Paranoid Pussy Cats

By Yvonne Sherwell

Not just about cats—Stories weird, amusing, strange and maybe even true. The fascinating ways that humans can interact with animals wild, feral, domestic and stray. Tales sad, joyous, scary and funny. Taking you to exotic places: rivers, stables, ponds and bars, Las Vegas and Key West, the Meatpacking District and, especially, Greenwich Village, NYC.

These beasties can be as odd as the very humans they interact with, not only in appearance, such as huge red-eyed albino rats, or lavender-colored cats, but also in attitude: charming, over-friendly police dogs, a homicidal kitten, and a very smart fish.

Pour yourself a cup of tea, or a large gin and tonic, collapse into an easy chair and prepare to be intrigued and entertained. You'll never look at a pet store when you pass the same way again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Yvonne Sherwell
• Release date: Jul 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9781497737570

Yvonne Sherwell

Yvonne Sherwell, a performer who has been setting New York City's stages alight for decades, has been capitivated by various art forms: the theatre, TV, dance and cabaret. Having written cabaret shows for others as well as herself, Yvonne turned to the world of fiction with her debut novel, Paranoid Pip. Paranoid Pussy Cats is her first collection of short stories.

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DEDICATION

In loving memory of Christos Demakopolos

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Gerald Hansen, editor, author and inspiration. Rick Prol, artist and compelling genius. Talented and creative animal fanatics: Anita Chang, Bob Diamond, Cameron Fadjo, Ron Illardo, David Jarvis, Dr. Jay Kuhlman, Dale Lamb, Carol Lewis, James Miller, Candela Prol, Raymond Renault, Consuelo Serrano, Anthony Sherwell, Kathy Slawinski, Cynthia Crane and Ted Story, Jean Vallejo, Kit Weissberger and Doctor David and Gia Wolfe.

PARANOID PUSSY CATS

Their dog, the dear, nutty, talented Paranoid Pip, known as America's canine opera star. A singing dog, no less. He had been gone now for several years, buried in Hartsdale Cemetery, paid for by his legions of adoring fans.

After Dad's declaration, No more dogs! Who winds up walking them? At least twice a day, often Mom, even me! You kids, I should say now, adolescence, a million excuses. Not just school, but all the other stuff. Baseball, music, yoga, whatever.... No more dogs!

But a short time later, the kids would remember that he never mentioned cats. So before very long, they had no less than three stray, feral, fierce cats, found in the streets and alleys, huddled, half starved in trash and garbage can. Money spent in vets' offices, cleaning, examining, neutering.

The kids were delighted, and even Dad seemed to be fascinated with the three. But, naturally, he had to bluster about. Crazy household as usual. Here we go again. Not like dogs. Even Pip showed you some respect! But, no, for cats, we're just servants, staff!

The three cats were totally unique in personality, coloring and temperament. Tango, Spider and Cookie, to be exact. Tango and Spider were males, Cookie, the female, was the fiercest one of all (like all females). Tango was all black, thin with long legs and tail, graceful, menacing. Looking, indeed, that any minute he might start to dance. He attached himself eventually, to Tony. Spider was mostly white, but with a black mask across his eyes, black tail with a white tip at the end of it, and seemed to trust Rick. Cookie was a calico, black, white, and orange, and ran riot all over her small body. Carla was delighted that this cat seemed, as Mom would say, She cleaves onto you. dear.

But Dad would say, as usual, Stop the Shakespeare for heaven's sake, crazy household as usual!

As time went by, the cats were at first mistrusting, wary, but then began to settle in, each one gradually making the premises their turf. You'd just better believe it! Among themselves, they would, all of a sudden, began to pick a fight with one another. Growling, biting and hitting. And then, all of a sudden, were curled up together, washing and grooming and purring, purring. Then, to the delight of the kids, Mom would say stuff like, By the old Harry, me thought they had a pox upon them, but now perchance to dream.

Some time later, something of interest occurred, starting with a frantic call from one of Dad's really close friends. (the margins are wrong) He was one of the aficionados from Cedar Tavern, haunt of artists, musicians, poets and local Greenwich Village characters. Domenico Facci was a painter and sculptor. It seems that Dom's young son had developed an allergy to Dom's beloved cat Moofa. What to do?

Dad said, Dom, dammit, you know my weakness for stray, helpless animals in need. Bring Moofa here!

The kids were trying not to laugh out loud at Dad's typical emotional eruption. And, naturally, Mom was a pushover.

Moofa arrived, a sweet, lumbering, middle-aged cat, tortoiseshell coat and a little overweight. Of course, it was only to be expected: the three, Tango, Spider and Cookie, took umbrage, to say the least.

Backs arched, spitting, growling and clawing. The kids knew it would be thus. It took them two weeks or so, trying to calm things down, giving affection and protection to Moofa, reassuring the terrible three. After a couple of weeks, indeed things were calm, an eerie calm. Carla was the first to notice.

Where is Moofa? I see her when we feed them, and she sure has been using the cat box. But then, where does she go?

The kids searched and searched.

Mom shouted, Wither goest thou, old dear cat?

Dad shouted too: Dom will never forgive us if somehow she has gotten out.

Then, they all seemed to notice at the same time the obvious. There was a cabinet in the kitchen, back against the