Monty's Magnificent Hairball

By Artica Burr

When neighborhood cats indulge in their habit of gathering together to enjoy the warm California sunshine, like women getting together for a coffee klatch, the conversation between the cats includes their personal adventures and mishaps. Dory, the Himalayan cat with prior show ring experience, moderates the meet-ups of the twelve cats. Dory is t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Artica Burr Publications
• Release date: Sep 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798891840836

Book preview

Chapter One

Monty’s New Diet

Jimmy crouched beside the forlorn-looking cat curled up in the kitty nap bed. Mama, what’s the matter with Monty? He looks awfully sad. Jimmy snuggled his face into the cat’s long soft fur coat. I hope you feel better soon, Monty, he whispered.

I think he just has a bad case of the diet doldrums, Mama answered as she began setting the dinner table. He’s pretty angry with me over his low-calorie diet food. When I took him to the vet clinic, the doctor insisted that Monty was gaining too much weight and that I should change his diet.

At the very mention of the new diet food, Monty felt the hairs in his undercoat begin to stiffen. His thick, multi-colored coat felt as though it could triple in size and burst into a bristle brush at any moment. Little lady, angry doesn’t even come close to the tip of the tail of how I feel, he sulked. How about you give me the good stuff, and I just eat less? I could do that. he paused. Well, maybe not. But could we at least try dieting my way? Hey, what’s next? Salads? I already tried them, and I hate salads. As usual, Monty felt deeply frustrated that the humans in his life failed bitterly when trying to connect with the thoughts he directed their way.

Monty concentrated extremely hard. He squinted, his eyes closed, as he put a paw on his forehead. Monty projected as loudly as he could think, Oh, Mama, change your radio station to the one I’m broadcasting from. After no response from Mama, Monty decided to bring the matter up at the next neighborhood cat meetup. Hopefully, maybe one of the others knew the secret of successful cat-to-human communications. He felt there had to be a way to further communicate beyond a purr or just a tweak of his fluffy tail.

Jimmy stroked Monty’s soft fur with fervent concern. Look, Mama. He won’t even purr for me. Jimmy snuggled closer and whispered into Monty’s ear. I hate going to the doctor too, but at least he didn’t give you any nasty-tasting medicine.

Monty flicked his favorite ear and emitted a low huff. Jimmy, it’s like this. Any day of the week, a quick dose of medicine beats getting handed off an endless bag of crunchy misery. It’s serious, Jimmy. In the name of good health, be my little friend and help me in any way you can. Monty flashed a desperate look and then yawned, Jim-Jim, my taste buds are dying.

Mama, Monty looks so hungry, Jimmy said, offering Monty a piece of diet cat food. Monty silently turned his head away.

Jimmy’s mother glanced over at the two of them. She was just about ready to put a Sunday chicken dinner on the table. He needs time to adjust to his new food. Jimmy don’t worry. It will all work out. As soon as the gravy’s done, we’ll sit down for supper. Why don’t you take Monty and his bed and put him in the toy room for now? His antics during our suppertime always drive me crazy. He either stares me down or decides to leap up on the counter in the middle of a meal.

Gravy! screamed Monty. I warn you. I know my new diet falls within the guidelines of cruel punishment. It’s in my very own book of rules for this household.

Jimmy tried to move Monty several times. He put his arms around the soft cat bed, but Monty stretched himself further and pretended he was asleep. Monty snickered while he made it more difficult for Jimmy to pick him up.

Monty opened one eye. Oh, I guess it isn’t actually your fault, Jimmy, he thought. Monty finally curled up to allow Jimmy to wrap his arms around him and the cat bed.

Wow, Mama. Monty’s getting too heavy for me to carry, Jimmy called out to his mother.

Monty flattened his ears. Jim-Jim! Don’t you dare turn into a little diet crusader, he warned little Jimmy. Jimmy finally managed to slide the bed down the hall with Monty in it. He rolled the cat out of bed and then placed the bed on the window seat in the playroom. Jimmy picked Monty up and tucked him back into his cat bed. To Jimmy’s way of thinking, Monty looked comfortable enough.

Although Monty kept his eyes closed, he mentally yelled, Hey, read my thoughts, Mama. You got feast. I got famine. Out of sight, but I can still smell it! I’m going to sniff as many calories as I want to, and no one can stop me! Monty was miffed. Humans were definitely flawed when it came down to one-on-one mental communication.

Monty decided he might as well close his eyes and catch a quick snooze. He could hear Jimmy rummage around by the play table and even knock the crayons over. Jimmy moved closer, rubbed Monty’s face, and tickled his ears. After two quick snips from the scissors, the tufts of hair from the top of Monty’s ears drifted down until the loose wisps of hair lay upon his paws.

