Friday, January 21, 2011

Kitteh Update

The little cat has made himself at home, although he's still not thrilled about the dogs. The three dogs really, really, really want to SEE him, while he does not so much want to be seen. Luckily, we have myriad walk-through baby gates so he can escape if he's feeling a little slobbered upon.

He seems to be pleased with the placement of litterboxes and food dispensing modules, and the wide variety of furniture that he can lounge upon. Although he does seem to have some food issues, as in having to immediately consume all food and foodlike products in his immediate vicinity. If offering a morsel of King Cake, be careful lest you pull back a hand missing a few digits. After finishing off his dry food, he snagged a piece of garlic bologna and what was supposed to be my bowl of Special K. He is rail thin but not malnourished, so he's probably not been on his own for too long.

He shows no signs of wanting to go back outside. "Outside? It's cold, and there's no food or cuddles!" And he is quite the cuddler. He will immediately attach himself to you and crawl up with his little paws around your neck and his head on your shoulder and purr for all he's worth. I've tried to explain to him that he's already secured the job.

He plays fetch, does not mind being piled beneath a mountain of stuffed animals, and spent the night sleeping curled up next to the five-year-old.

He does, however, make Spike look like a giant, radioactive mutant cat. Spike's about 17 pounds and change, while the little cat is, well, little. I figure he's a small six months and on the shy side of 5 pounds. Spike's like, "Yeah, yeah. A cat. How novel. Now where's my cream cheese?"

The S/O has mentioned that he seems quite comfortable, maybe TOO comfortable. He's suggested that he could possibly be an alien infiltrator just pretending to be a cat while sizing up our soft, inner organs. In his words, "He's probably just waiting to eat our faces in the middle of the night. Sure, you laugh, but it'll be hard laughing WITHOUT A FACE."

I've asked him where he came from, but he's not talking.

Names bandied about? Pedro, Pete, Dash, Eliot, Mr. Jumpy (or as my daughter said "This is why you don't let five-year-olds name pets."). The S/O finally dropped "Adolph" and is lobbying for Mr. Bingle. This is why I don't let him name pets. (His dog is named Bismarck -- an enormous black lab mix with a white splotch on his chest--  although for 10 years my daughter has insisted on calling him Oreo). Most likely pets are not so invested in their names as we are, they just want a steady supply of snacks and love.

I figure in a week or two he'll seem like somebody specific. Until then, you don't have to call him so much as just open the refrigerator.

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