, emitting muffled screams, and tries to wrestle free.

    “Oh no, poor Lad!” says Pinkie, sympathetically.  “I can't watch.  He takes such pride in his appearance!” 

I feel sick to my stomach as Blue is beset by these fiends.  I see blood dripping down Blue’s tear-streaked face.  

     “Grab him by his whiskers and get him good and dirty, shove him in the swamp water!”

 The cats push Blue into the muddy swamp and howl with laughter. 

“Now, that’s what I call a cat,” laughs Rage. “He’s smelly, dirty, bloody and flea bitten!”

“You sure make the rest of us look purr-ty!” laughed Gunner.

The cats mercilessly snicker at Blue, “What did you say, you were a Russian Blue?”  

       Blue is lying prone, semi-submerged in the muddy swamp. It smells rank and he is covered in it from head to hind paw. He feels the incessant stinging of his wounds, but nothing hurts as much as his wounded pride. He feels so violated and misunderstood, he wants to die right then and there. 

“Grab that blanket with the food, and let’s go. Our work is done here.”

“You’re just going to leave him?” Wrench asks Rage.

“He’s no threat to us, and I’m certainly not going to drag him along and be burdened.”

“Let him fend for himself!” Rage stomps through the muddy swamp to where Blue lies and bends down to whisper to him: “Next time I catch you around here, you won’t feel so…SPECIAL”.

       Hours pass before Blue gets up. All he can hear is the sound of crickets and the sea beyond.  It is dark and although he can normally see, the mud obscures his sight. He feels hunger pangs, but plods along, feeling heavy with the mud from the swamp all caked in his fur.  As he gets back on the sidewalk, he catches his reflection in the shiny finish of a stark white van that is parked on the roadside.  He shudders and tries to shake off much of the mud that is sticking to his fur.  The smell is horrifically foul.

          Blue feels lost.  He has taken a wrong turn, and is exhausted. He finds an abandoned house to hide under and take a nap, engulfed in a wave of sadness.  

                             To Be Continued ....

Paw-litics of Nature

       Staring intently at the window, Blue was as silent as a stone.  Suddenly, he lifts his paw and places it on the window as if to reach out.  I spy a small, furry, grey figure on our walkway staring back at him with great interest.  It stealthily moves to the bay window, and lifts up its paw to try to make a connection through the glass with Blue.  They are mirror images except for the markings across the other cat’s face. 

     “We call her Funny Face,” Lady Hun whispered gently in Blue’s ear, “She is your mother.”

Blue turns to look at Lady Hun, his furry forehead riddled with wrinkles, so that the characteristic capital letter ‘M’ every tabby has in the center of their foreheads, compresses like bellows of an accordion.  Blue seems shocked by the revelation.  I don’t think He ever fully accepted a couple of very important facts. One, that he was a cat.  And two, that he came into the world like everyone else.  In other words, he was not ordained with special powers or entitled to privileges above any other cat.  Being a house cat, certainly afforded him a safer, more posh life, but it could not change what he was.

      Blue had been sleeping in the same bed as Lady and Lord Hun since he was an abandoned newborn kitten.  Funny Face was his mother.  She had been a feral yard cat at the house, as had been her mother and her grandmother.  Less than a year after Funny Face was born, she gave birth to a litter of five kittens, one of which was Blue.  

        Lord Hun’s gardener had been mowing the lawn when he discovered the kittens.  A blade of grass had got wedged into one of the kitten’s eyes and pus had developed, so the Landscaper brought the kitten to the Huns,who cleaned out the eye and then put the kitten back where it was first discovered.  But, when Funny Face returned to feed her kittens,  and realized their home had been devastated by the lawn mower, she moved them one by one to another, more secure location.  She was so small, it was a struggle to lift and carry those kittens back and forth in her mouth. When it came time to take the last kitten, the chemical smells of the medicine that had been applied to the eye, assaulted her olfactory senses to the point where she could no longer identify him, so he was left behind.

