![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Memories of Lukas Tablewalker......
Feb. 5th, 2009 05:47 pmI saw a video posted to Icanhascheezburger, that not only made me smile, it made me think of a kitten we once had, now long gone.
Early in our marriage, we had a German Shepherd with a rather strong affinity for cats, kittens especially. We would walk Isaac in the park two blocks from the house and once off the leash, he'd disappear, foraging in the bushes. On several occassions he'd emerge with a kitten dangling by the scruff of its neck. The first time, we gingerly freed the kitten from his grip, returning the terrified beast to the bushes, much to Isaac's surprise and dismay. The next time he found a kitten, he growled menacingly when we tried to take it away from him. The message was clear. "Mine!" He carried the little one home, gently deposited her in front of his food bowl, then nudged her towards it to eat. The kitten stayed with us for 6 months, disappearing when she went into her first heat, before we could get her fixed.
Two weeks later Isaac found another kitten, who would be christened Lukas Tablewalker.
He couldn't have been away from his mother more than a week or so. He was this longhaired ball of fluff, with eyes, fangs and curiosity. I'm not sure if he thought Isaac was his mother or what, but he followed him around and tolerated being both groomed and carried by a canine that towered over him.
About two weeks after his arrival, we were playing cards after dinner, the remnants of the meal on the side of the kitchen table. I noticed the kitten sitting on the floor next to my foot, fighting falling asleep. He'd wobble a bit to one side, then right himself, then drift to the other and right himself again, eyes shut. I quietly leaned over and gently lifted him up. He awoke a few feet above the ground, startled by the sudden change in his surroundings and none too pleased. He squawked loudly, which brought Isaac into the room. I put him down on the table, and in his indignation, he started grooming furiously, while we went back to playing cards.
The kitten, then unnamed, spotted a plate of buttermilk biscuits left over from our meal. In his best pediatric feline manner, slowly began his hunt, stalking his prey. He stealthily circled to the side of the plate in a low crouch, then with a miniscule roar, sprang, sinking his claws and teeth into the bisuits's 'neck'. He then turned to face us, a low semi-growl (or at least as best as a two month old kitten can approximate that sound) to defend his kill. Nothing short of hysterical. I reached over, and lifted him up by the scruff of his neck. He continued his death grip on that savage buttermild biscuit, same low growl coming from somewhere in that ball of fluff, though the look of apprehension in his eyes, as he once again dangled from my mitt several feet above the floor, told me that neither he, nor anyone else there bought his bravado. It was all too bloody cute for words.
The dog for his part looked rather puzzled.
Return of the Jedi had just been released; the Force, Princess Leia, Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker were so much on everyone's lips. I had been toying with naming the kitten Lukas, and his table top escapade that night clinched his name. Lukas Tablewalker. May the buttermilk biscuit be with you.
He had a good long life, having made the journey with us from SF to Sonoma county, and now he rests up the hill from the house, buried under a redwood, not far from Isaac.
So with no further ado:
Early in our marriage, we had a German Shepherd with a rather strong affinity for cats, kittens especially. We would walk Isaac in the park two blocks from the house and once off the leash, he'd disappear, foraging in the bushes. On several occassions he'd emerge with a kitten dangling by the scruff of its neck. The first time, we gingerly freed the kitten from his grip, returning the terrified beast to the bushes, much to Isaac's surprise and dismay. The next time he found a kitten, he growled menacingly when we tried to take it away from him. The message was clear. "Mine!" He carried the little one home, gently deposited her in front of his food bowl, then nudged her towards it to eat. The kitten stayed with us for 6 months, disappearing when she went into her first heat, before we could get her fixed.
Two weeks later Isaac found another kitten, who would be christened Lukas Tablewalker.
He couldn't have been away from his mother more than a week or so. He was this longhaired ball of fluff, with eyes, fangs and curiosity. I'm not sure if he thought Isaac was his mother or what, but he followed him around and tolerated being both groomed and carried by a canine that towered over him.
About two weeks after his arrival, we were playing cards after dinner, the remnants of the meal on the side of the kitchen table. I noticed the kitten sitting on the floor next to my foot, fighting falling asleep. He'd wobble a bit to one side, then right himself, then drift to the other and right himself again, eyes shut. I quietly leaned over and gently lifted him up. He awoke a few feet above the ground, startled by the sudden change in his surroundings and none too pleased. He squawked loudly, which brought Isaac into the room. I put him down on the table, and in his indignation, he started grooming furiously, while we went back to playing cards.
The kitten, then unnamed, spotted a plate of buttermilk biscuits left over from our meal. In his best pediatric feline manner, slowly began his hunt, stalking his prey. He stealthily circled to the side of the plate in a low crouch, then with a miniscule roar, sprang, sinking his claws and teeth into the bisuits's 'neck'. He then turned to face us, a low semi-growl (or at least as best as a two month old kitten can approximate that sound) to defend his kill. Nothing short of hysterical. I reached over, and lifted him up by the scruff of his neck. He continued his death grip on that savage buttermild biscuit, same low growl coming from somewhere in that ball of fluff, though the look of apprehension in his eyes, as he once again dangled from my mitt several feet above the floor, told me that neither he, nor anyone else there bought his bravado. It was all too bloody cute for words.
The dog for his part looked rather puzzled.
Return of the Jedi had just been released; the Force, Princess Leia, Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker were so much on everyone's lips. I had been toying with naming the kitten Lukas, and his table top escapade that night clinched his name. Lukas Tablewalker. May the buttermilk biscuit be with you.
He had a good long life, having made the journey with us from SF to Sonoma county, and now he rests up the hill from the house, buried under a redwood, not far from Isaac.
So with no further ado:
