Thunder Paws and Clyde make an ominous observation

One day, the juvenile cats, Clyde and Thunder Paws, came to the front window to conduct their studies of the world and saw for the first time a most frightening beast.

It was an ominous thing to see, this dog that lived two houses away, but I was not worried as the dog lived in a cat house and had never been known to hurt one.

Yet, to Clyde and Thunder, the sighting of the dog was an ominous event.

And sometimes, kittens know more than their foolish humans.

The lessons, when learned, can be hard - so damn hard.

Clyde flies

Clyde flies.

Wild 

exuberant 

serious

humorous 

hilarious 

Clyde!

How Little Clyde Texaco loved the car! How Little Clyde Texaco hated the car!

Little Clyde Texaco loved the car!

He loved to walk upon it, to leave his little footprints spread about the hood.

When the sun was warm, he loved to crawl inside - there to sleep, and dream the dreams
a cat dreams.

Once, on a fine summer day, I drove off to visit my friend, a good person who had done something bad and was now locked up in the state penitentiary. I thought I was alone, but I had not been driving long when I heard a great, yowling “Meeeeoooow.”

I was not alone.

Clyde had fallen asleep in a still car, but now he was awake in a rolling car. Clyde did not like to be in a rolling car - only a still car.

I stopped in Palmer to get a pizza for my friend, then tore off a piece of ham and gave it to Clyde, hoping to calm him. Clyde declined my offer. He would not touch the ham. He yowled loud, just as lady climbed out of a car parked next to us, a car with a dog inside. The lady smiled. Her dog went nuts.

I turned the key, then drove on to the prison.

I left Clyde and the torn piece of ham in the car while I took the pizza in to my friend. Both Clyde and ham were there when I returned. It took 45 minutes to drive home. All the while, Clyde howled and yowled, and scurried all about the mini-van.

He even scurried onto my shoulders and clambered atop my head.

He almost made me crash, four times.

Once home, I opened the door. Clyde hopped out.

He saw that all was calm.

The car was parked.

The sun was warm.

Quickly, he hopped back into the car, snatched up the ham in his sharp little teeth, devoured it, crawled into the back seat, and there fell fast asleep.

Clyde loved the car - as long as it remained still.

Perhaps Clyde’s fear

of cars

was well founded.

This photo

was taken

just as Clyde was growing

into a young stud.

He was forced

to go for a ride.

Despite Nabysko’s attempts

to comfort him,

he did not enjoy 

the voyage.

He was dropped off

in a strange place

and left 

with frigtening strangers,

who put a needle into him,

causing him to fall unconscious

and then one

took a knife to him.

When finally he came to,

Clyde found he had awoken to a world

in which his dreams of studhood

had all been lost.

He did not let go of the dream easily.

Despite what the vet said,

he still marked territory

and sometimes peed

where 

no one 

wanted him 

to...

pee.

Serious matters at the vet office

Little Clyde Texaco gazes with wonder upon the world outside the mini-van as Nabysko snuggles him on his way to the vet. Can you guess why Clyde is headed to the vet?

Wrong! But if you had guessed that for poor Thunder Paws, you would have been correct. Except that Thunder Paws is already at the vet. He has been through the procedure and is in recovery. 

Clyde is just going to get a check-up, and some shots. We will bring both home together.

And do you wonder about the scratches on the window? Toast Ed did that. He tipped the mini-van over and the window got scratched. So did the body. A few of us were able to push the mini-van back over onto his wheels. It drove fine.

The vet checks Clyde's face.

The vet checks Clyde's rear. He is in good shape. I wonder what she would have thought if he had gassed her right then?

Tyrskuit and Nabysko grimmace as the vet ready's a shot.

Clyde's ordeal is over. Now everybody waits for Thunder Paws to come out. It is a little nerve-wracking.

Now Thunder Paws comes out in the vet's arms and she hands him to Nabysko. Thunder is very groggy.

"What happened? What happened?" Clyde seems to query.

Tryskuit carries Clyde, Nabysko Thunder and Sunflower follows as we head back to the mini-van.

