Tag: Freya Charlotte

Columns

She’s full of tuxitude

Cindy Hval

There’s a reason they call them the terrible twos – the defiance, the disobedience, the disregard for accepted standards of behavior.

It’s galling to have a 2-year-old standing on your kitchen table, staring you down, while you loudly admonish them to “Get down right now! Don’t make me come in there!”

Our tiny tuxedo kitty, Freya Charlotte, turns 2 next month, but she’s exhibited this behavior consistently since we brought her home at 8 weeks old.

I thought she’d outgrow her impulsive, natural naughtiness. I assumed she’d learn that kitchen tables, refrigerator tops, and my face are not appropriate places to plant herself.

After all, this isn’t our first cat rodeo. It’s not even our first tuxedo cat. But she is our first girl. I’d love to blame her gender – or Derek’s doting – for the way she tests our patience and tabletops, but it turns out that spunkiness is simply part of the black-and-white package.

Tuxedo cats are known for being highly active and often mischievous. In fact, they’ve coined a word to describe their demeanor – tuxitude.

Freya’s got that in spades.

Her vertical leaps surpass Michael Jordan’s in his prime. We attached a cat toy on an elastic string to our French doors. When she releases the toy, it springs upward and Freya flies after it, easily reaching the top of the door.

Last month, either her athleticism or her curiosity led to an eye injury. We’re not sure what happened, but one evening we noticed she wouldn’t open her right eye. Thankfully, she was already scheduled for a checkup. Our vet said she’d scratched her cornea and sent Freya home with oral antibiotics, pain meds, and a new accessory – the dreaded cone of shame.

Knowing how important it was for her to keep her paws away from her eye, we made her wear it for the required amount of time. She wasn’t a happy camper, but her eye healed quickly.

Tuxedo cats are known for their dog-like devotion, and Freya does follow me from room to room. But it’s more of a supervisory role than a desire for closeness.

The only time she cuddles is right after breakfast. Then she squeezes her head under my chin, burrowing her nose into my neck, and purrs. Her rhythmic purr is the perfect way to wake up or enjoy a few extra minutes of sleep, aka a cat nap.

Like most tuxedos, Freya is quite social. She greets guests at the door and then goes through any bags or purses more thoroughly than TSA does. If the bag is big enough, she’ll climb in and get cozy.

She’s made herself an honorary member of the writers group I host each month. My fellow writers tolerate her intrusiveness and alert me when she’s on the kitchen table attempting to remove plastic wrap from any covered treats.

It’s embarrassing to have to get up and remove your cat from the snacks while writers are sharing their work. Ditto, trying to keep her paws off their plates.

She and Sir Walter Scott, our tabby, accompany me to my downstairs office each morning. Walter perches on the windowsill or curls up on my reading chair. Freya prefers to sit on my mouse or atop the printer – whichever is most inconvenient for me.

Recently, she accepted the position of painter’s assistant. No matter that the painter working on a downstairs bedroom didn’t want or need her help. Even with the door shut, she found a way to sneak in through the closet.

By the time the job was done, she had several new white markings on her sleek black coat.

Walter endures her antics with stoic resignation, but he often chases her around the house to remind her who really rules the roost.

Though her incorrigibility is frustrating at times, we’d never trade Freya for a docile lap cat. Her terrible twos will pass, but her sassy tuxitude is just part of her charm.

Columns

Double Trouble: A State of the Cats Address

Cindy Hval

2024 proved tumultuous for Sir Walter Scott.

In June, our fluffy tabby lost his best friend when our senior cat, Thor, died. Their friendship wasn’t reciprocal. Thor tolerated Walter at best, but Walter seemed convinced they were best friends. When we didn’t bring Thor home from his final vet visit in June, Walter paced the house searching for him.

A few weeks later, we went to see our grandkids in Ohio. Though family members take good care of our cats when we travel, I worried about Walter. He’d never been alone.

He seemed happy to see us when we returned, but then a contractor began working on my home office. As soon as Tim walked in the door, Walter went under our bed where he stayed, coming out only to eat and for cuddles and treats in the evening after Tim left.

His next stressor came with the arrival of a 2-pound black and white kitten we named Freya Charlotte. After a few days, Walter adjusted the Tuxedo tornado’s company, even allowing her to curl up next to him. He continued to hide under our bed for hours, so Freya gamely joined him for naps.

Then we noticed bumps on his chin. When they continued to spread, I took him to the vet.

Diagnosis: feline acne. This benign condition can have several possible causes, but the only one that seemed to apply to Walter was stress. As for the antibacterial wipes I used to treat it, Walter could hear me unscrewing the lid from across the house and would dive under the bed before I got close enough to swipe his chin.

Thankfully, all is well with Walter now. His acne cleared, and he’s back to sleeping on top of our (his) bed instead of underneath it. Freya is almost always beside him. Actually, we should have named her after the Biblical Ruth, who famously told her mother-in-law, “Where you go, I will go, and where you lodge, I will lodge.”

Wherever Walter goes, Freya follows, though at 7 months, she’s getting good at coming up with solo adventures.

She’s next level when it comes to parkour. For those unfamiliar, parkour involves several movements, including running, jumping, climbing, vaulting and rolling, all aimed at traversing obstacles and moving from one point to another in the most efficient way.

