The Activist Cat

There was an Earth Rally on the Mall last Sunday, specifically to voice opposition to the Alaskan oil pipeline and to fracking.  Steve, who’s worked in ecology-related fields his entire career, wanted to open our house up for couch-surfing (offer out-of-town protesters a couch to sleep on, or in our case, a bed because I’m way over waking up to people littering the couches and floor). 

Protesters tend to be open, spontaneous people, and I was happy to fill our bedrooms.  Wumpus, though, Wumpus was, apparently, in his element.  Never have you seen an animal so amenable to political activism. 

Laura was the first to arrive and said she was delighted to have her cat fix.  Wumpus was all over her, scooching next to her on the couch and rubbing his cheeks against her purse.  When I went past her door on my way to change into pajamas, he was flopped out full length on her bed.  

 

“Really?   Really?!” I demanded.  In response, he smiled smugly and rolled over to show his belly.  

Saturday night I slept alone (well, except for Steve).  Usually Wumpus sleeps on the footsie blanket.  The footsie blanket is a crocheted afghan.  It's light and warm, and is perfect for an extra layer over the feet during cold nights.  Wumpus had pledged his undying -- let’s face it, almost obscene -- love to the footsie blanket.  He hops up on it every night, kneading and purring, purring and kneading.

 

As far as Saturday night, though, the footsie blanket and I may as well have been chopped liver.  Well, not chopped liver ,because cats love chopped liver and think it’s irresistible.  Wumpus ignored me, ME, the one who rescued him from the shelter; ME, who lets  him in and out a hundred times a day; ME, the hand that scoops his cat food!  I mean, I'm all for supporting political activism, but this led to outright betrayal. 

Saturday night opened with his shameless purring on Laura’s bed.  I thought he’d come to apologize at 11:30 when he visited  the footsie blanket ,but after 10 minutes, he thudded to the ground.  

 

Dan reported he curled up with him from 12:00 to 1:00.  Eileen was insulted he didn’t sashay through her door until early morning. 

Please note that these people left their doors ajar, if not blatantly luring a kitty in, at least showing a willingness to engage in a secret, dark-of-night snuggle.   However, I realize the choices and main culpability lie with Wumpus who broke my heart with his promiscuity.   It’s one thing for an animal to be gregarious and gentle.  No one really wants a cat who will scratch one’s visitors for looking at them (i.e., a cat like the dear, departed Elaine).  You want a cat who is affectionate and gregarious. 

 

But my cat Wumpus?  Wumpus is a slut.