Our Cats
Our oldest, Chestnut Witten, is almost 15 years old. We got her back in 1986 when, just as we were leaving the elevator in our apartment building to check our mail prior to going shopping, some local kids came in with a box of kittens and asked the guard if anyone here wanted any. He suggested they post a notice, and then they left. While this transpired, we checked our mail. As we were going out through the long (60-foot) dim entranceway, we heard a tiny mewing. After some searching, we found a teeny-weeny itsy-bitsy black kitten that could have fit inside a teacup. Well, we soon found out that the management's official position was "No Pets", but it's practical position was "If we don't see them, they're not there." So it was that we adopted our first (mutual) pet. Here are some pictures of the crone Witten, all six pounds of her:
Our next oldest, Mitten, is 10. We got her from the Morris Animal Refuge in December of 1990 after two (2!) of our cats had died within a week of each other (wah!). Wayne went to see if there were any interesting kitties available. Upon finding this little thing in a cage at his shoulder height, he asked to see her. She immediately walked across his outstretched arm, behind his head, across his shoulders, and along his other arm! (She obviously saw him for the sucker he was/is) She will come running to Wayne if he makes little wiss-wiss-wiss noises anywhere in the house, and shows her affection for him by ramming him, the dog, or any nearby objects with her head. Here she is in a rare moment of repose:
Next is Groucho, so named because when we got him he had a little pencilbrush moustache. Some of our neighbors' children had seen someone throw him from a car(!), and brought him to us for care as we had by then developed a reputation in the neighborhood for taking in wildlife. We soon found out that his "moustache" was just a bit of dirt on his upper lip, but we stuck with the name anyway. He is the first of the felis altitudinus (height-seeking cats) to come to our home. He is sometimes called our Iddle-biddle Grouchakiddle; other times he is called "Plate Robber!" (We're beginning to understand how Smaug felt). He is about 6 years old. Here is an overexposed picture of the culprit:
Next is Cambria, who is also called Lump, Caimboo, Caimboo-wump, and (follow this carefully) Cambria-bear, (which led to) Camembert, and (by inference) the Big Fuzzy Cheese. He was owned by a neighbor whose son abused him very badly. When we first got him, he cowered away from everyone, and had a rather disturbing habit of sitting in the bathroom window, which is right next to the toilet, and hissing and slamming his paw down to try to scare the toilet-user away. (This naturally led to alternating bouts of constipation and laxity; talk to Wayne for further details). After a while, he settled down and started socializing with the other cats and the humans in the house. When he is not being a Big Fuzzy Coward by cringing and retreating from dominance games with other cats, he is either tearing around terrorizing everything smaller than he is (which is every other cat in the house) or following Kirsten around like she was an avatar of Bast. Due to his fuzzy feet, when he tries to run he flintsteps for at least two seconds before he gets traction and takes off. He is (as you can see) a wide-body cat, whom we have inferred can seat 7 mice across, not allowing for cocktail trays:
Next is Shlemiel. Yes, Shlemiel! He was the littlest of three kittens Wayne was given by some homeless men who were caring for them after their mother was killed on the street. Wayne named the three kittens Shlemiel, Shlemazel, and Mitzvah. We knew their survival was an unlikely proposition; even so, we thought that the Mitzvah would make it, since he was so large, energetic, and hungry. Not so. Little Shlemiel, who is also called Shnoodle, Shnoo, and Shnoo-face (yes, we're a silly lot), is no longer so little; in fact, he is the largest (by length, anyway) cat in the house. He thinks Kirsten is his mother, and, since she seems to think so too, there's no arguing with him. His favorite place to lounge and stretch is atop our 17" monitor while Kirsten is reading her e-mail. Lately Groucho has started lounging up there with him, leading us to contemplate the purchase of a larger monitor to accomodate the cats. (God knows what we'll do if any of the others join them on a regular basis; we may have to get a wide-screen TV!) Here he is, all 3-years old of him, being disturbed from a nap to sit for a picture:
On Monday, January 10th, 2000, we acquired a miserable, rain-soaked, howling kitten. Today, he is no longer miserable, nor rain-soaked, but he does still howl occasionally. After a great deal of thought and a few suggestions from our friends and customers, we finally named him Small Kidd (Small because, well, he was small, and Kidd because he is the youngest cat. Wayne is still not sure where the extra "d" came from...). True to form, he has become a fairly blocky, hefty kitty, and still has some growing to do. Here is a picture of him shortly after his first bath:
And here is a picture of the not-so-Small Kidd at five (5!) months of age:
On Thursday, July 27th, 2000, after Wayne, en route to work, had crossed the street on the way to his car, he found himself being followed by a small, thin orangish cat. The cat meowled continually and kept getting underfoot. Wayne petted the cat, which stood up and bumped his hand hard! As he was trying to get into his car, he saw the cat go under his car! This promptly activated his "sucker" gene (the one that causes a person to take in stray animals). Realizing that the stupid animal would probably get run over if he tried to drive off, he closed the door and headed back across the street. The cat immediately followed, meowling all the way. Wayne rang the doorbell to get Kirsten's attention, all the while watching the little orange anorexic orbiting his feet. Kirsten came out and Wayne explained his (and the cat's) plight to her, whereupon Kirsten's sucker gene kicked in, and she took the cat inside. The cat's persistence and need kept the sucker genes activated long enough for us to decide to keep him. Kirsten decided that his name should be Septimus, since he was our 7th (resident) cat. He has been affectionately called SEPTA-mouse (after the SouthEastern Pennsylvania Transit Authority), SEPTA-moose, and, most frequently, Mouse. Mouse is now almost 1 year old. We will have pictures of him up shortly.
Let us know what you think about our babies! Send your comments to kirsten@fabricdragon.com. We'd love to hear from you!