Teddy Encounters A Bobcat
A Story in the Time of COVID 19
from The Teddy Blogs
by P. L. Garner-Pakenham
Maybe you would like to submit some illustrations for this story.
If you do, send them to my email address, and we'll publish them on this site. :)
I have always included our cat in family activities – much the same way one would include the family dog. We found that the more we treated the cat and dog as loved fur babies, the more they developed personality and a sense of fun, living enriched, long happy lives.
Our family cats were affectionate. They would play games, follow us on walks, play fetch with aluminum foil, and importantly, travel with us. For long trips, I would stock water, put the back seats down in the CRV, lay out soft blankets so they could lie down comfortably while looking out windows, and we would be off. Topanga loved to watch the world pulling away through the back window, which sometimes startled the occupants of the car behind, who weren’t used to seeing a little Siamese play a staring game with them from the car in front. The driver became even more disconcerted when I put on the rear windshield wipers, because Topanga would track them with her paws, looking for all the world like she was waving to the people in the car behind.
My son recently adopted a cat named Hercules. The SPCA let him hold the cat to ensure he was a “good fit”. My son said he knew the cat would be fine because the big feline allowed petting with one finger only - on one little spot - on a specific area at the very top of his head… before hissing… But that was it! No warning signs there!)
Hercules was loaded into a cardboard cat-carrier, and the two boys (human and feline) left, never to be seen by the shelter staff again.
Upon arriving home, and after great consideration and consultation, my son changed Hercules’s name because he wanted a fresh start, and, somehow, it just didn’t sound right calling: “Kitty, Kitty! Here Hercules!” (I think he had a point). The name hechose was Bob. (Which sounds so much better after you call, “Kitty Kitty”)
Bob is a big black and white short-haired gargoyle of a cat. His paws are so big that I once mistook them for a pair of discarded white felt gloves, only to realize they were the only things hanging out as the little monster tried to hide behind a large plant:
The gargantuan paws just couldn’t fit inside the hidey space.
My son furnished his apartment with a cat post, a cozy cat bed and blanket, the biggest litter box ever created, cat toys, new food and water dishes. He literally turned his apartment into a kitty paradise. Well, it would have been a paradise for any other cat, but Bob Cat was initially unimpressed.
Bob was a skeptic. He hid for two weeks under the bed within the dust bunnies, behind the couch camouflaged amongst the TV cable, in an open drawer between the P.J.s and personal athletic equipment, under socks discarded in the closet, and posing as a blanket inside the laundry basket. It took two weeks before he felt it was safe to emerge. At last, Bob made a move of reconciliation. He rubbed his back against my son’s legs. He made an overture that sounded a little like the growl of a cougar. He then claimed ownership by lying down ln my son’s 12-inch-long socked feet, swatting his heavy tail against my son’s calves the whole time. Apparently, Bob had decided that life might be more secure if he bonded with this human. But, as with “all things Bob”, his attitude was extreme, and his determination to belong could only be described as extreme. He would sit on the back of the couch behind his human’s neck so show he was the one in control: After a little more time, when Bob was sure he had my son clearly under his paw, he would gravitate to my son’s lap in an overture of tolerance... as long as my son petted him on only one specific spot on his head with one specific finger only, or risk the wrath of the hiss and claw.
Bob became obsessively possessive. When my son returned from work or the gym, Bob would quiz him incessantly about his whereabouts and sulk for a little bit before climbing back into his lap. Bob reacted badly to company and would wrap his big arms possessively around my son’s waist and hiss if anyone came near. away.
My son got Bob a collar and a name tag in the shape of a bone… (Bad to the bone?) The collar had a bell that jingled as Bob Cat walked.
ding a ling...
My son continued to follow Bob's rules of petting Bob carefully on one specific spot on his head with one specific finger, so as not to incur Bob’s wrath. Nevertheless, this unlikely pair followed the family tradition of “The Travelling Cat” and visited several times. Whenever they visited, though, Bob would wrap his big arms and paws around my; son’s waist. When Teddy or I approached, Bob Cat hissed threateningly, so we would have to wave at the two of them from a distance that communicate by cell phone.
My son had to travel a lot, and needed me to look after Bob Cat. (Yaaaaay?)
“It’ll be fine, Mom,” said my son, as I dropped him off at the airport. “Thanks for looking after him.”
“No problem. I’m delighted……” (hmmmmmm….)
It was just going to be short-term, but when we got home, the cat immediately began hissing at me and at Teddy. I looked at Teddy. Teddy looked at me…. (What to do? What to do?)
