MUSINGS FROM JOAN #3

Someone once said that dogs come when called, cats take a message. My cats didn’t get that memorandum. They not only don’t take a message, they expect me to hold the phone for them.

Wasabi and Ginger are brother and sister “rescue cats”. Rescued, actually, from the not-so-mean streets of downtown Fort Lauderdale. I found them on line at a website called http://www.strayaid.com/. I was looking to adopt some abandoned water soaked kittens from Hurricane Katrina, but their adorable photos and catchy names (you have to be a sushi eater to appreciate the joke) were too much to ignore.

To regress for a moment: My much loved pair of 16 year old pedigreed Siamese cats had recently gone to that great litter box in the sky, and I was in need of someone to talk to around the house who would truly listen to what I was saying. Pasha and Sasha not only listened to my every word, but were elegantly cool and truly regal. Together, they could thread their way through a forest of precious Baccarat crystal without causing so much as a quiver among the glassware.

Wasabi and Ginger, on the other hand, are right out of the “hood” They have never seen a piece of bric-a-brac they couldn’t break. They have managed to do away with several large pieces of raku pottery that I treasured. They have resurfaced the arms of my den couch in an artful thatch pattern. (It is politically incorrect to declaw these days. I had to sign a statement to that effect when I adopted them.)

To my awed dismay, they discovered early in their kittenhood that, given a fast start, it was entirely possible to climb those interesting walls in the living room right up to the ceiling. Little did my interior designer know that his innovative idea to put Berber carpeting on two free standing walls would scare the hell out of visitors who sometimes arrive to find one of the cats casually hanging upside down from the ceiling.

Although advertised on the website as being part Siamese, perhaps because of their pale coloration when very young, it quickly became evident that Ginger was growing up to be a short haired tabby, small boned. light weight, and tough as nails. Wasabi, on the other hand, evolved into a long haired Maine Coon, with all the weight and heft of that breed, and a marshmallow of a personality. She leads. He follows. Knocking over everything in their path as they go.

More times than I can count, they have managed to knock a fiberglas sculpture of a tall, narrow boat off the wall in my entrance foyer. Despite our best efforts to nail/screw/glue the sculpture securely to the wall, little seven pound Ginger begins its ultimate downfall by utilizing the point on the bottom of the boat to vigorously scratch her back each morning. This insures that any type of wall fastening we have used, and believe me we have used many, is now significantly loosened. Once finished scratching, she steps daintily aside to make way for her brother to finish off the job.

Packing 14 pounds of furry muscle, Wasabi’s end run from the bedroom to the kitchen, where breakfast is waiting, provides enough speed and torque to dislodge the poor boat from its moorings and send it tumbling to the floor, time and time again. Luckily the artist is very much alive or he would be turning over in his grave at what’s happening to his masterpiece.

Why do I put up with them? Good question. Who would wake me up with kisses in the morning to let me know it was time to open his favorite can of cat food? How would I put my make-up on before going to work if Ginger wasn’t sitting on my dressing table watching my every move and nodding her approval? (She is such a girly cat.)

Klutzy, yes. But funny always. And supremely lovable. I guess you have to be a cat person to really understand.

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Joan Spector lives in Miami, Florida and is president of Joan Spector Public Relations, Inc. Her next post will explore the pitfalls of volunteering from her point of view. She can be e-mailed at jspec0963@aol.com.