Henry the Cat

Henry the Cat weighs 18 pounds and lives on a diet consisting of 1/3 cat chow, 1/3 vermin and 1/3 unruly children. It isn't that Henry is a bad kitty. As a country barn cat, he exists for a purpose and he fulfills his purpose with relish. If you walk up on him unawares, you're more likely than not to see him picking things out of his claws. Like Hair and Fibers. I've been told that Henry is decended from the neighbor cat Charles who is as genial and sweet as cats can possibly get. These traits were not passed down to Henry. He seems to spend a majority of his time off from killing things plotting how to find your weakest spot and scratch the living shit out of it. Suffice it to say: he does not cuddle.

When Henry the cat met Flo the Tiny, we had pretty much figured out how this was going to work. Trust me, the odds were not on the dog. Claws would be distended. Lines would be drawn. A fragile treaty would reign, as long as I held tight to the leash and Flo used her god-given sense of self preservation. However, when the two came face to face, something weird happened. Faced with the improbability of a...a come'on you're kidding me, a DOG??? smaller than him, Henry took a fighting stance. His eyes narrowed, he arched his back and began a slow, how hissssssss that worked its way into a frenzied RRRrrroooooowrrrr. And then, he ran.

Henry streaked across the lawn to the nearest tree and hot-footed to the highest branch while Flo circled the base of the trunk, barking in triumphant celebration for at least five minutes. This was not a good move. After he had time to calm down, Henry realized what he had done. He had fled from a dog half his size. The humiliation stung. Utterly disgusted with himself, Henry behaved the way all men who have been made a fool of by a woman behave. That is to say: he acted like an ass.

After that, every time I walked through the house, I had to peer around the corner to make sure Henry wasn't crouching behind a door waiting to pounce. More than once, I caught him stalking Flo across the lawn like he would a particularly stupid bird. I snatched her out of harm's way more times than I can count. During the rehearsal dinner, and I am not lying, he tried to jump on us bonzai-style from the roof of the house.

This is why during our wedding ceremony, apparently you could hear a low rrrroooooowwwrrrr coming from the bushes. I didn't hear him, but others told me about it. They said Flo was looking a little worried. I believe it. Henry the Cat takes his revenge.

updated--This photo was taken from Margaret Weinland Photography and may or may not actually be of Henry. While the resemblance is uncanny, this cat looks suspiciously nice. It's also hard to tell without the gaping maw of razor sharp teeth facing in my direction.