The Woodmeister

This is a belated Happy Birthday to my faithful cat buddy Woody. Woody turned twenty last month. Yep, twenty. He was named after Woody Guthrie, of course. His older brother was named after Arlo Guthrie, who we got a day or two after seeing Arlo perform. It was just a foregone conclusion that Woody would be Woody. He has been called by many a moniker, The aforementioned Woodmeister, The Woodster, The Woodboy, Woodrow Bolinski, The Woodman, Woodycat, Trailer Trash, and Bitch.

And, Woody really is trailer trash. Me and the woman got Wood from a trailer park that was off of Sawyer Brown Road on the property where the Bellevue Mall is. A friend of hers had a litter that they were trying to thin out. When we went into the trailer all the kittens were milling about and doing the kitten thing. All except one, and he was sitting on the top of a recliner intently watching pro-wrestling on the television. "That's the one we want right there" we said almost in unison, laughing.

Woody lives with Devil Cat Zeke (yep, the fourteen pounder). Actually, I should say that he tolerates the presence of Zeke in our territory. Wood's not as quick as he once was, not as hefty, and nor is he as patient. But boy is he a crotchety old bastard.

The drama usually starts during morning coffee while I'm checking e-mails and the weather, when Woody strolls up to Zeke and thrusts his forehead into the vicinity of Zeke's mouth. The general premise of this being, wash my face you bitch, and don't forget the ears. Zeke will do this for a minute or two, then he'll stop and stick his forehead out for similar treatment. Woody don't have none of that, he just extends and places a fore paw between Zeke's eyeballs and does this goofy moewll/growl thing. Then they do this Mexican stand-off for a bit, and then it's on.....

Zeke reciprocates with the same fore paw move, and then, being the bulldozer that he is he'll bowl Woody right over. They cruise and squirm around for a minute or two like that, and get in a couple of rounds of boxing. Then Zeke inevitably gets pissed, lays them ears back and wants to go for real.

Bad move Big Boy. Zeke has not gotten a handle on that term about old age and treachery. It doesn't matter that Woodrow is sixteen years his senior and nine pounds lighter. I think The Woodmeister may have an advantage in that he was an indoor and outside cat for the first four years of his life. I think that makes a difference, because when Woody decides that they're done with the fisticuffs, then they're by-god done with the fisticuffs. He has a way of going all Tasmanian devil and it always seems to surprise Zeke. The fur will fly and then Woody will chase him downstairs and Zeke has to run for cover. Woody will show back up in a couple minutes and let me pet him for a bit, and then he'll continue his morning bath on his own.

Happy Belated Birthday Woody, I sure hope there's many more.....you're a hoot.