Rotisserie Kitty? NOT!


Piece of very valuable advice to my cat loving friends, and anyone else silly enough to make this mistake:  Cats do NOT like Akitas.

My daughter has a beautiful Akita that she rescued from a shelter.  The vets feel she is a pure bred, approximately 2 years old.  She is gorgeous in my opinion.  A big teddy bear unless you pose some threat to my baby girl at which point, based on some playful fun, we’re certain she will eat you. Alive. Showing no mercy.  Just like I want her to be should my daughter be in danger.  This dog is currently on puppy prozac because she suffers separation anxiety when my daughter is not home.  When she is home the dog is her constant shadow.  The Yorkie my daughter has is a snob, wants nothing to do with the Akita.  Won’t play with her, barely tolerates her, and dominates this huge beast that could swallow her whole.  She is the alpha dog and the big dog respects her place in the pecking order of the household pack.

The granddogs discussing who will steal the blueberry pie

Yesterday she brought my granddogs over to see me and have lunch.  Now as you may recall (see my supporting cast) we have 3 cats.  They all have met the Yorkie and were not impressed.  It is mutual as the Yorkie doesn’t seem to grasp how to play with a cat so she is useless to them and they they to her.  No threat there, my cat and my niece’s (Pixel and Ditzy) have both slept on my bed at night  with the Yorkie without issue.   But the cats had never seen the Akita.

Now you would think I’d have more brains than what I am about to share but I have my blond moments.

Ditzy was cautiously checking out Okelani, the Akita.  Lani was out on the deck, with the sliding screen door closed.  We wondered how the cats would take to her, and she to the cats.  So me, in a moment of temporary insanity, picked up Ditzy and took her close to the screen door.  My first clue that this was not a smart thing to do should have been that while she was checking Okelani out from a distance, her tail was kinda puffed out, Christmas tree tail is what my daughter calls it.

As I approached the door, I felt the cat stiffen.  Again, do you think I’d get the hint? Hell no, I kept getting closer.  My daughter was prepared to hold Lani if need be.  While she didn’t make a sound, Okelani must have given the poor cat the impression that she was envisioning said feline as a rotisserie kitty, cooking over a nice fire.  I say this because all of a sudden I heard the hiss from hell come from Ditzy, it was borderline roaring, her tail exploded into the biggest, puffiest black thing I have ever seen and she blotted the scene.  In doing so she dug her claws into my arms to launch her flight over my shoulder, then across the kitchen table and down to her owner’s room.  I have multiple puncture wounds on my arms, deep ones.

My daughter suggested I wash them quickly, as I am allergic to cats, and then I put on topical Benadryl.  I missed one on my upper arm, and it is bruised and quite irritated today.  The others are not nearly as bad, thankfully.

Yeah, NOT one of my shining moments for certain.

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