Life at the Cattery

Interviewer: How would you describe The Cattery, and where is it?

Nor: I would say it is a purrfectly wonderful place for senior felines who want to spend their remaining time in safety and comfort. As far as I know, it is outside of Lemon Town in the land of IA. I say that because each day we are served fresh lemonade and all those lemons must come from some place close by.

What are living conditions like?

Each resident has a condo consisting of two compartments, one for daytime lounging and one for nighttime rest, plus space for evening snacks, storage of toys and accessories, and our own private litter box. The building itself has a lobby area with a firepit, an eating area, a food prep area, a snack bar (for late evening treats), some office space, and smaller lounging rooms we can use to entertain guests. All this is connected by wide hallways. 

Who operates the cattery?

The Chief Vet in charge. She looks after our general welfare, makes sure we get our annual shots, and gets our furballs picked up. She also gives each of us an occasional tummy-rub so we know someone cares about us. She has some help to do all this—they are called Cert Vet Aides. Primarily, though, they look after the “lost” cats—that is, the cats who have “lost” some of their feline skills and abilities and, therefore, need a little bit of help to get through the day.  The Chief Vet always looks out for our best interests and does everything in her power to protect us from harm.

There is also the Greeter. She greets: prospective residents, visitors, guests, new residents, and so on. Her warm smile tells them all that this is a right friendly place. 

Also, there’s the Event Arranger. I don’t know exactly what she does, but from time to time, small groups of outsiders arrive to entertain us in the lobby. Also, she gets us transported into town when the townsfolk celebrate their annual Daffodil Day by doing their Daffy Dance in the streets, an event that greatly amuses us. I do know that her laughter echoes up and down the halls in an entertaining way, although whether she is laughing at us or with us, I can’t say.

Next is the Food Prep Chef, who oversees the prep and operating area. We have two meals a day: one in the morning, which we are free to go to whenever we get up; the second—later in the day—we are notified of by the whirring of the can openers. You can bet that sound gets our attention. The FP Chef is always looking for ways to demonstrate her culinary skills. For example, during National Cat Week, she prepares such delicacies as mousetail soup, mouse cordon bleu, and avian medley. She always receives a deep-throated purr of contentment for her efforts. The morning repast is basically self-serve with about six dry food choices and a variety of breakfast delicacies that we can eat in the area or take back to our condo for later consumption. The second meal is served by the FP Chef’s Ninjas-in-Training. I call them that because, first of all, they glide silently among us clad in black pajamas and soft-soled shoes. Secondly, they deftly remove empty dishes and, just as smoothly, replace them with full ones. And, thirdly, they disappear into the woodwork in one part of the area and suddenly reappear from out of the woodwork in another. The food they bring us satisfies the most fancy-feaster, meow-mixer, and cat-chower among us finicky felines.

Once a week, four or five house elves magically appear in my condo with cleaning supplies. They flit in and flit-flit tidy up, straighten my rumpled bed, sanitize my litter box, vacuum, and flit-flit are gone, leaving everything shipshape for me to enjoy for another week. They are very thorough and professional as they flit and chatter while doing their tasks. All this flitting is not done willy-nilly but, based on the masterful guidance of the Clean Condo Chief, keeps us snug and comfortable.

Others I’ve seen around are: the Tool Guy, who keeps us warm in the winter and cool in the summer. He’s also friendly, and I see him carrying his tools or pushing a “fix-up tool cart” on his missions. He’s very competent and well-liked by all. The Fur Collector—she guides a large machine to collect the fur we shed as we prance and cavort (I use the term “cavort” loosely since we are all on our eighth or ninth life, but I digress) and she is serious about her work but always has a smile for us as we pass. The Trimmers come from the Great Beyond, so the long hairs among us don’t get too shaggy. I understand there is an extra charge for their services, but it must be worth it because I always hear lively conversation and laughter as I pass the shop area.

What about the other residents?

They are a purrfectly fine bunch of friendly felines, but they do have one unusual characteristic.

What is that?

Well, I’ve known a lot of different cats in my time, hip, hep, jive, cool, and alley, to name a few, but never before have I met any who called themselves “dutch.” A new one to me, not that there is anything wrong with that. It’s just a category I’m not used to. I guess what really disturbs me is their preference for a food combination—raisin bread and cheese—that is something, if you’ll pardon the expression, I really can’t stomach. They look at it as a delicacy, so I’ll say no more. After all, they seem to have accepted my “outlandish” ways. The least I can do is accept their food choices so long as I don’t have to eat any RB&C myself. So, if they are happy being “dutch,” I’m happy for them. (Although, just between you and me, a few of them have whispered to me behind raised paws that they, in fact, are not “dutch.” But I’ll keep their secret.)

Nor, what about you? Where did you come from?

My handler brought me.

Your handler? What does she do?

Well, duh. She handles things for me. After all, there is only so much these forepaws can do. Let me explain: My mate and I spent many of our lives in PHX in the Land of AZ. When my vision began to dim and she went into the Great Cat Nap from which there is No Return, Kim arranged for me to come to The Cattery. She packed my toys and accessories and trucked me and them here. I’ve been here over a year and am very well satisfied with my new surroundings.

Any last words for our readers, Nor?

Only this—For all you mid-life cats out there, you won’t go wrong if you consider making The Cattery on the edge of Lemon Town part of your future plans. To coin a phrase, it’s the real cat’s meow!

Note: Any similarity of descriptions in this article and residential life at Landsmeer Ridge Retirement Center is coincidental, accidental, incidental, and fictional. If you see such a resemblance, I urge you to get out of the catnip and immediately seek professional mental health help or find an appropriate 12-step program.