Monty’s eyes popped open and widened. He realized little Jimmy had outsmarted him. No fair! he protested. I liked my tufts. They made me feel special!

There, Jimmy said. I fixed you up. Maybe you’ll weigh less now. Jimmy planted a kiss on the top of Monty’s head.

Kisses and good intentions won’t help heal my loss, Monty moaned. It took me time and effort to grow those tufts. He silently vowed that from then on out, he would keep at least one open eye focused when Jimmy was anywhere within near proximity. Jimmy’s being dangerously creative was a brand-new trait. Monty would have to contend with it. Monty sighed and hoped his trust in little Jimmy had not become an ebbing tide.

Monty yelled out to Mama, as loud as he could think, just before Jimmy shut the toy room door. You can shunt me aside, but I can still smell that chicken. Jimmy, you owe me one now. Save me some smidgeons!

Chapter Two

Sneaking a Scrap

There was a light paw tap at the window. Scooter, the athletic spotted cat, always came around to relay information. Scooter was always on top of the current sports scores; after all, he lived with a Sports News Editor. When Scooter wasn’t running a mile, home watching football, or dreaming about having snacks and wondering what beer tasted like, the cats used him as their group messenger. Hey man, there’s a meetup at seven-thirty tomorrow morning at Dory’s driveway. Don’t be late.

Monty gave Scooter an assuring nod. When Monty moved from Maine to California a year ago, Scooter had spotted him sitting at the toy room window. They’d struck up a conversation through the windowpane. Scooter had extended an invite for Monty to join in at the meetups where he could converse with the other neighborhood felines. Monty slept in the garage on the laundry pile at night, and when a meetup was scheduled, he always managed to slip outside when the man opened the garage door to drive to work. It was a trick in which Monty took immense pride.

Monty could tell by Scooter’s quizzical look that he had noticed the tufts of hair that usually graced the top of Monty’s ears were no longer present and accounted for.

Please. Don’t ask, Monty cautioned him.

Scooter respectfully changed the subject. Holy Carp! You guys having a chicken dinner? Scooter lifted his head and inhaled deeply. Well, well now, I have to tell you that chicken smells delicious and way beyond paw-licking good. Oh, yes.

Monty flattened his ears, wrinkled up his nose, pulled up one side of his lip, and showed Scooter his favorite fang. It sparkled in the sunlight.

Scooter looked as if he had swallowed two huge canaries. Hey, I’m sorry, Monty. I forgot about your diet. See you in the morning. Embarrassed, Scooter slunk away on his mission to notify the rest of the cats.

Monty settled back down in his bed. Maybe it was time to open up a little, relieve some of his frustration, and have a cat chat about his problems. A meetup at the Circle of Friends was always good therapy. He decided it was time to lay his catnip on the table and gather opinions from the rest of the cats.

As he lightly dozed, hope began to dwell between Monty’s ears. Maybe Mama would miss some tidbit when she wiped off the table after dinner. Later, at the TV before bedtime, he could check over by Jimmy’s placemat for a smidgeon of gravy. Monty yawned and then settled into a deeper doze. As he drifted off for a nap, he could almost taste the scents in the air. All he dreamt about lately was food and more food. To Monty’s way of thinking, Mama’s daily bouts of cooking had become periods of agonizing torture. Monty tried to interrupt his thoughts about food. He changed positions dozens of times.

As a diversion, Monty decided to fill his mind with earlier memories before he fell fully asleep. He thought about Maine. It was the kind of place that great dreams are made of. Monty dreamed he was back in Maine chasing leaves as they blew across the yard. He loved the fall season there. Monty remembered his excitement when Mama and the man brought their rakes out of the garage. He knew they would rake the leaves into huge piles. The crunch of crisp maple leaves when he dived into a pile of them was music to his ears. When the leaves cascaded downward, there was a promise of the coming nip of winter. Monty missed leaping in the air while trying to catch the swirling flakes. He longed to blaze a trail through the newly fallen snow. Everything there smelled fresh and clean. There was rarely any traffic on their little road, and Monty was allowed plenty of time to play in the yard. Now, the closest Monty came to anything cold was toying with an occasional ice cube Mama dropped on the floor.

The man had changed everything when he transferred their family to California. They had packed up the car and followed the moving truck across the country. California was hard to get used to. Everything smelled like concrete. The worst was the whiz sounds of all the constant car traffic. His fate felt sealed when Mama decided that he had to become an indoor cat. But no matter how much he longed for winter, Monty had to admit that he loved his family as much as he loved Maine. He wouldn’t trade any one of them for a chance to return to Maine without them. Monty opened one eye for a moment.