Just call me Ragamuffin dahling

CJ has given me this tough cat persona and now she’s decided I am possibly a valuable breed called Ragamuffins. She said it makes sense because people sometimes abandon animals out here in the backcountry without regard for their breeding, which she said could be how my mom ended up living under a café where I was born.

I looked it up and Wikipedia says the Ragamuffin is an offshoot of a breed introduced in California in the 1960s by Mrs. Ann Baker. She trademarked the name ‘Ragdoll,’ and set up her own registry—International Ragdoll Cat Association (IRCA). In 1994, a second group decided to leave the IRCA and form its own group because of increasingly strict breeding restrictions. Since the name ‘Ragdoll’ was trademarked, the group renamed its stock of Ragdoll cats Ragamuffins.

It says Ragamuffins are a muscular, heavy breed of cat not reaching full maturity until approximately four years of age. I am still kittenish in many ways. But I meet the physical traits with my rectangular, broad-chested body with shoulders supporting my short neck. My head is a broad, modified wedge with a rounded forehead and a dip on the bridge of my nose. Our fur can be any color. Mine is smoke-colored, slightly longer around the neck and outer edges of my face, so it looks like a ruff. As you can see, my coat is thick and plush, but it does not readily mat or clump and is easy to care for.

Here’s the best part. Ragamuffins are bred to be sociable, intelligent, affectionate, cuddly companions that are playful throughout their lives.
So yes, I’m feral so I appear tough but I’m really just shy—although I’m still a great hunter. And if I had papers proving my breeding, I would be worth a thousand dollars dahling.

Cat got your tongue?

Ahoy, are you there Bear?

Cat got your tongue? (A little feline humor.) But seriously, Tele says you are trying to find your voice.

I’ll tell you a story. I have a friend, Isabelle, a very pretty and clever actress who lives in London. She said she imagined I sound like Kathleen Turner, another actress who is the female lead in a movie called “Romancing the Stone” where she fights alligators (sort of). At first that sounded like a really good idea but after I played with it for a while, I knew I was just a country cat, wild, yes, but still homespun folksy—nothing like a sexy whiskey voice which is how you would describe Turner’s voice.

So, what do you think about a nautical voice. Following are some phrases I found at FortOgden.com which has a big ole list of “nautical origins of some common expressions.”

Let the Cat Out of the Bag -
In the Royal Navy the punishment prescribed for most serious crimes was flogging. This was administered by the Bosun's Mate using a whip called a cat o' nine tails. The "cat" was kept in a leather or baize bag. It was considered bad news indeed when the cat was let out of the bag. Other sources attribute the expression to the old English market scam of selling someone a pig in a poke(bag) when the pig turned out to be a cat instead. (By the way, Isabelle things she wants a pot-bellied pig.)

Bear Down -
To sail downwind rapidly towards another ship or landmark.

You could talk pirate and say things like “Avast ye matey” which just means “hold up there pal,” or “Wait a minute friend.”

How about Poop Deck—not what you think it is—it’s the highest deck at the stern of a large ship, usually above the captain’s quarters.

Your voice should be you, your very realest you. I know you’ll find it.

Smooth sailing…
Smoke

For the Birds, Tasty Tidbits

Hi Isabelle,

So you like my birds? They make me kinda hungry. You should hear it here. We’ve got so many songbirds it’s like a predawn symphony, with an ol’ hooty owl keeping tempo in the background.

I heard the birds are all gone in London, so said a British girl who moved to Los Angeles and carried on about how wonderful it was to hear birdsong again. CJ was in London Town a long time ago, like nine lives, and said mostly there were pigeons. I’ve never seen a pigeon. CJ says they look a bit like quail but not as pretty. We’ve got more quail around here than you could shoot a gun at, but I’ve never caught one, too skitterish.

I did catch a bunny rabbit the other day. Brought it into CJ’s room to show her and I think she palmed it. I put it down and it scooted under a chair and just lay there panting. CJ takes a peek and next thing I know, it’s gone. I looked and sniffed around for quite a while, but couldn’t find it.

I don’t get it. Rabbits are vermin too. Somethin’ needs to prey on them or they would take over the world. Just like mice or rats. So how come I can’t eat “cute and fuzzy” bunnies? (Think I just answered my own question.)

Speaking of owls, CJ read Wesley the Owl, even met his wife, this writer Stacey O’Brien from Southern California. The thing I was wondering—is that kosher? I heard a guy named Edward Lear from your neck of the woods, wrote a poem about The Owl and the Pussycat getting married. Any truth to that?  Hey, I’m a cat. I’m curious.

xSmoke

P.S. What’s a bong-tree? Also, CJ was wonderin' if they still call girls "birds" in London?

Who's the Rat what Stole the Cheese?

I was born under a café, what they call a greasy spoon, where CJ worked part-time as a cook. I knew her voice and sometimes I saw her take out the grease bucket and dump it in the recycling barrel. But I didn’t have nuthin’ to do with her, not even when she brought me here to her house. She said she was allergic to cats but said I could live in the little house and catch gophers that were digging holes all over her yard.

Well, I’ve got to tell you, I’m a born hunter. Must be, because I was just weaned when I came here, although my momma used to catch mice, not difficult living under an old restaurant. They had a cheese rat once. Some guy broke in and stole a whole 10-pound brick of Swiss cheese and the cash register. He couldn’t get the register open and started throwing it on the ground, making enough racket to alert the police if we’d had any.

CJ wanted to write a story about it for the local paper, but the editor said no. The editor said they did not print any bad stories about this little town. Can you imagine? What kind of “news” paper is that I ask you. CJ worked there part-time, too. Like, ‘Who’s the Rat what Stole the Cheese?’ (The kitties know but they ain’t talkin’.) People would love to read that. That’s what sells papers for goodness sakes. CJ said the last owners got run out of town for writin’ something bad about the lumber industry and this editor was scared that could happen to her. Scaredy-cat, sheesh!

Livin’ in that broken down in-law apartment was fine with me. I didn’t want to live with no human anyway. But I was gonna miss my littermates, or so I thought. CJ put down this warm pad covered in flannel, an electric heat pad she said it was. It was awful nice for sleeping on. She left me a bowl of water and dry food and brought wet food every evening. When I heard her coming I would scoot through a space in the wall and hide under the house. But sometimes I wasn’t so fast and she saw me, or I would peek out and see her.

You know what? Curiosity got the better of me and one day I just had to take a look in the kitchen. I could always hear her moving around in there and hear water running and stuff. So I peeked in and what do you think? CJ puts down some fresh chicken livers for me. I ain’t never sayin’ NO to fresh chicken livers. That was kind of it. I moved into the house and I’ve been here ever since.

Did you know that feral cats are willing to adopt a human if you get them young enough and treat them nice? It’s a fact. I got me a pretty good human.