Dammnit, Jack!

The pile of destroyed Brodart covers littering the floor was bad enough. The blood he got on my background sheet in the light box was bad enough, too. I'm still not sure how he managed to scrape all that skin off his chin.

But this morning, in a coup de grâce, he decided to leap onto the top of the light box. Why he thought this was a good idea eludes me. I'm sure he had his reasons. He is, after all, a cat.

"He" is Jack, of course. Bane of my existence. Drainer of my wallet. And, unfortunately for me, the only cat around here I actually like. I was going to say he's the only cat I've ever liked, but that wouldn't be true. I was quite fond of Purdy, may she r.i.p., but Jack is the first cat to get under my skin since she passed.

And he was quite tricky about it.

He and his sister were about 3 months old when Jack suddenly went into seizures. A little background here - Jack was the result of our household being adopted by his mother, a small tailless tortoiseshell my neighbor had rescued. Her first litter consisted of Jack and Pumpkin. Her second litter resulted from her escape from the premises prior to her appointment with the vet. Those five were re-homed by the SPCA, and Hobbes was 'fixed'.

But we tolerated Hobbes, Jack and Pumpkin. I wasn't thrilled about it, but I figured we could deal with them. It was easier than trying to find someone else willing to deal with them. I thought. And then the seizures started. First I took him to the Animal Hospital behind my house. Turns out, they close on weekends, so they sent him to the animal hospital a few miles down the road. They hooked Jack up to an IV, gave him meds, and waited.

The next day, he was better, and I was about $600 in the hole. So I bring him home, feed him, and he promptly goes into seizures. That's when I realized it was the cat food. Duh. His mom and sis just went psycho and acted like they were chasing invisible mice when they ate it. I thought all cats did that. But Jack was sensitive, and he seized every time.

So we pitched the canned Friskies (after filing a complaint), and I began trying different brands on them - this was during that big cat food scare about a couple of years ago, and Friskies had not been listed as contaminated, but it was. Eventually, I found he could (and would) eat the Whiskas in the foil pouches. We now go through two boxes a week. The little bastard wouldn't eat dry food if he was starving - we've tried starving him.

This is a testament to how attached I am to this little heathen. I spend a small fortune on his food. I tolerate his whining. I forgive him for all the stupid crap he does. But this morning, he outdid himself.

He hopped up on the secretary next to the photo table. Before I could begin to stop him, he made a leap for the top of the light box - a flimsy, but normally adequate construction created from a cardboard box and many sheets of tracing paper. I use it to photograph the books I'm trying to sell. I was about to use it this morning. To put a few books on Fleabay.

Instead, I had to reconstruct three sides of it. In between cursing Jack. At this point, I need a nap. Or a drink.

Anybody want a cat?