My Real Memoir
Well, here I am talking about cats again. We didn’t actually look for cats. They would just show up, and say, “I live here now, and you’re going to feed me.” What the heck, they were free, and most of them were pretty affectionate.
Except for Fat Cat. Mr. B and Ginchy liked us, they really liked us. Not Fat Cat. He avoided us like the mange. But every now and then he would suddenly remember how deeply he loved us.
It was when Mom cooked chicken for dinner.
We ate in the den because we were committed to spending quality time every evening…with the TV. While Mom loaded our plates onto a tea cart, Dad would pull a gateleg table (made by the same people who built medieval drawbridges) out of the closet. Then he would lift the Formica flaps, activate the 416 interlocking cast iron legs, and voila: the perfect 9,000 pound eating surface from which to view Bonanza.
As soon as we sat down, Fat Cat would adopt his “I love humans soooo much!” look and jump up into Dad’s lap, then curl up and (seemingly) fall asleep. But seconds later his right front paw would levitate, and as soon as it found Dad’s plate, would begin fishing for fowl. Splunk. Mashed potatoes. Ew! Shake-a, shake-a. Resume reconnaissance. Then the mission would be cut short by a friendly poke from Dad’s fork. Fat Cat would jump down, acutely offended.
Then he would jump up into Mom’s lap and the ritual would begin again: Lap. Nap. Levitating paw. Fork. Squeak. This would continue until he’d been kicked off every lap.
After dinner, Mom would roll away the tea cart while Dad began closing the gate legs and lowering the drawbridge flaps.
As the only child, my job was to supervise. One particular night, while Dad was carrying the hulking table toward the closet, I spotted a strange aberration: four extra feet. And unlike the others, these had claws, claws that were frantically trying to help the table “walk.” As Dad passed, I looked between the flaps and saw…
Fat Cat. Neatly folded into the legworks. And looking seriously peeved. Being the deeply compassionate child I was, I instantly sprang into action, i.e.,
I fell on the floor laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Dad asked.
I pointed between the flaps: “He…the cat…hah-hah-hah-hah!”
Dad looked for himself. A moment later he landed on top of me, guffawing like a madman.
Mom came rushing in. “What’s going on?” Dad pointed: “He…the ca…hah-hah-hah-hah!” She looked between the flaps at the irate cat slowly working his way through the legworks, and…
Whump! She landed, on top of both of us, chortling uncontrollably.
It was the hardest my family ever laughed (our stomachs still hurt the next morning).
Fat Cat was not amused.
He did, however, graciously forgive us…
The next time Mom cooked chicken.
Note: to complete this two-part parable,
Mitch Teemley 
Love this. Kitty stories are the best and this is so well told!
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Thank you!
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Great story!!! Made me laugh and give thanks for Fat Cat, the storyteller and all things that bring a smile. Thank-you.
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My pleasure, Teressa.
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That cat was a real cat. He knew how to get what he wanted. A lovely story of a family dinner with Fat Cat
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Thank you.
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Lol poor fat cat! Although with a name like that it sounds like he did ok in the chicken department!
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Yes, he earned it.
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That’s too funny. Pets do love table food. But getting folded in the table in his quest for it? Hilarious.
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Well, now my stomach hurts from laughing so hard at your post!! 😀 😀 😀
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But good-hurt, right, Liz? ;>)
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Absolutely! As an added benefit, a good belly laugh is worth a hundred sit-ups. (I just made that up.)
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Ah, well, then that’ll be $100 for personal fitness coaching, please. (Just made that up.)
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The best laugh I’ve had in months. Thanks. Mitch. Now I just have to remember that if I fall on the floor laughing it will take two EMT’s and the Fire Department to get me back up, so I’m still laughing from the relative safety of my chair. I MUST send this one to my kids, all cat lovers as well.
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Do what you must. ;>)
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I just re-posted this to Facebook with the message “All cat lovers will appreciate this one”. Also mentioned you as the author, of course.
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Thank you!
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The pictures is unbelievable.
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Great story. It will get passed around—a lot!
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Thank you!
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Poor cat. I take it he wasn’t hurt. We’re talking before Twitter…otherwise I can see that making a video or gif.
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No, only his dignity was injured.
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Love it
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I can relate to this! I had a cat that would sit on the empty kitchen chair and stealthily fish for food. He was very dainty and you’d never even suspect that something had been taken… He was omnivorous and would eat anything that he could snag – french fries, pancakes, toast, cookies, but bacon was a favorite. To avoid having it all eaten before we sat down, it was placed in the center of the table!!!
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Ya gotta do what ya gotta do.
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You succeeded in making me laugh too, Mitch, and I’m sitting here all by myself. Your mom’s chicken must have been fantastic for Fat Cat to take a chance on another squashing!
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;>)
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Great story, Mitch.
C. S. Lewis described dogs and cats as like the Pharisee and the publican in Luke 18, the cat being the Pharisee(hypocrite). How true. I love the “shamed dog” pictures, but I’ve never seen a photo of a shamed cat. They don’t get ashamed, they just get (rhymes with “hissed “) and as you say, they’re only nice when it benefits them.
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Oh, I don’t know, Annie. We’ve had some pretty sensitive little souls of the feline persuasion, although Fat Cat was certainly not one of them.
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Lil’ Chub Chub☺️
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Works for me. ;>)
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That’s hysterical! It’s amazing hoe much effort animals put into getting a little extra food….
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Awesome Gato! 😊
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lol I can almost see him in those table legs glowering while everyone was laughing their hearts out. Great imagery and descriptions. Thank-you for sharing this memory. ^_^
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;>)
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Ha! I can see him glowering!
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THAT GRAND FAT CAT—WHERE’s SHE AT?!
My fat cat often made me wonder where
she was at, if she just played tit-for-tat
large and black, she really did know well that
she lived with me, host, who really did care
for her health yet mistakenly would dare
to feed her foods that made her rather fat
which accompanied her as a real brat
along with her lasting, piercing, green stare.
Present with that often-adoring glare
were the frivolous acts of my sweet cat
and she could sometimes cause me a nightmare
in my life by after having just sat
in her ‘space,’ then just leave—guess who’d bear
the worry, why she was not on her mat?
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;>)
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