Memoirs of a Cool Cat
by
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It was an idyllic scene, with the big cat grooming the steaming arm, and I thought there must be a place in it for me. I stood up on the step and leaned my front paws against the side of the tub. Only my body didn’t curl over the side like the Sheeb’s, and my pointy little muzzle was nowhere near the water. Maybe if I climbed up on the edge and leaned
Oops! Splash!! Yoooooowwww!!! Mom yelled along with me. Boy, was I mad as I plunged into the water. Cats went flying in every direction as I levitated out of the water like a master magician. I raced off, mortified, into the study, with Mom in hot pursuit (literally – the steam was rising from her whole body in the semi-dark) with a big towel in her hands.
By then, I had shaken myself vigorously, and, to Mom’s amazement, my fur was barely damp. My undercoat is so thick, and I had gotten out of the water so fast, that the towel was barely damp even after she tousled me with it a lot longer than I thought she needed to.
That story should have been nothing but a distant memory, but I had some kind of brain lapse a couple of years later. I have a little tennis ball that I like to bat around the bathtub, and the other night I jumped in to play with my ball, only to find that, without so much as a by-your-leave, Mom had filled the tub for a nice hot soak. Yooooowwww!!! Although I weigh about eight times as much as I did the first time, I was up onto the tile surround in a flash, glaring down at the water that filled my playground.
This is the point at which Mom appeared in the doorway.
I marshaled my pride and hopped nimbly across to the front rim of the tub to make my escape. Yiiiiiiiiieeee!!! My front end was nimble. My long, thick tail, heavy with water, slapped the water like a beaver tail and dragged me back into it backwards. Mom was hollering advice, in between “Oh, LAM-berts!” Snorting with indignation, I clambered out and made for my old friend, the recliner in the study, trying to remember what dignity felt like.
In an obscene deja vu, Mom pursued me, carrying a big towel and failing miserably to stifle her giggles. She’d stop for a minute and then convulse all over again. “Oh, LA-HA-HA-HAM-ber-her-her-hert! The poor, poo-oo-oo-oor LA-HA-HAM” – you get the idea.
Impressively, I thought, my thick fur was once more hardly even damp after a good shaking. But it was several days before I played any more tub tennis, and I will never jump into that tub again without looking.
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About the Book
Memoirs of a Cool Cat is a rolicking, tender account of a cat family’s experiences in the home of the human who loves them. Lambert the Cat recounts how he and his feline cohorts came to live in Cool Cat Utopia. He bravely describes his battles with plamacytic-lymphocytic stomatitis, gently derides his sister’s bouts with OCD, and moves the reader to tears at the loss of a beloved companion. Memoirs is sprinkled liberally with photos of Lambert and his loved ones, as well as his gymnasium, his toys, his custom-made food, and the bathtub that lurks in ambush. You will devour this book like the made-from-scratch diet Lambert and his homies thrive on!
About the Author
Joy Cool has loved animals all her life. As a child, she brought home everything from snakes to baby birds that had fallen from the nest. But her favorites have always been cats and dogs. She is a long-time volunteer at animal shelters, her specialty being socializing feral and abused cats to render them adoptable. She has turned her own home into a feline paradise, with lofts and beams, feline gymnasium equipment, a screened-in balcony, a special diet and piano recitals. But no matter how much she gives to her feline friends, they give back even more, and it is this that she and her muse, Lambert the Cat, have sought to convey in Memoirs of a Cool Cat.