The Alpha Male

Kay Hooper and Felix...

Felix the Alpha Cat

My name is Felix, and I am the Alpha Male in the multi-cat household of my person, Kay Hooper. I was what she refers to as “one of the original seven,” meaning that when she finished this dream house of hers, there were seven of us felines who moved here with her (plus two canines). I was the Alpha even then, of course, by virtue of my size (18-19 pounds, none of it fat), and my calm but assertive attitude.

Nobody messes with Felix.

Renny the Beta Cat

I am nine years old this summer, a birthday I celebrate with my littermates Renny and Isabel. Renny is Beta to my Alpha, content to be the “sweet and affectionate” one who also takes it upon himself to welcome the (really bordering on too many!) rescued cats and kittens Kay has added to the household over the years. Isabel, far more standoffish, has a tortie’s spitfire personality, is all of half my size – and possesses my meow. Yes, she does have my meow. Something got mixed up in our mama before we were born, and Isabel ended up with my deep-throated, husky meow.

Me? I sound like a squeaky hinge. A small and rusty squeaky hinge. It’s embarrassing! I try not to use my voice very often, but Kay and others have discovered I have a...soft spot...just at the base of my tail, and when they gently pinch, I for some unknown reason have to meow. If I were a mean cat, I’d smack them for that. But I’m not mean. And I’m the Alpha, after all, with an image to maintain. So I merely stroll away without a backward look.

Isabel

Anyway, my duties as Alpha Cat are many, but I make the job look easy. I keep watch from several good vantage points around this large house, from the back of the couch in the living room to Kay’s desk in the study. I’ve never broken anything on her desk, but I do admit to having the knack of napping on just the piece of paper she needs for the WIP. How should I know what’s important? Alpha Cats can do many things, but we can’t read. Is it irony then, that my person is a writer?

I do move when she asks me. Okay, I move when she nudges and pushes and mutters under her breath. Or when she finally resorts to putting on hand lotion. I know, I know, it sounds like I’m a wuss to be driven away by the scent of hand lotion. But it’s patchouli. And green tea. I just don’t like that smell, and she knows it. It’s getting to the point where she only has to hold up the bottle and wiggle it, and I move off her paperwork.

Bandit

One of these days, I’m going to roll that bottle off her desk and encourage the dogs to play with it.

Ahem. I was talking about my job as Alpha Cat, wasn’t I? Right. Right. So I keep watch over this clowder of cats, and I generally keep order. Generally. Some of the youngsters get too full of themselves from time to time, but I usually only have to head in their direction for the fracas to die down quickly. Sometimes the dog Bandit plays referee, bounding into the middle of a melee, which I don’t mind at all. (Don’t tell anyone, but I adore Bandit, who is only a year older than me.) It’s usually a peaceful house, though, especially when you consider how many cats make their home here. And I don’t mind the crowd, really.

Just as long as they remember that I’m the Alpha Cat.

Felix