I doubt that efficiency is her goal. She simply loves leaping and bouncing from one height to the next. She takes a running leap from the floor, bounces off the kitchen counter, skims the dining room table, and lands on the loveseat. She does this multiple times a day.

“She needs a cape,” Derek said. “I bet they sell them at PetSmart.”

Over the holidays, we discovered Freya is an accomplished sheep poacher.

A Play-Doh manger scene always has a place of honor on top of the piano at Christmas. Our son Alex made it when he was in kindergarten. This year, every morning, I’d find the tiny cotton ball sheep on the floor, in the bedroom, or in a closet.

Derek caught Freya tiptoeing (tippawing?) atop the piano, weaving amid fragile objects, her eye on the lone sheep.

One morning, we woke up, and it was gone for good. And no, I did not sift through the litter box looking for it.

We’ve raised four sons, but I no longer need to wonder what kind of dad Derek would have been to a daughter.

Last week, I heard him yelling, “Freya! You get off that refrigerator right now!”

A few seconds later, “No! Freya! Do NOT chew that cord!”

All was quiet for a bit, but I could hear him murmuring. I walked into the kitchen to see Freya in her cat tree basket and Derek stroking her head and rubbing her cheeks.

“You’re still a baby, aren’t you? You’re just a little baby girl, yes you are!”

He wasn’t the least bit embarrassed.

“Well she is,” he said.

Then he turned his attention back to the kitten.

“Aren’t you Freya? Aren’t you just a little baby girl?

I can’t swear to it, but I’m almost certain that cat was smiling as she closed her eyes.

Columns

The new girl

Cindy Hval

She sashays through our house like she owns the joint, the bell on her pink collar jingling.

A month ago, Freya Charlotte joined our clan. Derek and I were immediately smitten with the kitten, but it took our resident tabby a tad longer to warm up.

Though Sir Walter Scott keenly missed his buddy Thor, we hadn’t anticipated adding a kitten to our family quite so soon.

Like cat foster mom Gina said, “The Cat Distribution System struck again!”

She’s referring to the concept that cats or kittens just randomly appear in your life. The idea is that sometimes you don’t adopt a cat; rather, a cat adopts you.

All I know is from the moment we saw the tiny tuxedo’s photo on Gina’s Facebook, we knew she was ours.

The orphan kitten found alone near Progress Road in Spokane Valley got the best of care at Gina’s house. After she gained some weight and was spayed, chipped and had her first round of shots, we went to SCRAPS and officially adopted her.

We gave considerable thought to her name. A friend asked if we were naming our cats after South Hill streets, but Thor and Freya are prominent in Norse mythology.

Thor, the hammer-wielding god of thunder, is better known thanks to the Marvel comics and movies. But Freya is legendary in her own right. The fierce Norse goddess drove a chariot pulled by cats.

After some research, I found a middle name meant to curry favor with Walter. His namesake, Scottish author, historian and poet Sir Walter Scott, had four children. Charlotte Sophia was the eldest and his favorite.

Freya Charlotte Sophia is a bit of a mouthful, but it does get her off the top of the refrigerator in a hurry.

When we brought her home, Sir Walter sauntered up to peer into the carrier. Freya poked her nose out, and a horrified Walter bolted to our bedroom to hide under our bed.

He didn’t stay there long because Freya found him and assumed that he adored her like everyone else she’d met.

After a bit of hissing on both their parts, they moved on to chasing, pouncing and snuggling.

It’s been heartwarming to see their relationship blossom. Walter is a cuddly cat who longed to cozy up to Thor, but our senior tabby wouldn’t allow it.

Thankfully, Freya loves to snuggle next to him for a catnap. She submits to his grooming attention until she’s had enough and then gives a surprisingly deep, throaty growl. That’s enough for Walter to lay off the licking.

Another wonderful surprise is how much she likes people. Most cats are standoffish with strangers – not Freya.

On her third day in our home, Naselle, my soon-to-be daughter-in-law, came over to meet with the wedding florist. Freya let both ladies hold her, then promptly curled up on Naselle’s lap and fell asleep.

The kitten is equally friendly with our sons, but her reaction to a contractor who came to work on our home shocked me. The contractor is a big guy, and Freya marched up to him and let him pick her up.

Sadly, Walter is not so brave. Every day the contractor was here, Walter hid under our bed and refused to come out. Not so his baby sister. She’d check on the progress of the room remodeling and then join Walter under the bed, curling up with him in solidarity.

She likes Walter, but she’s an absolute mama’s girl. Wherever I am is where she wants to be. I put a soft blanket on the chair near my desk. As I type this, she’s dozed off, but she much prefers to bury her nose in my neck when she’s sleepy. Her purrs sound more lionish than kittenish.

The one similarity she has with the late Thor is her food obsession. She’s slowly learning that she’s not allowed on the dining room table and that our plates are off-limits. So are the refrigerator, stove and sink.

Recently, Derek found her licking an omelet pan he’d left on the stove. Thankfully, the pan and the stove had cooled, but that behavior is not cool.

He sternly scolded Freya Charlotte Sophia. A few minutes later, he returned to the kitchen to load the dishwasher and found her in the sink, dabbing her paws into the pan he’d filled with water.

“Freya!” he hollered.

She looked him in the eye and slowly licked her dainty paw.

I think the new girl will keep all of us, including Walter, on our toes.