Anyone who considers protocol unimportant has never dealt with a cat.
Robert A. Heinlein
A most curious and fascinating event took place at the home of Sheba, Queen of, this week. It was a study of communications and protocol played out between the indoor cats, the outdoor tomcats, and the humans of the household.
It began with the kitten, Arwen the Elf Princess, catching her first mouse. About 1am, Mama woke to sounds from the kitchen. Walking downstairs, she found in the gloom of the kitchen Arwen had a mouse she was playing with. Goodness! No catnip-filled cloth mousie was this, but a real, live–well, dead–mouse. Fine huntress had killed her first mouse! Indeed, it was the first mouse killed by any catly resident of the house.
Speaking as calmly as possible, Mama got gloves on and while praising Arwen, managed to get the little mouse away from her. Hurrying to the back door, Mama thought to toss the sad, dead mouse into the bushes, but the outdoor tomcats, Aubrey and Midnight, were right there. So, Mama tossed the mouse, a little thing, just a short distance away, thinking the boys might enjoy a fresh-caught morsel to eat.
Ah, not so! Little dead mouse, killed by indoor Arwen kitten, was destined to become the centerpiece for a drama of communication to be played out by young tomcat, Aubrey.
In the morning, when Mama looked out the window, little mouse lay where he had landed, apparently untouched by the tomcats. But, placed nearby lay a dead squirrel, much larger than the mouse. Aubrey, being very well fed, rarely hunts, yet he had purposely caught a squirrel.
After a time, the squirrel was moved nearer the house. It was clear the squirrel was not being presented as a “gift”, as it was not placed in the traditional gift spot on the doormat. Something else was being said with Mr. Squirrel.
When no one came out or responded to the statement being made with the squirrel, Aubrey took the squirrel, and placed it directly on top of Arwen’s mouse. Aubrey then ate the squirrel… well, he ate the top half.
After some more time, the rest of the squirrel vanished and was, apparently, eaten. Arwen’s mouse remained exactly where it had landed on the bare–save for a trace of squirrel icky–pavement.
Cautiously, Mama ventured to the door. Dead mousie still needed to be tossed into the woods, yet Mama did not wish to be involved with whatever Aubrey was saying with the squirrel, especially the icky parts.
The catly communications and protocol of prey was not yet completed, however. There, on the doormat, was left a final statement in the drama: On the doormat lay only the squirrel’s tail.
Sheba stuck her tongue out and, uncharacteristically, a single drop of of drool fell.
Within hours Mama was rushing Sheba to the vet. Why the panic? Why the concern? Seven years earlier that dear boy, Dusty, had been lost to liver failure. He was only about three years old, as Sheba is, and had been normal, normal, normal… save for some drool, drool happening when he wasn’t being cuddled and in bliss. It was drool with a tinge of blood. Within days, Dusty, sweet Dusty, was gone.
Sheba, Queen of, came home with Mama the evening of October 6th. Whether too fearful to leave her carrier to use the litter box in the kennel she had been in, or too dopy from the sedation, Sheba had peed in the carrier. Shebas do not like such things and was trying to keep the icky wetness from touching her. Fortunately, Mama had brought the pink cushion from her bed so Sheba, very grateful, had a clean dry bed for the ride home. As soon as she arrived, Sheba ate two cans of 
Sheba, Queen of, is not be grateful for daily pills, but will be grateful Mama knew what a single drop of drool meant: 
Earlier in the day, and yesterday, Mama and Papa had been outside in the yard and the crispy leaves yet refused to take Oli outside with them though it was Clearly Summer (Oli having not yet master thermometer-reading). Never mind that Papa was using a chainsaw, and Mama was on a ladder climbing to the roof. Those looked like Oli-friendly summer activities from his vantage.
Oli’s first introduction to snow came in the year of his youth, 2006. Though he was born a Minnesota barn cat, Oli was adopted by Mama and Papa when he was such a tiny cat he rode home in Mama’s pocket. That first summer as the wild, young boy of the household was joyous, though he was not allowed outside alone. Then came the Great Whiteness outside.
Then last winter, in February, Oli begged so hard for his Door Into Summer, certain Mama was hiding it from him, she carried him outside and dumped him in the snow before he could latch on to her. So, now, seeing the snowflakes falling outside, still wishing for his Door Into Summer, Oli could not help but cry.
, available at Amazon.com, is a book by Robert Heinlein in which the cat is certain outside one of the house’s many doors must lie summer. His person then finds his own door into summer for them all.
Sheba’s tale began, as with that of many kittens, with cozy snuggling with cat-mama. Love and comforts blended with contented purrs, and the nuzzling and bumping of the brother and sister kittens as they competed for cat-mama’s warm milk.
Always, always, there was the jostle for food brought daily by the Man. And always Sheba was left hungry. Hunger became a constant gnawing beast as Sheba grew, but grew thin and boney.
I had just gotten a new pickup truck. It was a gigantic, blue Dodge Ram. No dainty city-truck was this, but a huge truck which could do proper work, and I needed straw bales. The straw bales were to build a Snuggie house for the two outdoor tomcats who had adopted us. Snuggie house consisted of a small-sized wooden dog house in which I put a heated floor pad, then the cats’ soft bedding. This I put up against our hottub, surrounding the whole thing with straw bales. It served to insulate the hottub against Minnesota’s winter, and gave the tomcats a warm, safe house.
Sheba came straight to me, not to the man. I scooped her up. Wrapping herself around my neck, Sheba locked her claws in tightly, holding on for dear life, purring.
That first day on the throne of her new kingdom, Sheba, Queen of, set about establishing her royal authority. She never stopped talking the entire day, establishing rules and proclaiming her dominance. The other cats, used to Mama and Papa’s strange habit of bringing home new kittens, were only moderately concerned, accepting her easily, though not ceding all order of dominance Sheba demanded.
