If you could take a swatch of fur, dip it in four cans of paint, nothing matching, put four legs on it, and add whiskers, you’d have a cat named Cali. She is the teen-aged daughter of my wife. Being a calico, this is a she-cat. Not many, if any, calico males in the world. Enough mischief and energy in this bottle rocket ball of fur to put her anywhere she wants to be, no matter how high. In the bedroom there is an armoire, 78 inches to the top, with two cat beds on it. She sleeps there as much as anywhere.
There are two other cats belonging to my wife, so the beds on top of the armoire are time-share between them. All three can be seen sleeping up there at some point in the day, just two at a time. But only Cali gets catered meals placed there. The other two are either eating or scamming for food, so they get run out of the room, so as to allow Cali unfettered access to her food.
Her full name is Cali Fur, but I am quick to add “Belsomra” in there somewhere. There’s an ad for a sleep aid called Belsomra, with a little foam rubber looking animal shaped in the word “sleep”. It moves and behaves much like a cat, and reminds us of Cali, so I added a second middle name-Belsomra.
As I said, she is the teen-ager in the house, without the tats, ugly jewelry in the face and bleached hair. Just a little bolt of lightning, whose first four steps forward on a wooden floor are acceleration, the rest are unintelligible thrusts at high speed from one end of a one story house to the other. When she is not asleep in the time-share penthouse, she is wrapped around her mom’s head in bed. She has lately adopted the habit of shooting a paw across the face of her human, while she is busy grooming the base of the jutting paw. Occasionally, her mom will raise the covers, and Cali will walk in, turn around and walk right back out. Along about the third or fourth time, she curls up in her “garage” and purrs.
But she likes me, too. Flirt that she is, when we are on the sofa, she thinks nothing of walking up my leg to walk over to her mom. At night, in bed, she is the feather weight mounted on my kneecaps, while she determines where she is going to go on her mom’s anatomy, all parts accessible, of course. She will let me pick her up, and love on her some, but the fuse is short for that. Only a second or two, and she wants outtathere!
When mom crashes in the bed and stays there, and I am not there, all of her kids with join her on the bed, but Cali will be close by, between mom’s head and the headboard. Mom is not tall, so there’s plenty of room off either end in bed. Cali will be at the head, Kitty Girlfriend takes the other end, and Muffin will take whatever space is left on the queen-size bed. I have a picture of this arrangement. I call it Mom’s Mafia!
All three of them have to jump to a dresser top, and then up to the penthouse. If somebody is already on the near bed, then the jumper has to cross that bed, usually to a hiss from the occupant. There’s another dresser on the other side, so the armoire has dual side access. BUT very often they will jump from floor to bed, to dresser, to penthouse, making for short jumps on one side. No matter, they can all do this, with deftness and grace. But Cali is the little brown bottle rocket that does it with speed! She is a little old lady with good leg muscles that put her in all the high places she can find! Hardly any weight or size to her, which is aerodynamically advantageous to this cat. She is, after all, a cat, and she has, as all cats do, staff to feed her, groom her, and watch her be herself. That’s Cali!