The Eddie Haskelling of Donna

Gaston on Catnip

This began, I believe, on the day Rocco showed up with his gigantic gaping head wounds. Gaston witnessed the big Fuss Over Rocco which ensued. He saw the tuna, treats, catnip and then some more tuna that Rocco received. Gaston noticed the cozy, fleece cat cave, the rug and rag remnants I put down for our feral warrior.

It gave him ideas.

Gaston's crib

Mind you, I also set up an enclosure, WITH pillows, for Gaston on one of the shelves of my porch clay wedging table. In the winter months, I wrapped the sides in plastic to keep the snow and rain out.

Even with all that, it was clear that Gaston understood that Rocco was His Royal Catness of the Kingdom of Porch.

At the morning meal, G would look up at me, all Oliver Twist 'Please sir, I want some more.'  And, oh please, the pitiable face that went with this! He'd blink these big, green, damp saucer eyes up at me -- the orphan in the storm just asking for a slim crust of bread but 'that can of Fancy Feast Grilled Tuna Feast would be infinitely better. K, tx.'

King Rocco of Porch

Fast forward to early Spring. Gaston showed up one morning with a wee scratch across his nose and a bad limp. He wasn’t using his left front paw at all. Not while I was watching him anyway.

‘Christ on kibble,’ I thought ‘the damned beast’s going all plucky, lame Tiny Tim on me now!’

He made huge shows of lameness in front of Jen and Oni....as long as they had their eyes on him anyway.

I felt I was being played BUT there was no way to know for sure without catching his feral little butt and hauling him, yowling to bring down the heavens of course, to the vet. The Amazing Bob suggested we wait a few days. We did and, sure enough, after a few tuna and catnip filled days, our boy Gaston was running, leaping and creeping around all fine and dandy-like.

Greta, looking for her percentage of the take

The cat grift hasn’t stopped just because he’s NOT all lame. In fact, I think he’s got Greta playing the Let’s Eddie Haskell the Old Broad game now.

Lately, each morning, there’s a caterwaul fest on the porch. Naturally this escapes my notice but it wakes TAB. He dashes downstairs to alert me, to get me to go out and calm the herd. Which I do. Armed with catnip and treats. And more Fancy Feast. They both look up, each giving me their best 'I'm just a poor, pitiable orphan who wouldn't EVER give any offense!' mien.

Now, being well past needing the act, the shtick, the play, I just shrug. Shrug and give them each their portion of catnip and treats.

Hi, my name is Donna and I'm a total cat mark.