The drive home. Thunder Paws has lost the potential to become a Dad cat. Clyde still possesses it, but this will soon change.

Buddies Thunder and Clyde turn into party animals

Thunder Paws and Little Clyde Texaco quickly became good buddies. They romped and played.

But they always took time out to practice good hygiene.

They loved to party! How those two kittens could party!

Yet, I hate to say it, but both would soon undergo a procedure that would make certain that they're future partying did not take a certain turn that partying sometimes does. 

As you will see.

And you can see this picture bigger. Just click on it. It works for the others, too.

Origins of the Kracker Cats: Little Clyde Texaco gases up Wasilla

Clyde in a tree.

Thunder Paws had been with us for a little over one month. I was down south, in Maine. It was June 26, 1992 - Rye’s birthday. I called home, to wish him a happy one.

“Dad,” he announced. “Guess what I got for my birthday?”

I made a few ridiculous guesses, all of which were wrong.

“A cat!” he said.

“C’mon, Rye, what did you get?”

“A cat. Well, a kitten.”

“Rye! Please! Do not tease me! We already have two cats. Your mother would not get you another cat. C’mon. What is it, some kind of cat T-shirt? A cat on a cup? What is it?”

“It’s a cat, a real, live, purring cat. Mom didn’t give it to me. Courtney did. Mom likes it. She says it’s cute.”

“You really got a cat?”

“Yes. Are you mad?”

“Yes. Happy birthday.”

I could not wait to get home, and when I did, I found that Rye’s birthday present still did not have a name. The kids were referring to him as “the gas station.” I had not been around the kitten long before the pungent aroma surrounding him told me why. In those early days, he gassed often, and with great potency. So we started to call him “Exxon,” but this made us think too much about oiled otters and seabirds.

We changed the name to Texaco. “I think he looks like a ‘Clyde,’ “ Rye observed one day. Thus, the kitten took on the name “Little Clyde Texaco.” This was a lot to say, so we usually settled for Clyde.

He didn’t give a damn what we called him, just so long as we put out food, which he consumed in copious quantities, this Little Clyde Texaco, our gas station.

The ballad of Little Clyde Texaco and Rye

A fearsome duo these two:

Little Clyde Texaco and Rye.

When they swagger down the street,

the eyes of big, tough, men grow wide.

Out of respect

and fear,

these hard guys step aside.

Good mothers run and hide,

and shout to their daughters:

"Get inside!"

When they see these two coming,

young children are set to running.

The children run! run! run!

Run straight to Rye.

"Hey, big kid," they plead, with pleading eyes.

"Can we pet your kitty?

Please, oh, please!

Let us pet your kitty!"

"Yea, sure," obliges Rye. "Why not?

Just don't pull his tail.

Clyde don't like no one

to pull his tail."

A great battle begins over Thunder Paws

Remember how Toast Ed disparaged Thunder Paws as not being "half the cat" that Kaboodle was? If Toast Ed feels this way, then why is he cuddled up with Thunder Paws like this? Does it look like maybe the two are bonding?

I'll tell you what - they bonded! How they bonded!

This will become clear in future posts.

Now, if only the bonded pair could have a little more peaceful time to enjoy their bonding.

Nabysko spots them. "Thunder Paws is my cat!" she exclaims.

"No," Toast Ed retorts, "Thunder Paws is my cat!"

Nabysko moves in, determined to reclaim the kitten that she caused me to bring home from Sutton.

A great battle ensues.

Toast Ed is bigger and stronger, but Nabysko is filled with fire. She refuses to retreat. 

Nabysko wins. Kaboodle wonders about the commotion.

But don't think that this ended it. The battle would rage for most of the next decade - even after Toast Ed went off to Arizona to attend college. "Where's my cat, Thunder Paws?" Toast Ed would ask as soon as he would step back into the house for summer or Christmas break.

"He's my cat!" Nabysko would greet back.

"No, he's my cat!"

Even during long distance phone conversations they did this.

