Fudder

I can't remember a time on Eagle Street when we didn't have a cat. Some cats were with us for a few months and then they were gone.  But our official family cat, the queen of all of our cats, was Fudder.

Fudder showed up in my Easter basket in 1963.

 A beautiful marble tabby Manx cat with white paws and the distinctive M on her forehead, Fudder was from the richer side of Mission Hills, having been orphaned at a very early age.  She was too young to be weaned.  Coincidentally, Tiny, the family dog, had just gone through a false pregnancy and was lactating.  Mom brought the kitten home and gave her to Tiny, who raised her as her own. Tiny and Fudder remained close for the rest of their lives.

Tiny adopted Fudder as her own.  Interestingly, Tiny like to perch in high places, just like a cat.

I don't know who named the kitten Fudder.  Or why.  Its a really ugly name for an adorable kitten.

Fudder enjoyed life during the era where cats were free to come and go as they pleased.  Back in the 60s and 70s, no one had an "indoor" cat.  So Fudder went out hunting for mice, lizards, and birds in our backyard canyon whenever she felt like it. She occasionally had the opportunity to catch a field mouse that ventured inside our house.

In the Springtime, we would hear angry birds making a racket.  We would go outside and see Fudder running towards home while mockingbirds were dive-bombing her. Sometimes they would peck little chunks of flesh off the top of her head to drive their point home.

Pawing in the box for some dinner

An sweet elderly woman who I called "Neighbor" lived two doors down from us on Eagle Street.  She just loved Fudder.  Every Friday was fish day in our neighborhood, and Neighbor would walk to the market and buy 2 rainbow trout--one for herself and one for her even more elderly mother.  She would pass by our house on her way home and remind me that she would leave the heads and tails on her back porch for our cat.  Fudder knew when I was walking over to Neighbor's  house it meant tasty raw fish would end up in her dinner bowl instead of boring Little Friskies, and she usually would follow me there and back.

Fudder loved everyone in the family. She was accustomed to being with children from the start.

Tammy in her dog dress and Cathy, Susan's daughter, who is holding baby Fudder

Tammy and Fudder in a doll cradle

Darwin and Fudder, with Tammy and Cathy

But she had a special relationship with Darwin.

Darwin and Fudder, co-napsters

She was always right there with us for the holidays

Like all cats, Fudder had a fascination with dripping faucets

Fudder even went in the kiddie pool with Darwin and Tammy

Fudder also lived during the free love 60s.  That meant we were treated to kittens twice a year. Manx cats have shorter spines and less cargo space, so they usually have very small litters compared to your average long-tailed cat.  Fudder nearly always had a litter of just three. Usually there were two with short tails and 1 with a full tail.  Mom never had a problem selling her kittens for cash or trading them for Blue Chip or Top Value stamps.

Tammy with the first litter

Tammy had a sandbox in the house.  Not a good idea if you also have kittens

Baby Jeff and Tammy with the 1967 Spring litter

Fudder didn't mind when Tiny hopped in the nest to check on her newborn grandchildren!

In 1971, our poodle Collette had a litter of 6 puppies.  Two of them were runts.  Being half the size of the other four, the two tiny puppies could not get a spot at the dinner table and were pushed into the corner of the bed.  It was apparent that Collette couldn't care for these two babies.  Fudder was currently living in the back of Jeff's closet, nursing a litter of 3 newborns herself.  She was a nosy cat, and couldn't help but stop by the puppy basket to take a look at the babies while Collette was out for a quick walk.  Hearing the wailing of the tiny runt in the corner, she decided to take matters into her own paws.  She grabbed one of the runts by the neck and took it back to her nest in the closet.  I went to get it back, but Fudder chased me all the way down the hall and with a ferocious growl backed me up against the TV in the living room. Later, when Fudder stepped away for a meal, Mom put the other screaming runt in the closet.  And there they stayed for another three weeks, until one day, the three kittens and their two Poodle step-siblings poked their noses out of the closet for the first time.

Fudder with her puppies and kittens

The coolest thing about Fudder saving the lives of the tiny Poodles was that she also trained them to use the litter box.  When they were returned to the puppy playpen with their Poodle siblings, Mom gave them a litter box them to use, and they in turn taught their four siblings how to go potty in the box.  This made that litter an instant hit with the customers.  Mom actually advertised them as "Litter box trained," and they sold like hotcakes.

The climber was one of Fudder's puppies. Notice the big litter box in the playpen

Fudder taught me an important lesson one hot summer day in 1970:  Don't bring strange adult cats into the house. Ever. Or else.  Mom and Dad were friendly with an old widow named Aunt Louise,  who was somehow related to Aunt Amy's husband.  She lived alone in a country mansion with a Siamese cat and a Pomeranian.  When the old lady had to go into the hospital, we went to get her cat and dog to take care of them for a few days.  As I walked into our living room with an animal under each arm, Fudder eyed the cat and went berserk.  She screamed a blood curdling cat scream and took a flying leap onto me. The Siamese cat jumped away and hid behind the couch, as did the Pom.  But Fudder was out of her mind and took her rage out on me.  She hissed and growled as she dug her claws into my bare arms and legs, slicing me open all over my four extremities. There was really nothing I could do about it except flail about and scream. By the time she was done with me, I was a bloody mess.  It took a couple hours for Mom to clean up all my deep wounds with hydrogen peroxide. Then she wrapped my arms and legs up in bandages, mummy style. I still have some of those deep scratch scars to this day, but I didn't stay mad at Fudder.

One day, sometime in 1973 or so, Fudder went out for her usual daytime excursion and never returned.  She was about 10 years old, which is pretty good for a free-range cat.  She never received a single vaccine, and had never been to the vet.  She lived a healthy and natural carefree life.

 Mom had three other Manx cats during the 70's and 80's after Fudder's departure.  They also loved people and dogs, weren't scaredy cats, and had some really cute babies.  But no cat could ever replace Fudder.  Raised by a dog, she returned the favor by saving two puppies. She kept the house mice on the run, loved her people, and ensured that I would never forget the best cat on Eagle Street.