I Live with a Pooka

My husband and I have an adorable pet cat. Well, some of the time she is adorable. The rest of the time she lives up to her name: Pooka.

Our cat is a long haired something, with pretty gray, white, and black coloring. My aunt and uncle rescued her from a feral colony when she was nearly half a year old. At first they thought she was deaf so we took her because she could be an indoor cat and not have to worry about it. She is not actually deaf; she had the worst case of ear mites the vet had ever seen.

She is small for a cat with really short legs. I’m glad she can’t jump very high. It means my kitchen counters are safe. In order for her to get onto our bed she has to claw her way up part way.

She used to sleep on our heads during the night. After tossing her to the end of the bed over and over, she finally learned to stay near our feet. Most of the time. She is our weekend alarm clock. Never fails. Six o’clock in the morning, she is at our heads meowing as loud as she can to be fed. Once she is fed, she comes back to get us out of bed. If we sit in the recliner, she’ll sit in our lap and won’t meow quite as much.

Pooka likes the bathtub. Not when it is nice a dry but right after someone has showered. It’s the same with the bathroom sink. She will climb in and just rest, not worried about her feet getting wet. She doesn’t like the rain or snow though. She has been outside during both and runs for cover.

Recently I was painting at home and had a large blending brush. When I was done, I put all of the supplies on a little end table. The next day, the large brush was in the middle of the floor. Not thinking about it, I put the brush back on the end table. Once again, the next day the brush was in the middle of the floor. When I picked up the brush the kitty rushed it, but I got it away from her and tossed the brush on top of our six-foot tall bookshelf. In order to get the brush she would have to climb to the back of the recliner and jump two and a half feet up to the bookshelf.

A couple of days later, the brush was in the middle of the floor.

I was a little fed up at this point and stashed the brush on a rollaway keyboard on an unused computer desk. Next day? The pictures from the top of the bookshelf were on the floor and some other items knocked over. I picked up the annoying little Pooka and showed her where I hid the brush. I should have known better. It was in the middle of the floor the next day.

My husband found the perfect spot to keep it safe. It is now taped to the pull cord of our living room fan. Every time we pick the little thing up, she tries to climb on our head to get it.

There is one thing to be grateful for, her favorite toy is the little milk jug ring from the lid. We have at least a dozen on our kitchen floor at all times. When people come over I always feel the need to explain why we have “garbage” on the floor.

Our little feline is very cuddly. It’s really nice to have her around when my husband has to work late or has classes. She isn’t afraid of strangers and puts up with children. Overall a very wonderful cat.

For those of you wondering what a pooka is I suggest watching Harvey. “’P O O K A - Pooka - from old Celtic mythology - a fairy spirit in animal form - always very large. The pooka appears here and there - now and then - to this one and that one - a benign but mischievous creature - very fond of rumpots, crackpots, and how are you, Mr. Wilson?’ How are you, Mr. Wilson? Who in the encyclopedia wants to know?”

Yes, I know. Harvey is actually not a typical Pooka. He’s too nice.