Kaboodle returns, decides Thunder Paws is okay

You will recall that when I brought the kitten that was about to become Thunder Paws home, Kaboodle became so angry with me that he swatted me with open claws. You will recall that I then scolded him and then, in a huff, he ran into the woods and disappeared.

You will recall that I had two things to keep me awake that night - the thunder paws of Thunder Paws pounding their way up and down the hall, and my great worry that Kaboodle had left us for good.

Ha! You can see how silly that worry was! I took this picture the very next day.

Now, what about Toast Ed? You will recall that he, too, was upset with me for bringing Thunder home. He bitterly and sarcastically told me that Thunder Paws would not be half the cat that Kaboodle was.

So how did that work out?

Log back in, my friends... log back in. The answer is coming.

Thunder Paws' first day: one, last, lingering look

As the decades pile up in a person's life, there are days that can barely be remembered, others that are utterly forgotten, some that come back upon thought and reflection and then there are a tiny handful that stand out so strong in one's memory, either for good or bad, that they are never far from present consciousness.

The day that Thunder Paws came to live with us is such a day.

I remember it so well because it was a sweet, sweet, warm day.

All my children were still children, and they were a bright and eager bunch. Having them around was better than I knew, even when I knew it was good. On this day, I knew that having them there was very good.

And me, restless soul that I am, always climbing into an airplane, and flying off to somewhere else. Yet no place that I have ever been could give me what I found that day, May 15, 1992, in my own house and yard.

And capping it all of was Thunder Paws, brand new among us. What a bright fellow he was. Brighter than we knew. Sweeter than we could imagine. More loving than we would have believed. And so, although I have already told you the complete story of that first day, I am reluctant to leave it behind, yet again, and so I linger, for one more post, and share these five additional pictures from that day with you.

Thunder Paws: How he told us his name

As she stands on the front porch, the kitten squirms to escape the grasp of the adoring Nabysko.

I had naturally assumed that Nabysko had wanted the kitten to have as a friend. Shortly after we arrived home, I turned the two loose in the yard and was soon shocked when I saw her place the kitten in a stewpot - Nabysko wanted to boil the poor little critter! She wanted kitten soup for dinner!

“Nabysko!” I shouted, horrified.

The kitten escapes, and dashes under the porch.

Nabysko searches, but cannot find the kitten.

I needn’t have worried. As the kitten would prove again and again, he was a thinking cat - thoughtful, analytical and resourceful. He analyzed the situation, thought up a solution and took action. A quick leap sent him soaring out of the stewpot to safety and freedom (see photos from Thunder Paws, part 1).

There's the kitten!

How the kitten loved his freedom! How he loved to explore, to see new things - bugs, grass, butterflies, rotting logs and hopping frogs! He studied all that surrounded him and he learned from what he saw.

Fire Kracker and the kitten walk together.

Deep into bright, sunlit, evening, the kitten roamed, sprung, pounced, and contemplated, exploring the lawn-free Kracker yard as Nabysko followed gleefully behind. Once, as she pedaled her tiny bike, the two charged straight at each other in a daring game of chicken, and, were it not for the quick application of brakes and paws, would surely have collided head-on.

Rye sneaks up on the happy kitten.

Each of the older children came home in turn and all were delighted to see the kitten. Rye picked him up and used him for a tommy gun. Sometimes dragging a string, sometimes not, Fire trotted across the yard as kitten, his tail held high, pounced at his heels.

Rye snatces up the kitten and uses it as a tommy gun.

“Oh, cute!” exclaimed Tryskuit, who had just come home from the ice rink, euphoric at having landed her first axle. She snatched the kitten gently from the ground to pet and stroke him. At some point, squirt guns and bottles mysteriously appeared and then the kitten found himself cradled precariously in Nabysko’s protective grasp as the battle raged around him. Blasts of water zinged through the air.

The kitten tries to take a shoelace away from Fire.

Toast Ed alone was not happy to see the kitten. Toast Ed was upset that I had let Nabysko bring it home. “What’s this going to do to Kaboodle?” he accused me. “Kaboodle is not going to like this at all. I doubt this kitten will ever be half the cat that Kaboodle is.”

