Band of Brothers

I’ve been writing blog posts based on topics that readers suggested.  Today, one of my wonderful readers messaged me and asked me to write more about our boys—our three cats.  My boys are my favorite topic, so I’m happy to do it.

I woke up this morning, walked into our living room, and found two Sharpies, a bag of cotton balls, three ponytail holders, and an empty Mountain Dew bottle on the floor.  I stopped to survey the damage, took a step, and felt the familiar wet, lumpy mixture of a hairball squish between my bare toes.  I went into the bathroom to get a rag to clean it up and found my embroidery scissors on the floor by the shower, and, in the sink, two bottles of lotion and a makeup brush.  I emptied the sink so that I could wet the rag, and at the sound of water, they came running—all three of our cats, wanting a drink from the sink, skidding into the bathroom and hopping onto the counter as if water was in very short supply.  I filled Seamus’s china cup that he likes to drink out of, moved him aside so that little Carrick could reach the faucet, and then used a Dixie cup to create a small fountain for Mackin, which never fails to transfix him.

This was my morning.  This is every morning.  And—with the exception of the hairball—I loved it.  Our boys are spoiled.  They’re badly behaved.  They scratch up our furniture, push dishes off the counter and break them, tear down our blinds, eat our plants, and turn our living room into the feline version of “Fight Club” every night.

There’s another part of our daily routine that involves the boys—breaking up fights between Seamus and Carrick.  Monty and I spend an inordinate amount of time saying things like,

“Carrick, you look out the kitchen window.  Seamus, you look out the living room window.”

“Seamus!  Let him go!  Carrick isn’t a snack!”

“Carrick, if you’re going to run up to Seamus and taunt him, you can’t be surprised when he chases you.”

 “Seamus, I really am serious this time.  Don’t sit on Carrick.”

“Seamus, I said I was serious!”

“Carrick!  Don’t you dare bite Seamus’s tail!”

And this is what Monty and I say to them all the time, especially when we’re leaving them at home alone for a few hours:  “Be nice brothers!”  In the middle of the night I amend it to, “Only nice brothers get treats!”  The word “treat” stops them cold.  But as soon as they get their treats, they’re back to fighting.

You’ll notice we don’t have to say any of these things to Mackin.  Mackin is a lover, not a fighter.  He actually does want to be a nice brother.  He’s also very different from the other two: he’s tentative, scared of anything new (like me when I wear sunglasses or a hat), and often has to be reminded that he’s safe.  He has a sweet innocence about him—a simple way of looking at the world.  He really only requires a few things to be happy: Carrick, food and water, and his daddy.  Mackin worships Monty.

As I write this, it’s two o’clock in the morning.  Carrick and Seamus just started their nightly “Let’s hunt for crickets!  If we don’t find any, we’ll hunt each other!” ritual.  They didn’t find any crickets.  So they’re chasing each other up and down the stairs.  After telling them yet again to be nice brothers, I decided to try something different.  I put them in time-out (meaning I stand between them and don’t let them look at each other), and I asked them each to write a poem about why they loved their brothers.  This may sound odd to you, but my boys are no ordinary cats.  They can read and write.  Mackin struggles with words, but the other two don’t.  Still, I asked Mackin to write a poem, too (I gave him the first line to help him out).  These were the results.

“Why I Love My Brothers”
– Mackin Phoenix Phillips

Roses are red, violets are blue
I love my brothers
but I love my dad the most.

“Untitled”
– Seamus Falcon Phillips

Roses are red, violets are blue
I’m an only child, how about you?

I told Seamus we’d call that a rough draft, and I sent him back to the drawing board.

In the meantime, Carrick gave me his.

“My Brothers, My Friends”
– Carrick Fergus Phillips

I check all the beds when I want to sleep
Then curl up with Mackin in an untidy heap.
We nap for hours until I get hot
Then I must look for a much cooler spot.
I like playing with Mackin but not hide and seek
He can’t ever find me; he just goes to sleep.
Sometimes I help him when he needs to calm down
I let him play with my favorite toy clown.

Seamus will never take a nap next to me
So I sleep where I can see him, on the cat tree
He likes to play with me—we have so much fun!
He tries to catch me, but I’m fast when I run.
Without my brothers, I’d be very sad
My only playmates would be my mom and my dad.
I’m glad I have friends who are also my brothers—
I’m one lucky cat, compared to some others.

“My Brothers, In Three Limericks”
– Seamus Falcon Phillips

There once was a cat with two brothers—
I think we have different mothers.
No one speaks of this, though,
Are we supposed to not know?
I must be much smarter than the others.

Mackin is tolerable, sort of my friend—
There are times when I’ve even let him lick my back end.
He’s not very bright,
but somehow he gets by—
his honor I’ll fight to defend.

Carrick annoys me—the bane of my life;
he won’t let me do anything out of his sight.
He’s a pest and a runt,
but he does like to hunt—
Together, we win every fight.