This year for Christmas my mother-in-law gave me a mug upon which was emblazoned:
Some Men Are Born to Cats, Some Men Have Cats Thrust Upon Them
When I wed my wonderful wife… sheeshk. I got tongue tied typing that… and that… when I got married to Cassie I inherited/was given/was blessed to receive three cats. Over the months I have come to love all of these cats in their own very special ways… mostly. These… are their stories. I’m gonna spare you the “cat pictures” taken with bad cameras and poor lighting and instead let the power of your imagination (and my own psychic abilities) guide you on this magical journey.
Ah Sassafras. I never ever call her that. Mostly it’s Fras, occasionally “Biscuits” cause it’s fun to say with a British accent. Fras is probably the most normal cat I have, by which I mean she is completely nuts. Grape-nuts even. Listed amongst Fras’s favorite activities are things like: sleeping, running around the house for no reason, chasing… something, chasing something else, hanging upside down, sleeping again, and mewing. Currently Fras is sitting in her favorite napping local: on top of the wireless router. I have no idea why she sleeps there, maybe she wants to feel connected to the world, maybe she’s developed the ability to access the internet through osmosis, maybe she has the exact same sanity level as a dragonfly. I don’t know. But that is where she sleeps.
Fras is also what my life likes to call a “lap cat.” This (Apparently) means that whenever you sit down Fras will come over and sit on your lap (if you are my wife). If you are not sitting properly (i.e. any position besides the one position Fras wants you to be in) Fras will sit next to you and stare at you. As if to say “What on Earth are you doing sitting that way? How could you NOT want me to sit on you? And, far more importantly, where am I going to sit now?” She will do this until either my wife accommodates her by sitting correctly, or until Fras goes off to smell something and is thus distracted by her own hilarious lunacy.
Another name we never ever use in this house ever never is: Scampers. She goes mostly by: Scamp and/or my most common name for her: Tubs. Scamps is… how shall we say it… rotund. Or (to put it in a positive light) if Scamp were a pickle she would be the biggest one in the jar! After all, who doesn’t want the biggest pickle in the jar, right?
Scamp has the cat version of ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder) not in the sense that she is easily distracted (though she is) but in the sense that if Scamp feels like your attention to her is in deficit she will quickly develop and/or create disorder. Most commonly Scamp does this by subtly walking up to you and then (somewhat less subtly) headbutting whatever it is that your attention is currently focused on. She will headbutt your phone, your computer, your breakfast, whatever you’re doing that detracts from your appreciation of rolly polly rock-em robot that is Scamp. As a side effect of this Scamp is not a “lap cat” so much as she is a “full body tackle cat.” Her optimum position is sitting on your chest, staring intently at your face, and crushing all the bones in your ribcage. Needless to say, Scamp does not get to do this often (it got hard to explain to the doctors after the fourth broken rib).
Being on the rounder side of the Mason-dixon line Scamp has adopted a very sort of “I don’t care what you think about me” attitude toward life and she makes absolutely sure you know that…. Which, when you think about it, means she cares what you think about her doesn’t it? Yeah, I know. Mind. Blown.
Hey look! Another name we never ever actually use around the house. Zade (rhymes with umm… Body. Or potty… and some other less weird things) is our bla—eh-hem. Our African-Ameri—What? Oh it’s okay with cats? Well how am I supposed to know anyway? Zade is black. Also VERY emo. I have no idea where Zade is right now… probably lighting up on Catnip and listening to the complete works of Edgar Allen Poe on tape. Zade is such a fan of Poe in fact that she routinely attempts to recreate the “Nevermore” poem except without all that pesky dialogue. Basically she just sits there and stares at you… forever… with hatred in her heart… and eyes.
Zade’s heart is a barren wasteland fraught with danger, volcanoes, and dark odes written to the moon… until you close the bathroom door. I don’t know what it is about the bathroom or the door thereof, maybe Zade just doesn’t want to lose her standing with the other cats or doesn’t want publishers to start sending back the demon poems she writes but for whatever reason as soon as you shut that bathroom door (with Zade in the bathroom with you) Zade somewhat desperately wants to be pet. And when I say “somewhat” I do not mean “somewhat” at all. If “allwhat” was a word, I would use it there.
It should also be noted that Zade has allergies. Personally I did not know cats could get allergies, I mean I realized that they were allergic to something I guess but only in the same sense as I am allergic to the work of Cameron Diaz or a large pile of brussel sprouts. Zade though is allergic to just about everything apparently. Thus giving rise to the somewhat obvious question: What are sharks allergic to?
And those are the three cats who were here when I arrived. When the bliss of married bliss first blistered… wait… that didn’t come out right… How are bliss and blistered so much the same word anyway? Blistered and Mustard I get, but blister and bliss? Whose idea was that?? Stupid langage… (grumbling)… gonna get me in trouble… (continued grumbling)…
Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, bliss. So when me and my wife were blissed we had three cats. Now though (be ready for this) we have another. One who my wife brought home (Cause I certainly did not) from the vet clinic due to its upper respiratory infection (the cover story) and its relative adorability ratio (the real reason) and this cats name is:
And, yes, we actually call her that most of the time. Occasionally Pipes and/or Pipette (okay so not that second one ever… though I might start now). Currently Piper is curled up around my feet asleep because that is what she wants to do. Piper is that youngest child who the family isn’t expecting and who automatically becomes spoiled. I (like any good pet owner/parent) do not have favorites but that being said: Piper is my favorite. Piper is at that wonderful cat stage of life where she is working on that most difficult of cat tasks: steering. Regularly she will run into: windows, walls, shoes, and really anything that doesn’t have the capability to move out of the way. The best part about this is that Piper doesn’t really weigh enough to make noise when she moves yet so you’ll just be sitting around minding your own business when all the sudden a semi hallow ca-thunk will echo through the house, announcing that Piper has once more careened into something that disagreed with her philosophy on transmutation.
The somewhat less adorable side to the furry bundle huddled around my ankles is her penchant for chewing on electrical cords. I’ve already lost two ipod chargers to the surprisingly capable teeth of Piper and we are currently involved in an extremely elaborate game of cat and cord as I desperately try and keep her from gnawing her way through my computer power cable. There have been losses on both sides, though we are currently under truce do to said cats dire need for a nap.
And there you have it friends, a detailing tail of one man’s life and his time in the Land of Cats… i.e. his house. Check back in on Thursday for some more new Thoughts, and thanks for reading!!