Reader, remember these words spoken by a bitter Toast Ed! See what turn history will take!

The orange and white kitten walks toward me.

As for the Whole Kitten, Kaboodle, he was terribly distressed and even bitter with me for inviting this silly little creature into our home. After discovering the kitten, he followed me as I walked around the house. With each step, he “mowred,” growled, griped and complained angrily.

When we reached the place in the back yard where the green canoe lay overturned, he jumped up on it and gave me a swat with open claws.

The kitten walks on a log.

“Kaboodle!” I scolded, as I placed my hand down firmly on the back of his neck. “Don’t you ever do that!” Kaboodle jumped off the canoe, and bound away straight into the woods, where he disappeared. Dummy! When it came to cats, even Kaboodle, whom I had now known for over ten months, I still had so much to learn.

I felt sick inside. I feared that none of us would ever see Kaboodle again. Yet, the great frolic between the kitten and the Kracker children, the angry Toast Ed excluded, continued unabated.

The kitten walks away from me.

Even here, in Wasilla, Alaska, where the night sky of late spring holds no darkness but glows through the midnight hour with a sweet, lovely, softness of light, energetic kittens and rambunctious little girls grow tired, and must come inside to sleep. So, come the light of night, Nabysko found herself overwhelmed both with drowsiness and with affection for the orange and white kitten. “I love my pretty kitten,” she cooed. “I want him to sleep with me.”

Nabysko and the kitten almost collide.

The two settled down in the bunk below Tryskuit (who, for what you can see was a most troubling reason, had gone to bed without Kaboodle). I lingered to tell the girls a true, made-up-on-the-spot-cat-story and as I did, the kitten dozed off. When the story ended, I reassured the girls that Kaboodle would be okay and that he would come home as soon as he had a chance to contemplate and understand the situation. I then stepped softly out of the room and gently closed the door behind me.

Nabysko protects the kitten as a squirtgun battle rages.

As I settled down into bed alongside Sunflower, I heard the surprisingly loud thud of kitten paws suddenly strike the floor in the next bedroom. This was followed by the furious scratching of tiny claws against the door, and by a tiny, constant, pleading, meowing. I then heard the sound of Nabysko’s feet as they tromped across the floor to the door, then tromped back to her bed.

Rye drives Nabysko away from the kitten with his squirtgun.

It was then quiet for maybe a minute, then once again, kitten paws struck the floor and the whole process repeated itself. This happened several times, until finally I heard the door to the girl’s bedroom open into the hallway. I then heard the sound of kitty paws dash into the hall as the girls’ bedroom door closed behind them. I heard the groggy footsteps of Nabysko as she plodded back to her bed, there to sleep devoid of the company of the kitten.

After going into the house, the kitten wants to go back out again.

Throughout the night, my sleep was disrupted not only by the worry I felt for Kaboodle, but also by a sound like galloping thunder as the kitten raced up and down the hallway as it’s tiny, dainty, paws pounded the floor. It sounded as though a thunder storm raged right in our hallway!

The next morning, I stepped into the hall to see the kitten thundering straight toward me. He braked at my feet, greeted me with a trill, then twisted his head all the way upside down, an action that caused his body to flip over with it. From beneath white, pink-bottom-padded, upturned paws, the kitten gazed up with bright, sweet, blue eyes into my bleary brown ones. 

“You have Thunder Paws!” I groggily gripped.

Sleepy though both may be after a hard day's frolic, Nabysko and the kitten bathe in each other's love. Nabysko wants the kitten to sleep with her, but, on this night, her desire is not to be.

Thunder Paws.

And so he was named.

Thunder Paws: How he came to live with us, part 1

Thunder Paws

Sometimes, the best cat is the one that you do not seek out; the one that appears unexpectedly before you and then, without making any effort to do so, inserts itself deep into your heart and life to bring you warmth and pleasure, causing you to laugh with delight and to marvel at the wonder that is a cat. So great is the love generated by such a cat that when, unexpectedly, it is torn from you, it’s absence leaves you and its whole host of human loved ones grieving; yes - even weeping.

