Chapter Thirteen

Just One More Thing

(Yes! I actually learned one more thing!)

No doubt you and your Master have something that is guaranteed to trigger tension between you. Nothing causes more tension in our relationship than cats. Yeah, cats. I got involved in (translation: dragged into) cat rescue a few years ago, and Master, who kinda likes cats but would prefer to not have a single one in our home, has tolerated countless needy felines requiring my time and energy, but, most crucial to this story, these felines have required living space somewhere in or around our house. Sometimes the fostering is, of course, temporary, but we’ve had cats here that far outstayed their welcome. Well, in Master’s mind, anyway.

See, I’m involved in Trap, Neuter and Release, and one of the cats I tried to release crawled up into a rear wheel well of my car and rode home with me. I didn’t know this until I started finding poop, pee puddles and nearly destroyed plastic window blinds in the garage. I thought we’d unwittingly closed up a ginormous rodent in our garage, but I could find no evidence of such, like a nest or little messy piles of chewed-up stuff.

I kid you not, this cat was living in the undercarriage of my car and, unbeknownst to me, was even going into town with me to run errands. But I never saw the cat, and I couldn’t figure out how it was surviving. Every day, I lived with the hope that it had moved on.

Well, to complicate things, Master had a brand-new Harley in the garage, and I can’t even begin to imagine the fireworks that might have ensued had that creature used the leather seat as a scratching post. I imagine my ass is what would have looked like a scratching post after Master was finished punishing me. If He had chosen to spank me in anger, I think the first swing of the strap would have been forceful enough to catapult me off the bed and through the window.

Anyhooooooo… Master is in the habit of taking his work necessities out to the car each morning, then coming back in for breakfast. The cat left a huge puddle of pee on the garage floor, and Master narrowly missed stepping in it.

I have never seen Him so angry. He was trying to eat breakfast, but He would stop, stare at something on the table, and then the side of His mouth would start twitching. He’d shake his head back and forth almost imperceptibly, then try to resume eating. Then the staring and twitching would start again. I have never seen Him look so handsome, but it didn’t strike me as a good time to tell Him that sometimes He can look really sexy when He’s mad.

I was finally able to trap the cat and return him to the property from which he’d come.

I was fostering two of the sweetest Siamese you’ve ever met, and Master even said we could keep them. So, the first night I let them in the house, they had a huge spit-fight in the bedroom with one of our other cats and continued to wake us throughout the night. If a cat wasn’t fighting, it was screaming, then launching itself up onto our faces, demanding protection from the interlopers. Well, the cats had to go back to the screened-in patio enclosure and remain until I could adopt them out to someone.

Ya’ ever notice how many unwanted cats there are in the world? Well, needless to say, the Siamese are still with us.

A few months ago, I took on two feral kittens that now hang out on and romp all over our property, and I find them to be such a joy. Master does not find them to be such a joy. But I didn’t know this until I agreed to allow three more ferals to come and live here. The night before they were supposed to arrive, I casually mentioned what I thought were going to be three more wonderful little additions to our outdoor family, and Master went into nuclear meltdown. His anger did not make Him look as sexy as it did the last time. This event occurred almost immediately after my recommitment to surrender and obedience, but I guess I kinda sorta hoped that agreeing to take the ferals fell under my taking-a-break-from-sub-stuff period, so I was okay in going ahead with the three-week-old plan to accept them. Do you follow my logic?

Well, I was told that under no uncertain terms, no more cats were coming to live in or on our property, ever. I had to let my cat-rescue boss know the deal was off. But you’ll no doubt be so impressed with me: I did as Master instructed, and it was one of the hardest things he’s ever asked of me. But he’s right. I must learn that I cannot save every dog or cat that comes our way. We have eighteen animals living permanently at our home now, and some might say that’s oh, I don’t know, extreme?

My little rationalization about not being held to a greater standard of obedience from weeks prior did not hold water with Master. I was spanked—quite hard, I might add—and was told that I was required to ask his permission for such things from now on. I was disobedient; no ifs, ands or buts.

I don’t have to bother asking his permission in regard to adopting more animals, because the possibility is nil that He will agree. No more animals, and that’s final, He says.

Yes, Sir.

And so I am asking his permission for more and more things, and seeing that anything that triggers tension between us must be dealt with in a responsible fashion and, whenever possible, the source of the irritation must be done away with. If left unchecked, my animal-rescue efforts would render our five acres of property suitable for a National Geographic special or an episode of Wild Kingdom, and there would be cats draped all over our house and sitting in every tree on the property.