Goodbye Erica Kane

On November 6, 2010, Erica died in Scottsdale, Arizona. Click here to refresh your memory of Erica.

This is the last photograph on my precious Erica, from Friday, November 5th. She was gorgeous until the end. Karen raised her from a very sick kitty into the best cat I've ever know.

My consolation is she died quickly, without lingering illness and dimishment of her powers. She was my cat to end all cats.

Webbings and Nails

Erica's Dreams.

Sleeping Arrangements

This was Erica's House; We were just tenants.

A philisophical exchange between Erica and Levi.

Don't want to hear about the damn Rainbow Bridge!


I'll miss that girl for as long as I live. She was a great cat.

My Turn: It’s My House, So Follow My Rules, by Erica Kane

I've lived with dogs since I was a tiny kitten, and I have to say that they are literal minded to the point of idiocy, usually, or, at their best, like Levi, they are a mass of neuroses and misguided perceptions. Don't interpret this to mean that I don't like dogs. I'm very fond of them indeed, though the things that worry or excite them are quite beyond my understanding. Do you have to act like hooligans because the doorbell rang? It just means someone's here, but they'll leave soon. You dogs need to learn to concentrate on what's important.

Because of the inattention of the dogs and humans I cohabit with, I have had the opportunity to mark everything and everyone in the house. Those stupid dogs (and humans) see me rubbing my face on chairs, tables, walls, everything, and they don't do a thing to stop me, or mark their things first. I've proceeded with some caution, but at this point I can announce, with no fear of contradiction, that I own the entire house, all its contents, and the surrounding lot and landscaping.

Though my clever encroachments have given me indisputable title to the family home, it is not in my nature to be a tyrant. I shudder to think of what antic rules might be imposed were Levi to become lord and master of our domicile. I have no intention of evicting anybody, human or dog, now that I have obtained title, and as a practical matter nothing will change. I just have a bit more security, which I need for my psychological well-being.

Which brings me to the real object of this essay: my fear of imminent starvation.

Despite being a cat of property and distinction, I am dependent upon dad for my very sustenance, and his inattention makes me fear that I might starve to death in the near future. By noting this now, and publicly, I hope to aid the possible service of justice in the event of my negligent homicide by starvation.

Of course, I free feed. My food must be available to me 24/7. Who knows when I'll be hungry? Certainly not dad! He is so inattentive!

I have what's known as a "gravity" feeder. It holds about two pounds of food. As I eat what's in the bowl, the food is replenished from the canister. It's an amazing invention, so simple but necessary and useful. Rather like the wheel. It's the kind of creation that makes me realize what useful and creative creatures humans really are.

Despite the manifest cleverness of humans, my dad will often let this device become so empty that it holds less than a pound of food! I understand that his intent is to fill it up again, sometime, but who knows how the future may conspire to make that intent untenable?

Once my gravity feeder is one quarter empty, I loudly notify everyone in the area of the potential disaster that lies ahead. If my yowls are heeded at all, it's by dad looking at my feeder and saying something wholly irrelevant like, "Erica, there's enough food there for a month. Stop it."

"Enough food for a month." What then, dad, what then?

So he lets the feeder get ever lower, dangerously lower, until I'm forced to spend much of my energy motivating him to fill my feeder up all the way! I "meow," I yowl, I run back and forth from wherever he is, to my food bowl, and he'll do nothing at all! Dad may be "the dogman," but he certainly doesn't know how to properly appease a cat. It's times like this that I wish I were big, and could make dad do what he's supposed to!

Finally, things will get dangerous. The feeder will be half empty. That's when I switch into high alert, and I will no longer be denied! I will not stop bugging everyone until the feeder is full to the top.

My rational side knows that with the feeder half-full, there is enough food for at least a week. But are my wishes so extreme? Is it too much to ask that my feeder just be kept full? Especially considering I'm the landlord around here. Really, that's all I want out of life.

Especially now that I legally own everything else.



Ed. Note: This is ordinarily Levi's column, but late Sunday night he informed me that he wasn't a machine who wrote on cue. I reminded Levi that he had known about this deadline for a week, and that he himself had insisted on a weekly column in the first place. Levi then asked for a cookie, which he got.

Erica said she would fill in for Levi, and that she had an important issue of which the public needed to be made aware. I told her that would be fine.

She handed in the above at the last minute. It's actually fairly accurate, except, of course, I dispute Erica's legal ownership of the house by virtue of her markings. 

If you don't care for Erica's opinions, feel free to check out some of Levi's past work here.




© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands

ScottsdaleDogMan.com

ScottsdaleDogMan.blogspot.com

Dreams of Dogs and Cats

It was the night of the full moon. The weather was glorious, and I was outside, on the patio, working on the computer. Levi was sleeping by the patio door, or Arcadia door, as they call them here. 

Erica was inside the twin-holed box that crowned her cat tower. That's where she keeps her weed stash. You know what I'm talking about.



