The Cat In The Spat

There’s been much ado made about Zip the cat. Now, he’s not the cat in the hat, but he is the cat living in my garage. Some readers are up in arms that Zip is living in the garage. In fact, the founder of the “Free Zip” campaign calls it the equivalent to a feline prison. But honestly, I truly believe that everyone has it all wrong.

First, let’s digress. It was about three months ago when Zip wandered up to our driveway and jumped up on J-Fed’s lap. Here in Basketcaseville we already had plenty on our plate. There are the two girls, ages 5 and 6 months. There are the hounds, 90 pounds and 75 pounds. Even for a house with two responsible adults, this is a lot. Now subtract one responsible adult and add one absent man-child who makes decisions based on solely what he wants regardless of the consequences and you’ve got Basketcaseville.

From the moment Zip rubbed up against J-Fed’s dirty pant leg, J-Fed officially deemed him a member of our family. Although he barely acknowledged anything in the house that didn’t come equipped with a two-stroke motor, Zip became a priority. He took him to the vet and spent almost $400 to get him shots, an examination and everything else a stray cat could need. For two weeks, he was consumed by Zip, hanging out with him in the garage, petting him, giving him treatment fit for royalty.

The rest of us wondered what Zip had that we lacked. It was one of those mysteries in life – like where does the extra sock go in the dryer. Well, it wasn’t long before Zip became just another casualty of J-Fed’s easy come, easy go attitude. You see, it wasn’t but two weeks after Zip got comfortable that J-Fed left the building… without Zip.

Now, I fought J-Fed tooth and nail when it came to Zip. I didn’t want another mouth to feed. There were already two kids and two dogs which all required maximum attention. I had nothing left to give, especially not to a cat. Why? Because I’m not a cat person. I liken cats up there with scrubbing toilets and getting cortisone shots in my head. In fact, in college I had a pet mouse and a pet fire newt, both of which I loved deeply. We were kindred souls… until they were eaten by a cat. And from there, it was all downhill.

So to be frank, I didn’t really feel there was a place for Zip in our home. Yet even after J-Fed’s departure, it didn’t appear he was going anywhere, anytime soon. It didn’t matter that he sat in front of the window and drove the dogs bonkers all day. It didn’t matter that I repeatedly had to remove him from skulking the hallways when he snuck in through the garage door. No, nothing could shake Zip’s determination to stake his territory at any and all costs.

And the worst of it was Zip was a living symbol of J-Fed irresponsible behavior that had beaten down our marriage time and time again. He was proof that J-Fed didn’t care what I thought; he was going to do what he wanted to do time and time again. With this constant reminder, Zip was lucky I hadn’t sent him packing to the Humane Society. But in another strange way I empathized with Zip. You see, we were in the same boat, a sinking one at that. We had both been charmed by J-Fed and then dropped like a hot potato.

So Zip stayed. In fact, I bought him a bed. Every morning he gets a fresh bowl of food and water. Every night I open the garage and let him in for the night. He sleeps safe and sound, away from the birds who spend their days trying to peck his eyes out. We pet him. We let him sit on our lap. He’s now an unofficial member of the family.

And while the garage may seem like a feline prison, it’s actually Zip’s own private heaven. He doesn’t have to listen to the dogs bark continuously. He’s safe from the all-night screeching cries of the baby. He’s immune from our 5-year-old trying to put doll clothes on him and push him around in a plastic shopping cart. Yes, Zip is far away from all the insanity. In fact, there are many nights when I wish I could actually trade places with Zip. Homeboy has it made.

I mean this was a cat who was sleeping in brush, eating out of garbage cans and drinking water from the edge of a driveway. And with all the shady restaurants in my neighborhood, Zip’s lucky he didn’t end up as the main ingredient in the soup of the week. Now, he gets two meals a day, an unlimited supply of water, a bed with fresh linens and a nice quiet place to lay his head. And it’s safe to say we won’t be cooking him any time soon… unless money gets real tight.

Try and free Zip all you’d like, but there’s a good chance that if he finds out what you all are up to he’s likely to be pissed as hell.