Wo Fat Head



My oldest cat, Wo Fat, looks like a purebred Siamese, but he’s not. I knew his mom, Miss Brows (a.k.a. The Browser); she was a pastel tortoiseshell with, oddly enough, Siamese points amongst her gray and peach splotches. To produce Wo, she must have gotten together with one of her more Siamese cousins.

Wo’s first misstep came when he was ten months old and got Miss Brows pregnant. She was needy, and he’s sweet and obliging. Even though it was only the cats, I felt as if I were living in Dogpatch or among the Jukes and the Kallikaks. I dealt with the situation by having her spayed and him neutered. The only problem is, he’s never realized he’s not a tomcat anymore. He’s sexy as all get out and he has a crush on my youngest male, a little black and white tuxedo kitty named Sydney.

On December 25, 2010 at 3pm, Wo set my kitchen on fire. From my bedroom I heard him up on top the fridge with Syd. Wo was trilling and probably had his teeth sunk in Syd’s neck while Syd was snarling as if he were saying, “Hey, buddy! I don’t swing that way!” Pretty soon I heard a “thooomp” and turned to see Wo on his feet on the floor shaking his head. He decided to get back up on the horse that threw him and, as he jumped up on the stove, I heard a “click.” “What’s that?,” I thought stupidly.

About 30 seconds later I stood watching all my potholders and a box of brown sugar go up in smoke. The flames were about a foot and a half from the ceiling, and—in a split second—I thought about calling the fire department, then decided against it. A) I’d feel silly, and B) they’d probably get there too late. A large glass baking dish was providentially sitting on the counter. I filled it with water which I dumped on the conflagration. Disaster averted.

Wo’s latest caper came last fall as I was doing research on my computer. He came roaring into my bedroom, airborne at the doorway, as hysterical as if thousands of tiny demons were attacking his fuzzy butt with miniature pitchforks. Suffering from fleas, he may have reasoned that if he clung to me the fleas might transfer themselves to me and leave him alone. He missed his mark and landed on the keyboard, did a little tap dance and turned the image on the screen upside down. You have no idea how difficult it was to shut the computer off properly.

My brother finally got the image righted, but I had to help him turn the monitor upside down so he could use the mouse more easily. Everyone I’ve told this story to say they’ve never heard anything like it. Wo’s latest enthusiasm is to crawl up on top of me when I’m lying in bed. He’s suffering from fleas again, so every five seconds he has to jump up, chew and/or scratch himself or shake his head. I feel soooo rested.