Fritz
Archie Buckles had never seen a cat like Fritz in all his fifty-nine years. Elegant black and white markings on his fur resembled a tuxedo. Archie found Fritz’s little black mustache especially striking, though he would never admit it to anyone. Everyone knew Archie hated cats, especially annoying cats like Fritz.
Archie had always disliked the feline species. His ex-wife had two cats when they were married. They were always underfoot and begging for something to eat, always using his garden for a litter box, always leaving muddy paw prints on the hood of his truck and fur all over the furniture. Cats were nothing but trouble as far as Archie was concerned. Oh, he thought Fritz was a handsome enough creature. He just didn’t like cats.
Fritz belonged to the Hannaford’s’ daughter, Joanna, who lived next door, but the cat behaved as if Archie’s house was its home, as well. When Archie arrived from work each day, Fritz dashed between his legs as he opened the door and raced upstairs to hide in some remote corner of the closet or under a bed.
That darn cat, thought Archie.
He found it nearly impossible to get Fritz out of those hiding places. He usually gave up and went about fixing his supper until he heard Fritz playing with the drain plug chain in the bathroom’s old claw footed tub. It was Fritz’s favorite destination once the coast was clear. While Fritz was thus distracted, Archie snuck into the room, crouching low so he could not be seen. Once alongside the tub, he reached in and grabbed the cat by the scruff of its neck and proceeded to toss it unceremoniously outside.
One evening, after Fritz was safely outside, Archie filled the tub with warm water for a bath. His phone rang before he could step into it, though. His older sister Rose in Seattle, Washington called. Her husband had suffered a stroke and Rose needed the emotional support of her only brother. They talked for two hours. Rose, weeping, sounded little like the strong older sister he had known. By the time they ran out of things to say, Archie’s bath water was cold and he was too tired and upset to replace it. He crawled into bed for a restless night’s sleep.
There was no time for a leisurely bath come morning. Archie headed off to work after a quick scrub in the sink. When he returned home that night he hardly gave a thought to Fritz. His mind was on his sister and his ailing brother-in-law. Fritz raced past him without provoking so much as a grumble.
That night, Archie was sitting in front of the TV, dining on macaroni and cheese, when he heard a loud crash coming from upstairs. That darn cat, he thought, as he raced up the steps, two at a time. He was certain Fritz had knocked over the shelving unit that held all his bathroom supplies. When he reached the doorway he stopped suddenly. There, perched on the edge of the tub, was a skinny, shivering, soaking wet Fritz. The cat had leaped into the tub hoping to enjoy a little play time with the drain plug chain and found his favorite spot changed in a most undesirable way.
Archie began to chuckle and soon he was doubled over with laughter. “You little rascal, got more than you bargained for, didn’t ya?” He continued to laugh as he scooped the cat up and proceeded to dry it off with a towel.
The cat liked that even less than the cold water. It struggled to get away, paws flailing in all directions, but it kept its claws sheathed.
“You’ll have to tolerate more than this towel before you’re dry enough to go out into the cold.”
Still holding Fritz securely, Archie rummaged under the sink until he found the hair dryer that he seldom used anymore. He set the dryer in the sink and plugged it into the outlet, grabbed the unit again and switched it on.
The cat didn’t wait for the warm breezes to ruffle its fur. The roar of the dryer kicked its self preservation instinct into high gear. Eyes bulging and claws tearing, a previously manageable puss reverted to its wild predecessor.
Archie released his grip at the first jolt of pain, and Fritz bounded away like a snapped spring. Cussing and fuming, Archie ran water over his wounds and doused them with hydrogen peroxide “to kill the germs those mangy varmints carry around on their claws”.
Grumbling, he made his way back downstairs. “To hell with that friggen cat. He can catch pneumonia for all I care.”
When Archie reached the kitchen, he found Fritz pawing at the back door. He opened it and Fritz rushed out into the cold night. “Now, stay out!” he shouted. “That’s the last time I’m letting you into this house.”
After that, Archie was especially careful as he came in each evening. He searched all around the porch and under the steps before making quick work of slipping through the door. Occasionally he’d race around to the back of the house and enter there. Sometimes his evasive tactics actually worked, but most of the time the cat succeeded in zipping by him and racing upstairs to hide. Fritz was smarter than the average cat.
On the few occasions when Archie managed to outwit Fritz, the cat climbed the back screen door, poking tiny holes into the screen with its claws. It peered through the window, and watched Archie fix his supper until he whipped the door open and scared it off.
“Stay in your own yard, you blasted flea bag!”
Night after night the little drama played out on the otherwise quiet street. Night after night the cat slowly worked its way into Archie’s affections, rubbing its face on Archie’s leg when it got a chance, placing its paw on his knee and meowing for attention, making Archie laugh by playing with every little thing in the house that was not nailed down.
Finally, Archie resigned himself to the inevitable. He settled into a routine of letting the cat have a little play time before he booted it out the door, and he was careful to never leave water in the tub again.
One night, while Archie was eating supper in his usual spot in front of the TV, a pain like fire shot through his chest and down his left arm. Fritz heard Archie’s plate hit the floor and raced into the room to see what was happening. Placing its paws on Archie’s leg, the cat peered into his pain wrinkled face and sensed something was wrong. Fritz bounded to the window that faced his own house and pawed at the glass until he caught the attention of his young mistress.
Thinking the cat was trapped inside Archie’s house, Joanna and her mother came over to retrieve him. When they could not get an answer at the door, no matter how hard they knocked, Joanna’s mom peered into the living room window. Archie sat slumped in his big overstuffed chair. He did not respond, though they rapped loudly on the glass. Joanna’s mom quickly called 911.
The ambulance crew broke the door open, and Fritz raced out into Joanna’s arms. Though Archie’s condition was serious, the quick actions of his neighbors, thanks to Fritz, enabled the medical crew to arrive in time.
That is how Fritz the mischievous cat saved Archie Buckles’ life, and softened Archie’s ‘cat-hater’ persona forever.