More and more, lately, Erica's become a bit of a nip-head. Ever since I bought her that 10X catnip at the head shop...excuse me, at the pet store, she's been spending more time high on the stuff than I've ever known her to before. 


I've tried to delicately broach the subject with her, but anything I say is immediately taken as criticism, and she then becomes defensive and turns things around on me. Since I don't care to have my habits fall under Erica's scrutiny, we exist in a state of détente on that subject.



Levi was sleeping hard, and dreaming. He let out a little yip in his sleep, his legs were twitching wildly, and both Erica and I could see he was deep in REM.



"What do you think he dreams about," she asked me. "It looks like he's being chased by something. Maybe a puma."

"Levi doesn't sit around watching Animal Planet all the time. He doesn't even know what a puma is," I told her.



In his dream, Levi continued to let out little yips. From her lofty height, Erica snorted in derision.



"Puma's caught him," Erica said, with a touch of satisfaction.



"What do you dream about?" I asked Erica.

"I have the best dreams," Erica declared enthusiastically. "It's always a grassy field. But it's not grass. It's catnip, a big field of catnip! I feel like Dorothy in that poppy field, only I don't fall asleep like she did. I roll in the field, and the sun shines on me, and I grow!"



"Really? How big do you get?"



"Big!" Erica said, happily. "I grow big. Way bigger than Levi. Big enough to kill you!"



"Excuse me," I said, sharply. "Why would you want to kill me? I thought we loved each other."



"I don't want to kill you. I just want to be big enough to," she said.



"How come?"



"It would change the whole tone of our relationship, I think."



"For the better?" I asked.



"I think."



Levi yipped once more, then, suddenly, barked at full volume. His bark was loud enough to wake him, and in just a moment he had his bearings. He saw me and Erica looking at him.



"Puma…I'm sorry, Big Cat got you, huh?" Erica asked.



"What are you talking about? What big cat? Dad, where's the big cat?" He was wide awake, and excited.



"Erica's the biggest cat we've got at the moment," I told Levi.



"I thought you were dreaming that you were being chased, and then killed, by a puma," Erica said.



"What's a puma?"



"Big Cat," Erica and I answered in unison. Erica giggled.

"I wasn't dreaming about a Big Cat," Levi said. "I was hunting the rabbits."



Our neighborhood swarms with rabbits. Levi's learned to control himself when he sees them on walks, but only after repeated attempts to chase them down were thwarted by the end of his leash and his collar jerking his neck and, sometimes, me off my feet. It only took him five years before he stopped lunging at every one of them. 


Until Levi was a year and a half old, he had lived in rural New Mexico,  where his hunting instincts could be given full play.



"You sure liked when you could catch rabbits in New Mexico, didn't you, boy?," I asked him.



"It was the best! I caught one every single day, you know?"



"But Levi," Erica said."Why did you kill all those rabbits. You've always had all the food you wanted."



"I was hungry!"



"No, you weren't," Erica said. "That's my point. Why would you want to hunt if you don't need to?"



"I was hungry," Levi repeated.



"Were you hungry in your dream just now," she asked.



"Yes. I was very hungry, so I kept catching rabbits! And eating them! Then I was hungry again, so I caught more rabbits, and ate them, too!" Levi's tail wagged vigorously. I petted him and he pushed against my hand happily.



Erica laughed, softly. "Good for you, Levi."



"Thanks. It was great! I wish I could go back to sleep right now and dream it some more!" Levi suddenly looked worried. "But I'd probably have that other dream."



"The one about the coat rack?" Erica asked. Levi's tail stopped wagging.

The first house we had lived in eight years ago had a coat rack. Once, in a tussle with Arthur, the coat rack had fallen. No one was hurt, but Levi still had nightmares about it with some regularity.


"I wish I could just dream about the rabbits," Levi whined, morosely. "When I catch them, I'm not hungry anymore."



"A dog with all he wants to eat still thinks he's hungry and wants to hunt. I'll never understand them," Erica said with some finality.



"It's instinct, honey," I said to her. "You have instincts, too, you know."



"I overcome my baser instincts," Erica said, lazily.



"Then what about the mutilated bird I picked up from the lawn last week? You didn't need to kill that bird. You're not hungry either, Erica," I reminded her. "At least Levi ate the rabbits he caught. You didn't even eat any of that poor bird. So why did you kill her? Instinct, Erica."



"Not at all," she said, dismissively. "That was entirely personal."



"What did that little bird ever do to you, Erica?" Levi asked.



Erica inhaled deeply of her catnip. She looked down at Levi.

"I don't remember. But it must have been something."



And with that, Erica retreated to the interior of her drug den for a night of dreaming she was a Big Cat who could kill me, or Levi, if she wanted. But she wouldn't want to. Unless, of course, we did something.

To read more discourse between Levi, Erica and myself, check out "Webbings and Nails."



© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands

ScottsdaleDogMan.com

ScottsdaleDogMan.blogspot.com

Please share this blog with others.

