Isn't he the best looking boy around? As promised to my Handsome Boy, this post is all about Mr. Kitty. He was getting a little jealous that Sister was getting so much attention here on the blog. So here he is. Handsome Boy was the first loyal and loving man to enter my life.
I was summoned to this boy back in October 2000. I had had plans to adopt an adult cat, but not for a month or two. But one morning I woke up with a strong urge to get a cat that day. So I bought some cat supplies and headed out to a shelter I had been donating money to.
There were only 6 cats at the shelter that Monday. I had in my mind that I had to have an orange cat and there was just one. He was a skittish thing with a bifurcation defect of his nose. The shelter worker felt he was not a match. There was no other cat that was drawing me in. The worker asked me about my lifestyle (no, she wasn't hitting on me, you pervs), my work schedule, noise levels in the house, etc. Some of which I had to lie about as my landlord had said after I signed the lease that no animals were allowed. This shelter had to have proof of animal cohabitation. So I told a grand story of having my own living quarters at the parents house. You know, like it was Buckingham Palace.
Fortunately, my license still had my parents address on it, and I prayed that my mother would be quick enough to go along with the deception. Especially since she had no fore warning and she's not particularly smooth on the down low.
So after I stared and stared at the cats behind the bars, the worker pointed to this black and white cat on the bottom left corner. "He's the one," she said, "he's such a love." I looked at him and thought, Hmmm... I don't know. He's not what I pictured. But I had driven all that way, and by God, I was going home with a cat. So I said I would take him. His name on his ID card was "Skimmy". Eck!
And the Gods and Goddesses listened to my prayers. My mother was quick on the uptake and lied the best cat lies she ever uttered in her whole life. Somehow she managed to maintain the Royal Palace facade, maybe even saying the Queen Mum would approve. And so I went home with this big black and white.
Once I got home, I decided that his name was no longer "Skimmy". I have no idea where that name came from, especially since he was an abandoned cat that someone brought in. He was clearly not feral, as he was loving and friendly, and didn't have his balls (he was not intact as the delicate people would say). But he did bring proof of his outdoor life with him: he was loaded with fleas, ticks, and intestinal worms.
Mr. Kitty was the name I was calling him while I was trying to figure out what it would really be. And it just stuck.
After taking him to our vet, he soon got better, and like all other living and breathing creatures in our household, he gained weight. (He's 18 pounds!) He also made tons of friends with the local Winter Hill Gang through his large apartment windows. Even though he was part of a gang, he is the most tenderhearted creature I have ever met. Mr. Kitty wants to be friends with all other animals, and has yet to figure out why the Big Bad Doggy Sister doesn't like him. (Meanwhile, you'd think he would work on his survival skills for when the BBDS manages her way up to Kitty Land, but he has yet to get it right). He began asking for a sibling in 2003, and he received his sister, the Squawker.
Here he thinks he is hiding from her, ready to attack:
Here he checks his right side to make sure he's well concealed:
And then his left:
Here's a bird's eye view, pretty much the same one that sister saw as she looked at from above on the bureau:
Mr. Kitty likes to think he's in charge, and we don't argue. We just keep the truth to ourselves. Right, Squawker?