Feline Catastrophes by Victor S E Moubarak

Mixed into my literary reading I try to strategically place something that is a little less weighty, something that unwinds the tension of cerebral knots.  Something to have fun with.  And yet it has to also must be of quality.  It can’t be junk.  Such are Victor Moubarak’s books.

You might recognize Victor as one of the people who frequently comment on my blog.  We’ve kind of built up an internet friendship.  I get a real kick out his blog, Time For Reflections.  

Two years ago such a relaxing book was Victor’s The Priest and the Prostitute, which I dedicated a post to here.  Last year was his collection of short stories, Feline Catastrophes, which I now want to highlight.  While each short story stands alone as its own story, the collection is a themed set of short stories relating to a narrator, his family, and his pets, especially his cat.  The very first story, “Know Your Place,” presents the theme:

Let me tell you about our household. There’s the family and me, the dog and the cat. Ah … and the goldfish. Mustn’t forget the goldfish! There are two of them happily swimming in the tank in the living room. Normally they would come at the end of our list of priorities in the hierarchy that is our household. But not here … in our home the lowest position is reserved for me. And right there at the top is … our cat!

What we get is man’s relationship to cat: cat on top, man on the bottom with the dog thrown in for good measure as a contrast.

A guard dog he definitely is not. I reckon if we were unfortunate enough to have burglars he’d quickly show them where I hide my stash of chocolates. And if they came by night, he’d hold the flashlight for them and lead the way.

The cat on the other hand is totally different. He is mischievous, devious, scheming and conniving. And cunning too!

So we have the dumb dog, the crafty cat, and the unfortunate man.  It makes for good and humorous story.

For instance, the narrator—I picture Victor himself as I read since all the stories are told in first person from the man’s perspective—decides to put in a cat flap to the door since he’s tired of having to open the door at the cat’s behest.

That’s when I decided to fit a cat flap to the back door. You know the kind of thing I mean … It’s a small aperture the size of a cat with a swinging little door hinged from the top which opens and shuts both ways depending on whether his Majesty is entering or leaving his palace.

But fitting a cat flap is one thing. Teaching a stupid cat to use it is another. He continued his old habit of jumping at the door expecting us to open it for him. So I had to teach him how to use the new contraption fitted especially for his convenience and our peace of mind.

And then the narrator tried to physically teach the cat by pushing him through the flap.

Eventually the cat wanted out again. So I picked him up and stood him by the cat flap and slowly pushed him forward towards it. He stiffened his legs gripping into the carpeted floor as if his life depended on it. The more I pushed, gently of course, the more he fought back eventually turning on his back like an acrobat and scratching my arms.

Finally I managed to get him through the cat flap and out in the garden. But minutes later he wanted in again. He started jumping at the door. I went down on my hands and knees inside the kitchen and called him in. No response. He was still there jumping forwards and backwards towards the door thinking it was a new game to play. I put my hand through the cat flap to encourage him to come towards me. No use.

I put my head through the cat flap to show him it was me calling him … and that’s when matters got worse. My head got stuck in the cat flap. I could not move it forwards or backwards as I lay there flat on the kitchen floor seeing from the corner of my eye the cat walk away in disdain whilst the dog could be heard snoring in front of the TV. No point in shouting for help … there was no one at home at the time.

And the story goes on.  Another good story is “Mrs. Felix,” the name of the narrator’s next door neighbor.  She is an elderly woman whose budgie (a Britishism for a parakeet—Victor is British and lives somewhere in the north of England) has died and has asked the narrator to help dig a burial place in the back yard.

I entered the house and she showed me a little cardboard box which once contained biscuits. There, lying peacefully on its side on a bed of soft cotton wool was Churchill. All three inches of him.

I took the box from her hands and its cover and followed her in the back garden. She chose a nice shady place by a tree and decided to bury him there. I put the box and its lid on the garden table and followed her to the shed to get a spade.

And just then it happened … catastrophe of all catastrophes.

Out of the bushes came my own stupid cat from next door. He pounced on the table, grabbed Churchill in its mouth and ran away. It all happened so quickly in slow motion … like it often does in the movies.

You’ll have to read the rest.  All I will say is that the cat is seen at the end licking his lips.