Thunder Paws was such a cat.

I now begin his story:

After persuading me to bring the kitten home, Nabysko decided to boil him, so she put him in a pot.

On May 15, 1992, the sun rose into a crystal-blue sky and there poured it rays down to generate the first hot day of the year in Wasilla, Alaska. Unable to cope with work on such a day, I abandoned it, grabbed Sunflower, Nabysko - the only two people who were nearby and drove them up the Matanuska Valley to take a glacier viewing expedition,

By the time we turned around to return home, we had been parched by the hot sun, so we stopped at a gas station in Sutton, not for fuel but for cold, liquid, refreshment. We rushed inside, thinking not of kittens, but only about the chilled drinks that we would soon guzzle. In my case, this meant Pepsi. 

There, in the gas station store, just beyond the soft drinks, a low box sat on the floor and in it was a beautiful calico cat, attempting to groom two kittens with her raspy tongue. One, a rambunctious tiger-stripped fellow, burst out of the box and went leaping, scurrying and hoping wildly about the store.

The kitten did not wish to be boiled. He jumped out of the pot.

The other, an orange fellow with a white face, breast and paws, nestled snugly against the soft, furry, underbelly of its mom and looked up at us through dreamy, curious, puzzled, intelligent, blue eyes. “Oh, cute!” Nabysko squealed. 

Her chubby little hands shot downward, gripped the startled kitten and yanked it up from the warmth and security of its mother’s tummy. Nabysko tucked the bewildered creature close to her cheek. Squirming, the kitten maneuvered itself into an upright position, placed its paws upon Nabysko’s shoulder and looked out apprehensively.

“Do you want him?” a skinny, wrinkled, old man asked.

“Yes!” Nabysko squealed happily.

“No!” I thundered. “We already have a cat!”

Free now from the pot, the kitten moons Nabysko.

“No one will take these kittens,” the old man sighed, “I guess I’m going to have to take them to the pound.”

“Please, Daddy,” Nabysko begged as she cuddled the tiny orange and white fellow. “This kitty can’t go to the pound!”

“No, Nabysko” I stated firmly. “We can’t rescue every kitten. We just can’t! Kaboodle would not be happy.”

“Daddy! Kaboodle needs a friend. Please! Daddy! I need a cat to sleep with me. Kaboodle always sleeps with Tryskuit!”

“No!” I guided Nabysko out the door and to the mini-van, where I strapped her into the safety seat behind her mom, the beautiful Sunflower. I took my own position behind the wheel, inserted the key and gave it a twist. 

The engine sputtered to life and began to purr. I put the gear in reverse, brought my foot down upon the gas pedal and started to back up. As I did, the happy image of Nabysko cuddling the kitten swept through my mind.

If, as stated below, I regretted taking the kitten, then why did I nestle him like this, later that very day? Why now, despite the joyous decade that he gave us, do these pictures cause my eyes to water, and this screen to blur, even as I type these words?

“Heck!”* I stammered, “I tell you, something is wrong in this world when a father can’t get his own daughter a kitten to sleep with! C’mon, Nabysko!” I braked. Leaving a perplexed Sunflower alone in her seat, I led Nabysko back into the gas station, where she scooped up the kitten.
As the three of us left the store and headed back to the car, the old man called out after us.

 “That’s a fine kitten! You won’t regret it!”

I thought about Kaboodle and how unfair this was to him. 

“I already do!” I shouted back.

*I actually said, “Hell!”, but there might be mommas who read this to their sweet, innocent, children and so I have toned down the language. I would note, however, that Nabysko survived hearing repeated utterances of the epithet uncorrupted.

Ps: Please note: These photos did not look so dark and muddy when I saved them in Photoshop, but somehow they translated this way online. I thought about removing this piece until I could get a chance to redo and replace them, but by then the post was already up. Plus, those of you who have tried to replace a series of photos already placed in blogger know that it is not a straight-forward, simple process. 

So, for the moment, I will leave them like this, but I hope to replace them with copies that translate better, very soon.