Miniman and Barfly

Companion animals are often casualties of divorce. Because the law deems animals “property” they are either neglected in the shuffle, given away as inconvenient clutter, or in rare cases, hotly contested more to irk the other party than out of concern for the subjects. Two good friends of mine both wanted full custody of their three cats; they went to court and finally the judge gave two cats to Vicky and one to Roger. She then took her two cats to the vet and had them euthanized. It took many men to restrain Roger, a huge Swede, from killing his former wife. For all the mistakes my X and I made in 1977, we did set our differences aside when it came to what was best for the household pets.

The two cats I am about to memorialize were Bob-X’s favorites. They and Majo the Airedale Terrier dog would go to live in Wichita. Xuska, Ponson, La Precious, Paquita, and Achilles stayed with me and my parents in Tulsa. As it turned out, so did Majo (read his memorial) who gallantly opted to stay with the weaker lot.

Not many adult cats would share a cardboard box for a 177-mile drive without serious conflict. It speaks of Barfly and Miniman’s friendship and good nature that they did. (Why we didn’t buy or borrow two cat carriers to transport them speaks of our ignorance at that time.)

It was painful to see them go, but Bob-X gave them a good home ... even if he fed them Alley Cat, just because there was no cheaper brand.

Miniman

 Born 3 May and adopted 4 May 1975 in Tulsa – died November 1989 in Wichita

 Meg O’Melia and Robert Payne came one fine spring evening to drink sangria. Her dog Bear, an aptly name German Shepherd Dog with the head of a Grizzly, came along. Eventually Bear had to go potty, but because my own dogs were in the backyard, barred from what would have been a deadly clash with the visitor, Bear was let out in the front yard, fully trusted by Meg to go unsupervised and return when he was done. Sure enough, about 10 minutes later Bear scratched the front door, came in, lay down majestically in the middle of the room, and out of his maul rolled a very wet kitten, so new to this world that his umbilical cord was still glistening pink.

We sobered up instantly. What the hell...!? And what do you do at 1:00 AM on a Sunday: Start an investigation? Her dog stole the kitten, we will never know how and can only hope that the mother wasn’t harmed. The first concern was to keep him alive without his mother. Meg rushed to her parents’ home, nearby, and came back with a lifetime supply of kitten formula – there are a few perks that substitute for money when one works as a veterinary assistant.

The kitten, an orange tabby, would stay on a 3-hour feeding schedule and we would try to find the owner (young optimists that we were) in the morning. But when it rains it pours and a few hours later I crashed my car around a utility pole on my way to clean kennels at the vet clinic. (See “Bruja” for details.) To Bob’s enormous credit, the kitten, “Miniman,” pulled through the critical first two weeks of his life while I was hospitalized.

Miniman turned out to be a spitfire of a kitten. Bruja first and later Barfly were his playmates. Most intriguing was his unwavering hatred of one of our frequent guests, Tom, a colleague of Bob, whom the cat would ambush and attack viciously every time. All other visitors were ignored. Animal instinct: Tom turned out to be no friend.

One indeleble image of Miniman, still a kitten, is asleep on top of a platter of fried catfish, his belly alarmingly distended after having his fill. Yes, he eventually outgrew his name as appetite won over activity. He became portly and magnificent. It was hard to see him go.

Barfly

Adopted in 1975 – died January (22 years later according to Bob) in Wichita

 Bob and Tom were drinking beer in a bar on 15th Street after work. "There was a kitten sitting on a bar stool and I asked the bartender if the cat was his," remembers Bob. "We sat at a booth near the open front door and before we had a chance to enjoy our brew, a gray ball of fur was bolting out the door. I was able to catch him before he crossed peak hour traffic. I took a look at him and knew he needed help. As I exited, the bartender asked where I was going with 'his' cat. I told him 'He's my cat now.'"

That evening, Bob presented me with a malnourished kitten who suffered intestinal parasites, ringworm, and infected eyes. In his condition we doubted he would make it through the night, but he did, nestled in the warmth of our bed, too weak to swallow any kitten formula. First thing in the morning we rushed him to Dr. Lanning and the treatment began. By then, we all had ringworm.

“Barfly” –an ignoble name that stuck— responded to the meds and loads of attention. He grew up to be gorgeous. His gray-blue fur was like chinchilla, his expression interested and sweet, his behavior mellow ... a wonderful cat who bonded with his coeval Miniman and later with Jack, one of the cats orphaned when Meg O'Meilia died and who Bob adopted.

I forgot to mention that the veterinarian pointed out that not all the circles on Barfly's skin were ringworm but some cigarette burns also. Forgive me, gentle reader, for entertaining the notion that it would have been fair and most satisfying to show them what became of their victim and then set them on fire.

When Bob moved back to Tulsa, Barfly was ancient and he had to be helped out of a life he could no longer enjoy one year later. We buried him on top of Majo so they would share eternity as they had shared some of their younger years.