      The Huns had watched as Funny Face diligently relocated all of her kittens, assuming Blue had been carried off as well.  However, hours later when they returned home from food shopping, revealed the truth.  Lady Hun instinctively checked the back yard after hearing a faint, plaintive meowing.   Lo and behold, it was the kitten whose eye they had tended, squirming on it's back, against the freshly cut lawn.  It was evident at that point, that Blue had been left behind. His eyes were still closed and his ears were pinned back as is the case with most kittens, so the first smells he identified with and the first sights he saw was that of Lord and Lady Hun.

The morning's memory was renewed for Blue, at the sight of the paw prints which remained on the window, overlapped with his mother’s.

“I’m going outside,” announced Blue, boldly.

“Why do you want to that?” Pinkie asked, lifting his head from the saucer of milk he was gingerly lapping.

“We’re not allowed!” I reminded Blue.

“WHY are we not we allowed?” snapped Blue.

“Because,” I told him, “The Hun’s don’t want us to go out”.

“What's the worst that can happen?  I was outside in Russia, a whole other country, never mind my own backyard, and it was an exciting experience,” Blue boasted.

“Haven’t you noticed that every time you try to leave this house, the Huns do everything to stop you, and the times you have sneaked out they manage to grab you right back inside?” I told him.

“Yes, but we have so much to be grateful for, and I want to take some food and blankets to the super-storm Sandy victims”.

“That’s a very nice gesture, mate,” said Pinkie patting Blue on the back.  “Why don’t you give your stuff to Clyde to distribute to the victims for you?”

“I want to do it myself!” cried Blue. “Why should Clyde be the only one with the adventures? Besides, I want to reach out to my feline brethren.”

“Oh, so you have finally accepted the fact that you’re a cat?”  I asked. Blue ignored me.

“Wow, what have you got there? That’s quite a spread!” Exclaimed Pinkie, sniffing at all the foodstuffs Blue had gathered into a blanket.  Blue waited patiently by the automatic flap door until Clyde came through it, and out he went. 

“Hey…!” called Clyde after him, “Where do you think you’re going?” Blue dashed away as fast as could, not answering.  Clyde came through the door.  “Where’s he off to?”

“Let him go,” I said. “He’s wanted to get out into the neighborhood since he came back from Russia. He seems to think that he can do some good for his ‘feline brethren’,” I said sarcastically.

“Don’t be catty!” Pinkie disciplined me, “at least his heart’s in the right place. He wants to help the victims of Super-storm Sandy.”

Clyde shook the dust from his fur.  “Well, he'll probably pick up fleas and what's more...why don’t we follow him, get the remote!”

“Got it right here,” chimed in Pinkie, one step ahead of Clyde.

He clicked on the remote and we saw Blue chasing SeaAir-a, and in the process, the foodstuffs getting scattered. SeaAir-a, who is used to surviving outdoors, manages to elude him.  

     Blue follows the food trail back to the house, gathering all in the blanket.  He looks around and proceeds to walk, dragging the blanket sack in his mouth. He has to stop and rest at regular intervals as the sack is heavy.

“Why didn’t he ask for my help?” asked Clyde.

“You know Blue—He's STUBBORN!”

“Now, where is he?” asks Pinkie.

“He’s in Hell Cat’s Toilet” answers Clyde.

     We watch as Blue continues moving down the back streets looking for wayward cats and then he comes to a dead end that leads to the wetlands.  We hear a duck quacking as Blue sniffs the sea air.  The swamp weeds seem to be moving. They separate and a mangy cat appears in the clearing, to face Blue, letting out a low rumbling growl.  “I have food and blankets for the flood victims,” says Blue defensively.  Two more cats appear, looking just as vicious as their Alpha. The Alpha male whistles and two more henchman felines appear behind Blue, hissing.

                                                     To Be Continued…..