 |
BooBoo, the starter-kid
|
Our starter kid, Boo Boo, joined that big litter box in the sky a few months ago. He was 16, and had lived a long and happy life terrorizing our house guests, various rodents of the skittering as well as flying variety, and was sufficiently grouchy enough to cause our youngest, Fuzzy, to leave a wide berth between himself and the cat whenever there was the possibility of an encounter.
When the cat did something obnoxious, we'd say to each other, "He's YOUR cat, YOU let him in the house," as if to absolve ourselves of any responsibility of the offending feline.
Within a week of Boo Boo's death, we were suffering cat-withdrawals.
No longer was there a furry 14-lbs of fur to greet us with one of the multitude of sounds whenever we entered a room. Nor was there any feline "mrr" to announce his presence to us. My husband complained of cold toes because there was no cat to warm them throughout the night. Big Sister, who had long ago cowed Boo Boo (at the age of 18 months, via a move we now call The Whisker Grab) and in later years had taken to hauling him about the house, flopped casually over her arm, was sad.
Though, I'm sure she didn't miss cleaning his litter box.
Even Fuzzy, who had never professed a great affection for his four-pawed nemesis, announced one day, "I NEED A CAT!"
My husband attempted to thwart the immediate installation of a new pet into the household. "Our next cat has to be orange," he said, rather matter-of-factly. It was a good way to end the offers from countless people who, upon hearing of our pet loss, offered their left-over kittens of various ages and colors, either in single doses or by the sackful.
 |
Cheeto
|
Just weeks after that announcement, an orange kitten found me at a family gathering. The kitten was too young to leave mama, but I was eagerly counting the weeks until I could claim him. For added support, I took the kids. Big Sister and Fuzzy declared that Cheeto, as we named him, was perfect. We were hard-pressed to leave his equally adorable and furry siblings behind, but daddy had said we could have only ONE cat, and it had to be orange.
We fell in love with ermine-soft fur, a delightful little crook near the tip of his tail, and the fact that he fit perfectly into one hand.
The kids called daddy, and put on their best cutie-pie voices. "Daddy, we want him! Can we bring him home? Pleeeeeeeeaaase?"
And then.
Oh, how we had forgotten what it was like to have a kitten in the house, one with all claws (and other equipment) still intact.
The living room drapes came down the second night. Cheeto likes to climb and I'm not ready to fork over money for replacement drapery.
The squirt gun has made a reappearance because the kitchen table is not a place for Senor Poopy Paws to be walking.
Bare legs are awfully attractive too, representing yet another fun thing to scale in Cheeto's attempt to place himself at the highest vantage point in the house.
 |
kitty claws, or hair brush?
|
The "witching hour" (when all cats get a little bit psycho) is longer than an hour, and by 4:30 a.m., Cheeto is purring loudly, motoring about on the bed pillows, in an attempt to get somebody to feed him.
Anyone remember the old-fashioned, prickly hair curlers? I can't find a picture of them, but imagine them being bristly like the hairbrush (pictured), and rolling your hair in those. The bristles would prick your scalp - they were horrible to sleep on. Well, having Cheeto wrap himself around your head in an attempt to wake you up is a similar feeling.
 |
| Just trying to be helpful |
 |
A permanent fixture?
|
The four of us have reverted to our well-worn phrase: "He's YOUR cat."
We know he's just trying to be helpful, and alleviate the boredom of a house that suffered from having no feline for a few months' time.
We know he aims to become a permanent fixture, at least for the next 16 years of our lives. I admit he's awfully darn cute and fluffy, and we can tolerate the devilish kitten behavior until he's old enough to be . . . well, a little less "intact" than nature made him.
Until then, our "oops baby" is reminding us what it's like to have a "starter kid" again. Kitten-proofing, training, and regular veterinary care are once again on the horizon. And I'd have to say that truly, this cat is everyone's cat.
 |
Perfect medley of stripes
|