Of course, this meant a trip to the pet store. I found a great six foot high cat gym – on sale – A purchase absolutely contra-intuitive to my anti-cluttering campaign! I found cat toys and a bunch of the preferred cat food. My neighbour provided some cat nip. I even bought some cat “grass”… (What was I thinking?)
When Teddy and I returned from our shopping spree, the Bob Cat was hiding in the basement, apparently traumatized because my son wasn’t here anymore. Teddy and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the big guy. I imagined that the cat gym would solve everything: I could put it in the sun room behind the TV so it was relatively hidden from view, but the cat could look out the windows and chatter at the birds and squirrels. I could put his food up high so Teddy would stop stealing it. There was a scratching post so Bob Cat wouldn’t feel he had to sharpen his claws on my furniture or on Teddy or me… and he would feel good about being upstairs. What could go wrong? This was clearly a rehabilitative opportunity for a Bob Cat with baggage.
Teddy and I excitedly got to work pulling the cat gym out of its gigantic box and assembling it with an Alan wrench, enthusiastically calling “Bob! Bob!” at every turn of the wrench.
Hmmmmm… These darn things are made of carpet-covered plywood. They weigh a ton. I wore out my fingers as I securely tightened every level: It had eight platforms and a circular hidey place. It was gigantic and clearly spoiled the serene flow of the sun room. That’s okay: A small price to pay for a happy cat and a calm household. Teddy and I figured Bob was pretty wealthy by cat standards: Now he had “things” cluttering up two house (like a little Prince).
Bob clearly did not see things the same way as Teddy and I, and he refused to respond to our calls. Thus he left us with no choice. After we finished building this monument to catdom, Teddy and I were forced to head downstairs to collect the Bob Cat and show him our surprise. We were so happy with our accomplishment, like Dumb and Dumber, we expected to be greeted with some kind of kitty “Yaaay!”
Bob Cat was curled up on a chair, rolling his eyes at us. We remained both oblivious and determined. We tried to lure him with Temptations, which usually worked when offered to him by my son. However, Bob just looked at Teddy and I with absolute disgust and disdain.
I didn’t want to give up, and somewhat stupidly, continued to encourage him to change his mind. Nothing. Soooo…. ever so slowly, ever so carefully, ever so gently, I tipped the chair he was on…. and unleashed a wild animal from hell!
Bob Cat leapt from the chair, turned and hissed and growled at Teddy and me. His back was curled up. His cat fur stood straight up. He was snarling and baring his fangs. And then he ran for the stairs, the bell on his collar jingling crazily. Ding a ling! Ding a ling!
That would have been okay… except that he stopped half way up the stairs, and turned toward us, continuing his angry and demonic tirade. Oh Oh! Teddy and I were stuck at the bottom of the stairs with no way to get up without going around Bob. I picked up Teddy in the hope that Bob would get tired and stop his tantrum.
He didn’t.
Finally, I thought, “Okay, I’m just going to run by the cat as fast as I can,” and I started jogging madly up the stairs, Teddy in my arms… hoping we could avoid being scratched along the way.
However, as I tried to bolt by, Bob turned to run upstairs and we three raced to the top!
When we arrived in the kitchen, Bob turned right and disappeared, while Teddy and I turned left and sheltered together on the living room couch.
Teddy looked at me. I looked at her. Together, we listened for the bell.
Ding a ling…. Ding a ling….
I couldn’t tell who was shaking: Teddy, or me… or both of us.
Ding a ling…
The cat had circled around and through the kitchen, and was now in the front hallway.
Ding a ling…
The cat sniffed innocently at the big box that had held the cat gym.
Teddy and I remained as quiet as we could, trying to become invisible.
We weren’t sure if our ruse worked…
Ding a ling…
We watched as the big cat strolled slowly from the front hallway, into the sunroom and directly toward the cat gym as if he knew it was there the whole time.
Ding a ling…
He stood on his back legs and batted the little feathered toy with a humungous paw.
He sniffed each level as he climbed to the top….
He stuck his head over the TV and glared at us like some bodiless Cheshire cat, some six feet in the air!
Oh Oh! Who was in charge now?
Ding a ling….
After a while, Teddy took the chance of getting off the couch and walking with great trepidation toward an ottoman a good twelve feet away from the cat gym.
Even from that distance, the Cheshire cat snarled and growled, having claimed all territory that surrounded the cat post: All of the sun room and all of the living room.
