Dumbubba

Quick background: the year we had all the snow we fed a female cat because there was a butt-load of snow. She begat Jim. Then she begat Baby (yeah, clever name). Then a few months ago she showed up with 5 kittens. One of them is called Dumbubba. This story explains why the name is not inappropriate.

This is the state I found Dumbubba in this morning. Apologies for the grainy picture. It was just before 6am and I didn’t want to turn on the light and startle Dumbubba.

I marked the trouble spots. The cat had managed to get his back legs wedged into the back of the chair. When I went out to the porch, he struggled because I am only supposed to feed him, but touching him is not allowed.

I attempted to calm him and grab him at the same time. He freaked the hell on out, but his back legs were firmly wedged. I went into the house to get the oven mitts. By this time, the cavalry had arrived in the form of Simon, Dumbubba’s brother (Fuzzy–who will probably get a coveted spot in the house) and Jim. Jim stood around to watch the fun and Fuzzy took the opportunity to go in the house to get the good food out of the bowl in the kitchen.

I firmly grabbed the stuck cat and he bit the oven mitts, hissed, spat and freaked out some more. His legs were really wedged. Simon does not like it when a cat acts the fool, so he climbed into the chair to beat Dumbubba in the face. Because, really, there’s nothing better than being wedged into a chair, being grabbed by a woman you don’t trust and then having a big orange cat beat you in the face. Good times.

Finally, I unstuck Dumbubba and held the squalling, twisting cat in the air for a few seconds. As his back legs popped out of the chair, he threw a mighty fart into the air and then skittered off the porch. He left wet foot prints. I assume that was sweat, but the oven mitts are slated to be washed when I get home.