Catzilla

There was a time when I thought Garfield was a strange aberration of Jim Davis' vivid imagination. I have had cats all my life. And while they all have unique personalities, never once was one surly or acerbic and not one of them ever took an interest in lasagne as a food staple. Then I met Catzilla.

His given name (I can't say ‘real' since cats don't have any real names) is Lucky. That in itself is joke enough. Come to think of it, I guess he is pretty lucky: lucky I can still find some sympathy for him. Lucky is the cat from Hell. And Lucky is still lucky to have a home at all.

If I sound unsympathetic, please understand. This is the cat who, upon joining my household, promptly decided to take a dump on my dining room floor; who refused to go outside (literally as well as figuratively) until the weather turned nicer. This, in January -- a long time between bathroom breaks by any mammal's reckoning. From the moment I took him in, we did not get along. For one thing, Lucky came to us with a past.

In fact the reason he came to us at all was that Lucky could not be trusted to behave himself in a multi-cat household. That is, he was dangerous to other cats. Though it was never proven, it was strongly suspected that he had starved two previous co-habitating cats to death. The evidence is this: another cat came to live with him, that cat gradually grew thinner and weaker; then it died. End of story. This happened not once, but twice. That's not a conviction. But it was enough circumstantial evidence to make his previous owner look for a new home when he, the owner (not the cat), moved in with his new wife and her cats. Starting a new relationship by having your cat kill your spouse's is not generally a good idea.

I didn't mind. Having no animals since my divorce I did not see his overly-enthusiastic penchant for territory as a problem. I chalked it up to his previous owner insisting he remain inside at all times, heightening his territoriality. If he was allowed to go outside again, I reasoned, he would loosen up. Wrong.

I don't know that any of the other cats in the area have been seriously effected, but the small-game population in our area has taken a real nose-dive. After having him for some time, I realized why. This cat eats like a horse!

He had always been fed dry cat food. But once, feeling charitable and seeing canned cat food on sale, I bought a package of four cans. He wiped out three in one sitting! And I don't mean those tiny gourmet cat food cans. I mean the 5 oz. ones. He didn't eat them like a normal cat, either, taking a few nibbles now and leaving the rest for later. Oh, no. When he received the first can, he gulped it down in four or five swallows. Then he came back, begging for more. Humoring him (or so I thought), I opened another can. That was gobbled down almost as fast. It wasn't until he polished off the third can that his appetite lagged. Now I see why he starved those other cats. He eats like a dog!

As for personality -- he IS Garfield. He doesn't purr, has no desire to be petted and one takes their life in their hands trying to hold him! As for communication, I am sure the only reason he doesn't talk is that he feels we are beneath any efforts at conversation -- a few ‘meows' to get what he wants is all he will allow.

Recently a friend offered to give us a kitten. I would love it, but that's the trouble. Even if I could guard it night and day, I'm sure Lucky would find a way to bully it out of food and rob it of all peace of mind. No. It would be too cruel to expose an innocent kitten to the likes of him. Now, a bull terrier might stand a chance -- maybe.

Oh, by the way: His favorite food? Spaghetti. Garfield lives in the form of a very Lucky Catzilla!--mo

(Addendum: shortly after writing this piece, Lucky had a life-altering experience. Basically, he got a puncture wound, which erupted... and made him very sick. I discovered this at about 5:30 p.m. that afternoon... and proceeded to travel half-way across NJ to find a vet who was open at that hour. We, Lucky and I, ended up in an all-night veterinarian hospital... and he was saved.

After that experience, it was obvious he saw I had more value than simply a food source when the local small game is low. And, yes, he's still with me, even sitting on my lap on cold winter nights. We've moved since then and he stays inside most of the time now... he's going to celebrate his "lucky 13th" birthday this October.