Teddy froze for a moment and then slunk back to the couch in terror.
Yikes! I hissed back at the cat, who then leapt down from the cat gym and ran downstairs.
That was it! I grabbed the carpeted cat monument and yanked the thing all the way down stairs, pulling my shoulder tendons as I went. I set the thing by a downstairs window, headed back upstairs and locked the door.
Ding a ling…
“No, it’s okay, Ted. It’s not the cat; it’s the phone.” (Thank goodness) Teddy sighed in relief.
“Hi son. How are you? Are you enjoying your trip?”
“Went to a war museum, It was really interesting…”
“War… Yeah, I can relate to that…”
“Yeah,” he said. “There is news about this COVID 19 pandemic. Everyone has to get home right away. So I won’t be able to pick up Bob for a while.
I smiled nonchalantly into the phone. “That’s okay, but he has not been happy since you went. He’s been growling and hissing a lot… I had to lock him in the basement.”
“That’s probably a good idea, Mom. But he is a social little guy. He’ll get lonely and want to come back upstairs. He’ll be good then…”
So, this was going to be a long-term arrangement after all... I wondered how it was going to go.
The next morning, there was a knock on the basement door. I opened it and the Bob Cat was standing there, innocently meowing for food and waiting to be let upstairs. I held no grudge.
I set food on the cat post, filled his water dish and cleaned the litter. Bob remained polite, so I left the basement door open so he could come and go as he pleased.
He rubbed his sleek body around my legs, and asked for a pet. I deliberately pet his entire body.
I had to assert some control, after all.
Bob has become reconciled to his new situation. He became affectionate toward me, and oddly, hops up beside me when my son phones – not anyone else, just my son – and only after my son has spoken. Then “poof”, Bob places his head against the receiver. I tell my son to talk to Bob, which he does, and Bob responds by rubbing his head lovingly against the phone. Somehow, he knows the person he loves most in the world is on the other end of the line.
Bob only hissed at Teddy a couple of times after that. I stopped him by hissing back. I guess he couldn’t believe that I could speak “cat”. We had two “hissy matches” over the next few days, but Bob has settled in and has stopped hissing altogether.
Bob enjoys the sunroom and the plants, and he and Teddy have even been close enough to sniff at each other. So, I’ve now wrestled the darn cat gym back into the sun room - on the other side though The bodiless head peering menacingly over the top of the TV like a Cheshire cat is just too disconcerting. ….Ding a ling…
Our family cats were affectionate. They would play games, follow us on walks, play fetch with aluminum foil, and importantly, travel with us. For long trips, I would stock water, put the back seats down in the CRV, lay out soft blankets so they could lie down comfortably while looking out windows, and we would be off. Topanga loved to watch the world pulling away through the back window, which sometimes startled the occupants of the car behind, who weren’t used to seeing a little Siamese play a staring game with them from the car in front. The driver became even more disconcerted when I put on the rear windshield wipers, because Topanga would track them with her paws, looking for all the world like she was waving to the people in the car behind.
My son recently adopted a cat named Hercules. The SPCA let him hold the cat to ensure he was a “good fit”. My son said he knew the cat would be fine because the big feline allowed petting with one finger only - on one little spot - on a specific area at the very top of his head… before hissing… But that was it! No warning signs there!)
Hercules was loaded into a cardboard cat-carrier, and the two boys (human and feline) left, never to be seen by the shelter staff again.
Upon arriving home, and after great consideration and consultation, my son changed Hercules’s name because he wanted a fresh start, and, somehow, it just didn’t sound right calling: “Kitty, Kitty! Here Hercules!” (I think he had a point). The name hechose was Bob. (Which sounds so much better after you call, “Kitty Kitty”)
Bob is a big black and white short-haired gargoyle of a cat. His paws are so big that I once mistook them for a pair of discarded white felt gloves, only to realize they were the only things hanging out as the little monster tried to hide behind a large plant:
The gargantuan paws just couldn’t fit inside the hidey space.
My son furnished his apartment with a cat post, a cozy cat bed and blanket, the biggest litter box ever created, cat toys, new food and water dishes. He literally turned his apartment into a kitty paradise. Well, it would have been a paradise for any other cat, but Bob Cat was initially unimpressed.
