Our orange kitty, Freddie, is quite the cat.  He is the “Official Band Cat” of the kids’ high school band and has his own Facebook page and lots and lots of friends.  He is named after the late Freddie Mercury, front man for Queen, and like Mr. Mercury, due to a certain operation, has absolutely no interest in the females of his species.

He’s not gay unlike, at last count, four cats Scooby and I see on our various neighborhood walks.  These four cats, all male, live at different locations but when they see me and my Jack Russell Terrier coming down the sidewalk they  run, yes, run to greet us and shamelessly throw their slutty selves at Scooby’s feet as if he were the homosexual feline equivalent of Brad Pitt, Johnny Depp and Adrian Peterson all wrapped up in one.

And Scooby’s reaction?  Well, if it were possible for a brown and white dog to blush, he would.  If he could find a nearby hole to jump in and hide, he would dive headfirst.   It is quite impossible to remain a canine smoldering hunk of virile manhood while getting snuggled by a gay cat.  Just can’t be done.

Freddie usually reserves his only interaction with Scooby for waiting until Scooby is sound asleep on the sofa then sneaking up on him, swatting his nose as if to say “tag” and then scampering off cackling his evil little kitty laugh.

But even Freddie has his limits.

The other night I brought in both Scooby and Scully for a relaxing evening of watching television with me.  Freddie had already staked out a spot on the sofa that Scully usually sleeps on so I put Scully at the other end.

Scully recently turned 12 and despite her advanced age, hasn’t really changed.  You know how they say to adopt a rescue or shelter dog because they will always be grateful?  Bull doo-doo.  Scully has never been grateful a day in her life.  She is quite convinced, and I guess rightfully so, the day she adopted us was our luckiest day ever.  She’s blind, diabetic, has Cushing’s disease and arthritis but still charges into daily life as if she were a puppy.  Sometimes I will call her and she won’t be able to figure how to get out of an area of the yard so I’ll have to go save her.  I’ll pick her up and she’ll wrap a paw around one of my arms to hang on like a koala but instead of acknowledging the rescue, she’ll act as if she has found me. 

The rule of a diabetic is lots of water in, lots of water out.  On her short daily walks, she’ll stop to wee every three steps.  It doesn’t matter that she has emptied the load at the first stop; she’ll still go through the motions anyway and don’t even think of rushing her as she does her imaginary business. 

So it wasn’t long after I brought her in that night that she started acting like she wanted a drink.  I brought her the water bowl and, like with everything else, she attacked it with great enthusiasm.

Freddie squinted open an eye in great disapproval of her lack of manners in slurping her water.  Scully did not care.

Because Scully is so zealous with water, she follows her refreshment with several minutes of hacking coughs none of which are in the least bit ladylike or polite.

This evening was no exception and Freddie grew more and more disturbed with each outburst.

KA-hoff!  One eye popped open in a glaring fashion.

KA-haaaack, koff, koff.  Both eyes wide open with anger visible.

KAA-HOCK!  Eyebrows raised, ears back, teeth beginning to show.

Then, because Scully had enjoyed her water with such gusto, not all of that gusto was released orally.  From her nether regions, specifically near the fluffy tail stub end, came a note.  It was a note of such high pitch and such clarity, glass was in danger of shattering.  It was a note that would make any opera diva turn green with envy.  It was a note that, perhaps, even Freddie Mercury himself was incapable of reaching even on a good night.

FWEEEEET went Scully into Freddie’s face.  Freddie’s body rose and while levitated, turned 180 degrees and managed to relocate himself from the living room sofa to the far corner of the dining room without touching the actual floor once.

Scully, upon realizing the kitty persona was missing, stretched her tiny body the entire four feet of the length of the sofa generously leaving the entire floor for me to sit on while watching television.

But I couldn’t find anything on the networks or cable that was more entertaining than my pets.