Obligatory (or Gratuitous?) Cat Blogging

As many of you probably know, I’ve wanted a cat for a while now (a dog, too, but that’s not really practical right now).  And after getting sick over the holidays, and having my parents’ cats (Harold! Sam!) play nursemaid for a week, my desire only grew. 

My landlady, though, hadn’t been so keen on the idea.  See, she’d just put in new click-together wood flooring in my apartment before I moved in, and when I asked her last summer, she claimed a cat would ruin it.  I thought that was probably crazy, but hey, it’s her building.  So I let it sit.

Then, 6 months later, having just returned from the Madisonian land of cats – in addition to my parents’ nursemaid cats, my brother and sister in law just got kittens too – I was feeling the craving again, with a vengeance.  In order to build up my case for the landlady, I went so far as to contact a floor specialist and ask about the potential cost of repairs and/or the frequency with which cats actually damage floors. (The answers: prohibitive, and extremely rarely, respectively.)  

And then, THAT VERY SAME DAY, I came home from the gym to find a note on my door.  In fact, there was a note on every door (I live in a small building).  Intrigued, I tore it open, and it was a note from the landlady, to all of us.  ”Happy Holidays!” it said! “Thanks for choosing to live here!” And it went on to list the things the landlady was intending to fix in the next six months (including the garden plots and the awful pink paint in the hallway, yay), and attached to it was a $25 gift card to Fred Meyer.  So, totally wacky awesome already, right?  But then I scanned down to the bottom of the note, and there, handwritten, was an addendum: “If you’re still interested in getting a kitten, give me a call.”

Wow! Really? God bless the down economy! I think fear drove my landlady into allowing me to get a cat!  

Giddy, I called her the next day, she told me I’d just need to put in a deposit, and I’d be all set.  And the day after that, I went over to Mud Bay (the local organic sustainable pet store – ah, Seattle) to pick up the absolute essentials, and then to PAWS Cat City (a wonderful, wonderful place, run by a wonderful organization) to scope out the kitties.

I met all of the cats they had, including two adorable little kittens, and though I was briefly tempted by an obese but insanely friendly lumpcat named Delilah, it was pretty clear pretty quick who was actually going home with me: the little gray medium-hair tabby hiding in a box, emerging only to bat briefly at one specific toy, and then retreat.  I mean, oh sure, the other cats were all forward and friendly, rubbing up against me and purring and playing.  But I’ve got a quiet life.  I wanted a quiet cat.  So I adopted the shy boy. Here he is right when I got him home, hiding/lounging under the futon:

 

His name was Theodore at the shelter, but now it’s Henry.  (In case you’re curious, he’s named after Henry McCoy, aka “Beast,” from the X-Men)  And Henry’s still pretty timid and flinchy, but no longer shy (as he sits on my forearms while I type this).  He is still very kitten-like, and plays a ton (he especially likes the various fishing-pole-style toys, his felt mouse, and his glitter balls), but he also makes a great lapcat in the evenings (apart from the fact that he drools when he’s happy, which is almost every time he’s on my lap), and he’s starting to allow me to sleep through the night.

Henry the ferocious beastie

Henry the contented lapcat

Other Henry quirks and traits:

• His favorite thing on earth, as far as I can tell, is a rattan placemat I bought him out of the clearance bin at Crate & Barrel. Man he loves that placemat.
• He doesn’t like wet food. Or treats. Or catnip, much.  How am I supposed to bribe this boy?
• He has severe gingivitis.  I’m hoping it goes away on its own, with some dental care food, because otherwise apparently it can mean he has to have his teeth pulled.
• He hates the neighbors, the garage door, large trucks, and motorcycles.  He growls at all of them whenever he hears them.
• He loooooooves Dewey.  If Dewey is up and about, Henry is sitting on the cage, rapt, like so:

Looks like lunch

So, is that more than you ever wanted to know about my new cat?  At least I’m not bending your ear about it in person – this way it’s your fault for continuing to read!