Bob was a skeptic. He hid for two weeks under the bed within the dust bunnies, behind the couch camouflaged amongst the TV cable, in an open drawer between the P.J.s and personal athletic equipment, under socks discarded in the closet, and posing as a blanket inside the laundry basket. It took two weeks before he felt it was safe to emerge. At last, Bob made a move of reconciliation. He rubbed his back against my son’s legs. He made an overture that sounded a little like the growl of a cougar. He then claimed ownership by lying down ln my son’s 12-inch-long socked feet, swatting his heavy tail against my son’s calves the whole time. Apparently, Bob had decided that life might be more secure if he bonded with this human. But, as with “all things Bob”, his attitude was extreme, and his determination to belong could only be described as extreme. He would sit on the back of the couch behind his human’s neck so show he was the one in control: After a little more time, when Bob was sure he had my son clearly under his paw, he would gravitate to my son’s lap in an overture of tolerance... as long as my son petted him on only one specific spot on his head with one specific finger only, or risk the wrath of the hiss and claw.
Bob became obsessively possessive. When my son returned from work or the gym, Bob would quiz him incessantly about his whereabouts and sulk for a little bit before climbing back into his lap. Bob reacted badly to company and would wrap his big arms possessively around my son’s waist and hiss if anyone came near. away.
My son got Bob a collar and a name tag in the shape of a bone… (Bad to the bone?) The collar had a bell that jingled as Bob Cat walked.
ding a ling...
My son continued to follow Bob's rules of petting Bob carefully on one specific spot on his head with one specific finger, so as not to incur Bob’s wrath. Nevertheless, this unlikely pair followed the family tradition of “The Travelling Cat” and visited several times. Whenever they visited, though, Bob would wrap his big arms and paws around my; son’s waist. When Teddy or I approached, Bob Cat hissed threateningly, so we would have to wave at the two of them from a distance that communicate by cell phone.
My son had to travel a lot, and needed me to look after Bob Cat. (Yaaaaay?)
“It’ll be fine, Mom,” said my son, as I dropped him off at the airport. “Thanks for looking after him.”
“No problem. I’m delighted……” (hmmmmmm….)
It was just going to be short-term, but when we got home, the cat immediately began hissing at me and at Teddy. I looked at Teddy. Teddy looked at me…. (What to do? What to do?)
Of course, this meant a trip to the pet store. I found a great six foot high cat gym – on sale – A purchase absolutely contra-intuitive to my anti-cluttering campaign! I found cat toys and a bunch of the preferred cat food. My neighbour provided some cat nip. I even bought some cat “grass”… (What was I thinking?)
When Teddy and I returned from our shopping spree, the Bob Cat was hiding in the basement, apparently traumatized because my son wasn’t here anymore. Teddy and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the big guy. I imagined that the cat gym would solve everything: I could put it in the sun room behind the TV so it was relatively hidden from view, but the cat could look out the windows and chatter at the birds and squirrels. I could put his food up high so Teddy would stop stealing it. There was a scratching post so Bob Cat wouldn’t feel he had to sharpen his claws on my furniture or on Teddy or me… and he would feel good about being upstairs. What could go wrong? This was clearly a rehabilitative opportunity for a Bob Cat with baggage.
Teddy and I excitedly got to work pulling the cat gym out of its gigantic box and assembling it with an Alan wrench, enthusiastically calling “Bob! Bob!” at every turn of the wrench.
Hmmmmm… These darn things are made of carpet-covered plywood. They weigh a ton. I wore out my fingers as I securely tightened every level: It had eight platforms and a circular hidey place. It was gigantic and clearly spoiled the serene flow of the sun room. That’s okay: A small price to pay for a happy cat and a calm household. Teddy and I figured Bob was pretty wealthy by cat standards: Now he had “things” cluttering up two house (like a little Prince).
Bob clearly did not see things the same way as Teddy and I, and he refused to respond to our calls. Thus he left us with no choice. After we finished building this monument to catdom, Teddy and I were forced to head downstairs to collect the Bob Cat and show him our surprise. We were so happy with our accomplishment, like Dumb and Dumber, we expected to be greeted with some kind of kitty “Yaaay!”
Bob Cat was curled up on a chair, rolling his eyes at us. We remained both oblivious and determined. We tried to lure him with Temptations, which usually worked when offered to him by my son. However, Bob just looked at Teddy and I with absolute disgust and disdain.
I didn’t want to give up, and somewhat stupidly, continued to encourage him to change his mind. Nothing. Soooo…. ever so slowly, ever so carefully, ever so gently, I tipped the chair he was on…. and unleashed a wild animal from hell!