Erica Kane

Admittedly, Erica is a cat, but she’s nonetheless a full-fledged pack member, and with the exception of myself, has been one the longest. She’s not a cat-dog, the kind of cat that lives with dogs and then imitates their behavior. A neighbor of mine has a cat that goes out on walks with her and her two dogs every night. That’s a cat-dog.

Erica is, however, an honorary dog. She’s lived every minute of her life, since she was adopted as a sick and frail shelter kitten, when she was two months old, with a pile of dogs, as many as six at once, that collectively usually outweighed her by approximately 5,000 percent. Over the years, these dogs haven’t always been entirely “cat-friendly,” but in the fourteen years she's lived with me, I’ve never seen Erica have anything but the most passing issue with any of them. She has a calm serenity that can communicate loving-kindness to even the rowdiest dog.

We got Erica after the disappearance of our first cat, the jet black, long-haired, Mogwai. Mogwai was a dog-cat, and the dog part of this equation was either pit bull or Cerberus. He ruled the dogs through violence and intimidation, killed birds and mice in horrific numbers and manners, and disappeared about this time of year fourteen years ago. We were in semi-rural New Mexico, so whether it was coyote, hawk, or misdirected bobcat, it’s fairly certain that Mogwai had died by the same sword under which he had lived.

A few months later, we got Erica. Even though she was sick and frail, she still had a hypnotizing personality, so we named her after All My Children’s Erica Kane, which is my Erica’s legal name. Actually, it’s officially Erica Kane Martin Brent Cudahy Chandler Montgomery Montgomery Chandler Marick Marick Montgomery, but that is a bit of a mouthful, so she generally just goes by Erica.

Much like her namesake, Erica does not age. Once she was nursed to health as a kitten, she has never again been sick, and has never shown any indication of advancing age. If she were a dog, I’d be carrying her to her cat tower, instead of watching her bound to the top in a thoughtless jump.

Also like her namesake, Erica is very affectionate. My Erica, though, is always cautious, but open and friendly to dogs and humans alike. When she’s lived with other cats, she was always tolerant and diplomatic, if not overtly enthusiastic.

She’s a survivor, like her soap opera counterpart. She’s lived her entire life in the Southwest as an indoor-outdoor cat, sticking close to home to avoid danger, and keeping a wary eye out. It doesn’t hurt that she has guard dogs at her disposal, but I credit her survival to prudence, and, of course, some good luck. TV’s Erica Kane may not be known for her prudence, but staying alive in Pine Valley for forty years requires no small amount of luck, so in that sense, as well, our cat was well-named.

Erica is good-natured when she becomes the object in a game of “Look Out, Cat!!! ™” More often than not she wins, meaning the dogs don’t corner her, but when they do, her fiery eyes, and a quick display of her claws, disarms the pack immediately. She always walks away with her dignity intact. I guess that’s more than can be said about Susan Lucci’s character, but she's just a namesake. They're not the exact same being.

I couldn’t love my Erica Kane more if she were a dog, or a human, for that matter. She, Levi, and I go to sleep together every night, though they’re usually gone in the morning to more comfortable locations where my inconsiderate movements don’t disturb them. In the living room, Levi likes the leather couch, and Erica favors the center of the enormous dog bed. But as I go to sleep, Levi is pressed against my side, and Erica sleeps on my pillow. Every night I fall asleep with a cat on my head, and I hope I always do.

I communicate with Erica, but in a very different way than I communicate with dogs. In a sense, when I communicate with dogs, I’m reverting to my more primitive roots. We share a common language that goes back at least 15,000 years, and maybe as many as 150,000. Wikipedia gets it right when they say cats have “associated” with us for at least 9,500 years.  The domestication of the dog seems to have been a result of true communication between two species. But I believe the cat domesticated us. And since earliest times, we have worshiped her for this.

When I communicate with Erica it’s not as if she’s a goddess, but it’s a bit like she’s an alien, the good kind, like E.T. Our discourse takes place at a higher level than with dogs, if that makes sense. I’m honored that Erica loves me, because I know I earned and merit that love; I take love for granted with dogs. Most of them love everybody. But Erica Kane discriminates.

Cats can be included in a dog pack. More than the right dogs, the success of this integration depends on the right cat. For those who don’t know, dogs and cats do communicate, and they can love each other. When I see Rocky and Erica curled up together for a nap, and watch Levi quietly walk past them so as not to wake them, I can’t question that we are all basically the same. If I have a soul, dogs and cats certainly do. If none of us have souls, don’t doubt that we all have hearts and brains, and the only difference between people, dogs, and cats, is one of expression, not degree.

Finally, the very best thing my Erica Kane has in common with All My Children’s Erica Kane: To my knowledge, neither of them has ever used a litter box or had an accident in the house. If I’m wrong about one of them on this point, I’d be willing to lay bets that it’s la Lucci.


© 2009, All Rights Reserved, Rich Sands
ScottsdaleDogMan.com
ScottsdaleDogMan.blogspot.com
Please share this blog with others.