The Strangest Kitty Reekie Ever Encountered...July 18, 1999

The Strangest Kitty Reekie Ever Encountered...July 18, 1999

It remains cursedly, unbearably, insufferably hot and humid. It has been impossible to think, impossible to concentrate, almost impossible to work. It is giving me a migraine. Nevertheless, there is relief on the horizon in the form of brief flashes of spiking light, followed by an almost inaudible roar. Let it rain.

In reflecting on yesterday's escapades with Moo, I was reminded of a late evening last summer, this time with Reekie, that was equally hilarious (in retrospect, mind you), even more frustrating, but thankfully, not as embarrassing.

It was raining hard that night. It was the kind of storm where the rain pelts against windows intermittently because of the gusting wind. The wind is ever present, shrieking, gale-force one instant, and the next it is gone. All is silent except for the trickling, cascading rain drops. For some unknown reason, perhaps pre-historic in origin, when we relied more on our sense of intuition for survival, the silence is disconcerting.

And then another gust blows.

I decided to retire at around 1:30am that night/morning. In the process, I let Reekie out for his end of the day business. I figured, given the inclimate weather, he would not dawdle as he sometimes did. He seemed to sense when I was really tired, and those were the occasions when he really took his time. These were pre-engagement, pre-Moo days, when my life seemed oh so less complicated. It was a time when one of the few things I had to worry about was whether or not Reekie would stay in the yard after letting him out. New kitties in the neighbourhood quickly learned where he thought his territory was. It was anywhere they happened to be. It is a good thing there happens to be a fair compliment of trees in the area, despite most bearing distinctive claw marks ascending their trunks.

After giving him what I believed to be adequate time doing his business and making his rounds, I opened the door to let him in. Usually he is standing there waiting, especially if his coat is getting wet and soggy, delicate as he is. He was not there. Nor could I see him in the back yard. I did not panic, as usually this indicates he went to do his business at the back side of the house. I called his name. There was no response. Still, this was not time to panic, as he could have just had to go really really badly. However, it was an indication that I should go outside to investigate.

Wearing only boxers, I went upstairs to obtain my housecoat and a pair of socks, cursing him for the likelihood that he would be on the step after I came back down, and I would have made the trip for nothing. I was tired, after all, and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and listen to the rain's rhythm while it washed me off to sleep. He wasn't on the step upon my return. I was now beginning to panic, just a little.

I put on my shoes, tightened up my housecoat, and braved the weather outside. I walked down the steps, and into the backyard. I lifted my head to the cascade of water, and let it pelt my face. It was refreshing. As I stood there in darkness made so wholly by the low hanging clouds, letting the rain pour down around me, on me, I wondered about how many others have enjoyed this same sensation. My idyllic state lasted but briefly, for who should come whimpering around the corner, but Reekie.

I could smell him from a hundred feet away. The stench was horridly unlike anything I had smelled before. It seemed to be coming from everywhere. Reekie was sprayed by a skunk.

It was 1:30 in the morning, it was raining heavily, I was tired, and outside in my housecoat, boxers, socks, and shoes. Reekie was sprayed by a skunk. He learned the hard was that the critter he chased was no ordinary kitty. The mere concentration of odour left me wondering if he had his nose right up the vermin's ass, for an extended period of time. I was faced with an unprecedented dilemma: "What do I do now?"

Reekie seemed to be suffering the same plight, as he repeatedly whined and sought out my comfort. What ensued was his chasing after me around the yard while I tried vainly to keep him at bay long enough to figure out what to do. He wanted no part of that.

After a few seconds of feeling sorry for myself, and annoyed with Reekie, I decided that I had to tie him up, temporarily at least. I attached his leash to the step, and went in to put more decent attire on. Luckily, there is a twenty-four hour convenience store across the bridge from my house, so off I went for the only solution I could think of at such a wee hour: tomato juice. I bought four large cans.

Once back home, I untied Reekie and rushed him into the house, upstairs, and into the bathroom. He was not afforded his usual struggle in getting into the tub. I then practically drowned him in the tomato juice. Thankfully, I had the sense of mind to bring the can opener upstairs with me. To the tomato juice, I added a half-bottle of shampoo. I scrubbed, and scrubbed, and scrubbed, to the point where Reekie's normally brown coat was dyed scarlet red. Unfortunately, I could not scrub the most concentrated area of skunk spray, his face. Therefore, me efforts were largely in vain. He smelled like bathed skunk meets wet mongrel.

I had no choice. I had to put him in the kennel, or he everything and everyone he rubbed up against would be graced with that same, oh so unpleasant smell. He was not happy. When Reekie is not happy, Daddy in invaritably not happy. He barked, he cried, he whined, he thrashed...until seven in the morning. Since by this time, he was relatively "dry", I did a sniff test. Yes, he was a reeking Reekie, but upon petting him, the smell did not transfer. I let him out of his cell, and we slept on the bed for a couple more hours.

Later that morning, I went to my parents' to get the skunk shampoo I was sure they had. It was all gone. Being Sunday, there was only one pet store open in the entire city. It was out of skunk shampoo, but they were more than happy to order it in for me, and I could come back in two weeks or so to get it. Little did I know that in two weeks, he would still smell; I was concentrating on our more immediate needs. I settled on this organically based deodorizer that is supposed to work on skunk smell. It did not. There was a disclaimer on the bottle stating it was most effective when applied immediately after the animal was sprayed. How true.

The immediate offending odour eventually wore off Reekie, but for months after, on wet rainy days, he would smell like skunk. And this isn't even how he got the nickname Reekie. That is another story.

Epilogue While writing this entry this evening, Reekie was assuming his usual post underneath my desk. Suddenly, he got up, dashed downstairs, and began barking profusely. Regardless of his many faux-pas, he is attentive, alert, and protective. I went downstairs, and to what did my wondering eyes appear, but Mr. Skunk...on my step. His ears must have been burning. Even better was the fact that the door was not closed tightly, and Reekie was off. This time, Moo was right behind. I was able to apprehend Moo before she even got all four paws over the threshold. Reekie came back when I called him, unscathed and unsprayed. I sniffed him all over, and I guess he remembers on some level our ordeal, and that it aint no kitty that makes that smell (which was wafting in the air). Whoever is scripting my life, I ask to lay off the irony for a while. It is getting overstated.

...Blessed Be