Bob Cat leapt from the chair, turned and hissed and growled at Teddy and me. His back was curled up. His cat fur stood straight up. He was snarling and baring his fangs. And then he ran for the stairs, the bell on his collar jingling crazily. Ding a ling! Ding a ling!
That would have been okay… except that he stopped half way up the stairs, and turned toward us, continuing his angry and demonic tirade. Oh Oh! Teddy and I were stuck at the bottom of the stairs with no way to get up without going around Bob. I picked up Teddy in the hope that Bob would get tired and stop his tantrum.
He didn’t.
Finally, I thought, “Okay, I’m just going to run by the cat as fast as I can,” and I started jogging madly up the stairs, Teddy in my arms… hoping we could avoid being scratched along the way.
However, as I tried to bolt by, Bob turned to run upstairs and we three raced to the top!
When we arrived in the kitchen, Bob turned right and disappeared, while Teddy and I turned left and sheltered together on the living room couch.
Teddy looked at me. I looked at her. Together, we listened for the bell.
Ding a ling…. Ding a ling….
I couldn’t tell who was shaking: Teddy, or me… or both of us.
Ding a ling…
The cat had circled around and through the kitchen, and was now in the front hallway.
Ding a ling…
The cat sniffed innocently at the big box that had held the cat gym.
Teddy and I remained as quiet as we could, trying to become invisible.
We weren’t sure if our ruse worked…
Ding a ling…
We watched as the big cat strolled slowly from the front hallway, into the sunroom and directly toward the cat gym as if he knew it was there the whole time.
Ding a ling…
He stood on his back legs and batted the little feathered toy with a humungous paw.
He sniffed each level as he climbed to the top….
He stuck his head over the TV and glared at us like some bodiless Cheshire cat, some six feet in the air!
Oh Oh! Who was in charge now?
Ding a ling….
After a while, Teddy took the chance of getting off the couch and walking with great trepidation toward an ottoman a good twelve feet away from the cat gym.
Even from that distance, the Cheshire cat snarled and growled, having claimed all territory that surrounded the cat post: All of the sun room and all of the living room.
Teddy froze for a moment and then slunk back to the couch in terror.
Yikes! I hissed back at the cat, who then leapt down from the cat gym and ran downstairs.
That was it! I grabbed the carpeted cat monument and yanked the thing all the way down stairs, pulling my shoulder tendons as I went. I set the thing by a downstairs window, headed back upstairs and locked the door.
Ding a ling…
“No, it’s okay, Ted. It’s not the cat; it’s the phone.” (Thank goodness) Teddy sighed in relief.
“Hi son. How are you? Are you enjoying your trip?”
“Went to a war museum, It was really interesting…”
“War… Yeah, I can relate to that…”
“Yeah,” he said. “There is news about this COVID 19 pandemic. Everyone has to get home right away. So I won’t be able to pick up Bob for a while.
I smiled nonchalantly into the phone. “That’s okay, but he has not been happy since you went. He’s been growling and hissing a lot… I had to lock him in the basement.”
“That’s probably a good idea, Mom. But he is a social little guy. He’ll get lonely and want to come back upstairs. He’ll be good then…”
So, this was going to be a long-term arrangement after all... I wondered how it was going to go.
The next morning, there was a knock on the basement door. I opened it and the Bob Cat was standing there, innocently meowing for food and waiting to be let upstairs. I held no grudge.
I set food on the cat post, filled his water dish and cleaned the litter. Bob remained polite, so I left the basement door open so he could come and go as he pleased.
He rubbed his sleek body around my legs, and asked for a pet. I deliberately pet his entire body.
I had to assert some control, after all.
Bob has become reconciled to his new situation. He became affectionate toward me, and oddly, hops up beside me when my son phones – not anyone else, just my son – and only after my son has spoken. Then “poof”, Bob places his head against the receiver. I tell my son to talk to Bob, which he does, and Bob responds by rubbing his head lovingly against the phone. Somehow, he knows the person he loves most in the world is on the other end of the line.
Bob only hissed at Teddy a couple of times after that. I stopped him by hissing back. I guess he couldn’t believe that I could speak “cat”. We had two “hissy matches” over the next few days, but Bob has settled in and has stopped hissing altogether.
Bob enjoys the sunroom and the plants, and he and Teddy have even been close enough to sniff at each other. So, I’ve now wrestled the darn cat gym back into the sun room - on the other side though The bodiless head peering menacingly over the top of the TV like a Cheshire cat is just too disconcerting. ….Ding a ling…