It seems just like yesterday that I welcomed the furball love of my life Teddy Bear into my mini manse.
After the first feline object of my affection, Nicodeamus passed away (and I truly thought I would die of a broken heart), I laid eyes on Ted via the Nashville Cat Rescue’s website. He’d been saved from a one bedroom apartment full of 30 cats (I thought I was a hoarder) and when I went to take a look at that sweet little face, it was love at first meow.
Upon bringing TB home, I had a partially screened in porch. My new little prince had such a sweet, timid demeanor I allowed him to relax on the porch alone, taking in his new surroundings.
After a few months, Tedstar suddenly came out of his meek shell, morphing into a tiny lion, deciding that he was King of the
Jungle Porch. One evening while I was letting Calgon take me away in a bubble bath, His Royal Highness ‘presented’ me with a beautiful, live cardinal fidgeting around in his mouth.
I screamed bloody murder at the horror of seeing a blinking bird in the jaws of my supposedly shy Teddy Bear. Then I thought my poor pussy’s muzzle was going to break because his mouth was open so wide. I stood there naked, sopping wet with trauma tears (because I didn’t want to have to feed Ted through a straw the rest of his life due to breaking his face trying to release and save our feathered friend that most likely carried bird flu) streaking down my face when he wouldn’t let the cardinal go until a towel was thrown over his head. (For those of you holding your breath or shedding a tear over the bird, it lived).
A very relaxing, spa-like evening indeed.
Once Ted had a whiff of wildness, he got very daring after The Great Bird Incident. One afternoon Bear attempted to escape the awful prison I keep him in by leaping off the porch to a nearby bush (about four feet away) which turned out like this:
He’d climbed to the porch railing and apparently thought the bush was sturdy enough to hold him (Teddy sometimes has blonde moments like his mother) but alas he sunk all the way down to the bottom. It was super fun trying to get a hysterical cat out of the tangle of limbs.
After his failed prison break, the porch was promptly screened to the ceiling, preventing my blue blooded attack cat from parting ways with yours truly (he obviously loved his new home).
Of course Tedstar continually looked for a way out but much to his dismay, I locked that shit down like Fort Knox.
Presently in my mini-catsle, I’m the evil queen happy to keep my royal subject Ted preserved behind second balcony porch bars, knowing that I won’t have any unwelcome gifts or a clumsy cat stuck in a bush.
Trying to persuade my fave pussy from walking the second story proverbial plank, I christened the porch in honor of Mr. Bear.
Highly unimpressed with a 2 x 4 wood sign, Teddy still thinks there might be a chance to break free, walking on the backs of chairs like he’s a high wire act in the circus.
Now that I’ve introduced three new court jesters into our royal family, I have a feeling they’ll be putting their furry noggins together to thwart my attempts to keep them behind my gated tower.
Now, who’s the real master of the mini manse?
I think we all already know the answer.