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Whirled Peas … Hours of amusement: My wife’s cat plays fetch

By Dennis Carlson

My wife’s cat plays fetch like a dog. He brings toys, paper wads, fuzz, pencils and anything else he can find to her and drops it. He waits for her to throw it, gets it and brings it back so she’ll throw it again.
A lot of what he does reminds me of a dog. He waits by the door for us to return home and spins in little circles while he waits for his breakfast.  He sleeps on the fireplace hearth.
However, it is pretty obvious that he won’t be much good against burglars. He has a sweet little meow that sounds like a beep that I doubt is going to scare anyone.
What he does have is claws. Great pointed hooks he uses at inopportune times to get attention. Like the morning I was standing at the toilet and he climbed my leg like a tree and stopped mid-thigh to see what I was doing. His bathroom investigations almost cost him dearly when he dove head first into a flushing toilet. Don’t ask how he gets through the door.

Charles Darwin, above, is credited with saying “A mathematician is a blind man in a dark room looking for a black cat which isn’t there.”

My wife had to defend our Christmas tree with a squirt bottle. I think he liked it because he kept coming back.
He sneezes snot in streams with little regard for hygiene. He’s a tiny cat but his gas emissions belie his size. Think truck drivers, burrito platters, day-old coffee and beer. We are afraid to light candles.
He seems to get a burst of energy at bedtime. He hides under the corner of the bed ruffle and attacks passing feet.  He crashes through the bed covers like a scimitar-flailing whirling dervish.
One night we banished him to the hallway but brought him back in when he started broadcasting attack plans in Morse code with his claws on the door.
He loves to play ice hockey on the kitchen floor, tearing around with all paws flying, viciously body-checking imaginary opponents into the cabinets.
He attacks paper wads, fuzz, feet, shoestrings and anything else near floor level with the gusto of a lion on the Serengeti. He keeps a collection on the hearth.  A feather on a stick gets drug around like a wildebeest carcass.
I’m trying to find a reason why I am writing all of this. I guess it’s good to remember when God gives you a gift like a hockey-playing fuzz-fetching cat.

Dennis Carlson of Holt is an electronics technician for BNSF Railway. He previously worked in aviation and is a U.S. Navy veteran. He enjoys fishing, motorcycles and woodworking, and if he had just one wish it would be for Whirled Peas.

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