I think my favorite of the stories is titled “The Armchair.”  The narrator’s rich uncle decided to give the family a gift, an armchair.

Not a normal type of armchair mind you … no, this was an inflatable armchair. And not the kind you inflate with air … it would take ages and strong lungs to inflate something this size. No, this armchair had to be filled with water. It’s like a water bed but armchair shaped. And it’s in the most hideous blue plastic colour.

With the gift was a short note from Uncle Herbert saying “I saw this in the shop and thought of you.”

WHY? Why would an oversized fluorescent blue inflatable armchair lead a kind, albeit somewhat demented old man, think of me? Do I look fat and wobbly maybe? I never even wear blue, so what led him to buy it for us?

Anyway … one has to be kind I suppose, and as Uncle Herbert is visiting again next week we decided to inflate the armchair with gallons and gallons of water. It must have emptied three local lakes to fill it.

I have to say Victor’s imagination is just rich.  Now what kind of trouble can one get into with a devious and malicious cat and a water armchair? 

So there was I yesterday sitting uncomfortably in this huge blue lagoon moving from side to side when I eventually fell asleep. There was nothing good on TV except the dust accumulated by the static. As I lay there sleeping, dreaming of being on a Pirate’s Ship with Captain Blue Beard no doubt, when suddenly my dream turned into Titanic.

LOL, they are all extremely funny.  And what’s great is that Victor’s books are very inexpensive and some even free.  Feline Catastrophes is a free download, and you get it here.  Just scroll down to the book.    

Finally I’ll provide some pictures of my cat.  If you’re a reader of my blog you might remember we found a kitten by the side of our house last May ad took him in.  Well he’s nearly eleven months old now and are some pictures of our cunning cat.

Here he is resting on our bed as if he were king.

Here he is lurking and playful.

And here resting on his perch, no doubt scheming.

Actually he's been a joy.

Lines I Wished I’d Written: How the Cat Works

I have not been reading much this whole summer.  I’ve gotten lazy and the evenings are taken up with following baseball, my sports love.  But I have been reading the ASPCA Complete Guide to Cats, and found an interesting and well written chapter titled, “How the Cat Works.”  I’ll post some parts of the chapter, subsection’s title which I put in bold.

How the Cat Works

In the words of Leonardo da Vinci, “the smallest feline is a masterpiece.”  The cat is one of nature’s most elegant examples of form following function.  The design of the feline physique is perfectly suited to a predatory carnivore’s needs: detecting, pursuing, catching, killing, eating, and digesting prey.  In fact, the cat’s basic form has changed relatively little since wildcats first appeared some 30 million years ago.  The many species that now inhabit the world’s jungles forests, deserts, couches, and armchairs all follow the same basic blueprint.  Although most domestic shorthairs aren’t likely to catch anything more exotic than a few extra hours of sleep, today’s pet cat is built very much like its wild relatives.

Framework: Bones and Muscles

As any cat owner knows simply by watching, the cat is built for grace, flexibility, and power.  From a sitting start, it can jump up to nine times its own height.  It can make its chest and shoulders narrower, to squeeze through almost impossible tight spaces.  It can sleep curled into the shape of a letter O and, immediately upon awakening, stretch and form an inverted C, pressing the chest almost to the floor.

Sinuous Spine

Where does the cat get its remarkable elasticity, both in motion and at rest?  The first place to look is the animal’s spine.  Because cats’ vertebrae are flexibly connected and have particularly elastic cushioning disks between them, the feline spine is extremely supple.  A cat’s ability to right itself in midair so that it can land on its feet and to make rapid changes in direction while pursuing or capturing prey are both made possible by the flexibility of its spine. 

The flexibility of the cat’s spine also contributes to its fluidity and speed as a runner.  To reach top speed—about thirty miles an hour—a domestic cat depends on its spine as much as its feet and leg muscles.  When running, cats can lengthen their stride, and thus increase their speed, by alternately extending and flexing their vertical column.  When the cat’s feet push off to start a new stride—the claws serving as spikes for traction—the cat’s body stretches to its maximum length.  The cat’s running style thus resembles a series of elongated jumps or bounds.  The cat increases its speed by lengthening its stride with each bound, until every stride carries it about three times the length of its own body.  Many other mammals, especially humans, rely on a more pistonlike sprinting style, in which the key factor is how often the feet make contact with the ground.

Stretching and Squeezing

Another special feature that contributes to feline flexibility is the tiny, rudimentary collarbone, which helps cats lengthen their stride when sprinting by allowing them to extend their forelegs fully.  The lack of a long, anchored collarbone (as humans have) gives cats the ability to squeeze through tight openings by literally compressing themselves to fit the available space.  Moreover, the feline shoulder blade is attached to the rest of the body only by muscles, not bone.  This gives the shoulder blade tremendous freedom to move as the cat moves, enhancing the cat’s flexibility and grace and extending its long running stride. 

Legs and Toes

Whether running or walking, cats land on their toes.  Such digitigrade locomotion is the hallmark of a sprinter.  Animals that land on their full soles of their feet, using plantigrade locomotion, are better suited to sustain exertion.  Bears and humans, for example, have a plantigrade footfall.  Cats hunt using great bursts of speed (after which they often end up panting). 

The spring in a cat’s legs is phenomenal, thanks in part to the construction of its hip, knee, and ankle joints.  These joints have very little give from side to side.  They are very stable and strong and can withstand great force applied in one direction: forward.  When the cat’s hind leg muscles contract, the three joints extend in an instant, giving the animal enormous thrust to carry it either high or far.  The cat’s landing is cushioned by the thick pads on its feet, and by the bones of its feet and wrists, whose intricate construction makes a stable two-point landing on its forepaws possible. 

Explosive Power

One look at a cat in profiler provides an obvious clue as to why cats are such marvelous, explosive athletes.  In proportion to its overall body size, a cat’s hindleg muscles are enormous, as is its “launching pad,” an exceptionally long rear foot.  These anatomical features translate into tremendous power and mechanical advantage when a cat springs or leaps.

The cat’s particular type of athleticism may also come partly from many “fast-twitch-fatiguing” cells contained in its skeletal muscles.  As their names suggest, these cells produce explosive movement, but they use up their energy stores in a flash and tire easily—as does the cat, which has relatively few “slow-twitch” fibers to give it endurance.

Energy Conservation

Because cats lack the staying power of plantigrade long-distance runners, conserving energy is a must for them.  Even the way a cat walks can save energy, as the contralateral gait cats sometimes use—left hindfoot moving more or less in tandem with the right forefoot, and right hindfoot moving with the left forefoot—is mechanically very efficient.

The best energy-saving strategy, of course, is to stay put, and cats are masters at it.  Their brain chemistry makes it possible for them to spend more of their time asleep than awak.

Lightning Fast Nerves

When cats are awake, an intricate network of nerves radiating from the brain and the spinal cord operates in high gear, receiving and transmitting information and governing sensations, reflexes, and motor functions throughout the cat’s body.  The lightning speed at which the cat’s nervous system operates is illustrated by the well-known feline “righting reflex.”  Thanks to this and its remarkable flexible spine, a cat held feet upward and dropped will have its feet pointed downward, ready to land, before it has fallen twenty-four inches.

Dexterity

A cat’s wrist bones and their associated tendons and ligaments give the cat a measure of manual dexterity—not close to matching our own, or even a raccoon’s but enough to enable the cat to get mice out of hiding places (or food out its dish) with a handlike scooping motion and to hold onto trees.  This ability to pronate the wrist (carpus)—turn the bottom of the paw toward the midline of the body—is not common in the animal kingdom.  But then, neither are most creatures as graceful and nimble, yet powerful, as cats.

That’s enough for now.  Isn’t that fascinating?  It reminds me of an engineering project, only thing God being the engineer. 

Let me end this with a recent picture of Tiger, here sitting on the windowsill.  That sill is a good three feet off the ground and he makes a smooth calculated leap onto that less than two inch ledge. 

Isn't he a handsome kitten?  He's four months old now, and that picture was snapped three weeks ago.  I had to put a stop to him going on that ledge.  Early one morning, while the birds were chirping out there in the trees, he climbed up the window screen to the top.  It’s a good thing the screen didn’t fall out.