Ok. I have never skied down Mount Everest. Or given birth to twelve children at the same time or even invented a cure for selective hearing in men. I am, in simplest terms, just myself. But what, you ask in horror, does that mean? Why would anyone want to know what I think about anything? Well, the truth is, I am just like you. I have had some fun times, some sad times, and even some incredible times. And that makes me a pretty incredible person, even if I am the only one that thinks so. So read on, I may be ordinary but boy I have been having fun in this life. I think I may stick around for awhile…….
And then there was the time I lived with a couple of furry miscreants. Oh what a time it was. . . .
Whoever said cats are detached has not been introduced to my pint sized Godzillas. Meet Quinn and Ally. A brother and sister tag team disguised as tabby kittens.
A few months prior to this story, I made a decision to acquire one (notice the number – one) female kitten to share my life with. Men were in short supply. I inquired and was told I was too early. So I waited. My sister, in the meantime, inquired at her local animal hospital. She found someone that was giving away tabby kittens – five in all. I called and was told three were gone. The two left appeared to have bonded and the woman wanted to give them away together. Apparently the kittens had been abandoned and these two were inseparable. I said no, I wasn’t prepared to take on the responsibility of two kittens. We said good-bye and hung up. Couple of nights later I had a dream. When I awoke I called the woman and said I would take both. I had dreamt about two kittens and woke up singing (in my head!) “When Quinn the Eskimo gets here, everybody’s going to jump for joy”! This is too weird.
The evening of the 14th of May in the year of our lord 1998, my sister brought over my new companions. I named them Quinn (the male) and Ally (the female). Quinn was eager and affectionate. Ally was frightened and wary. They have grown in size, temperament, and inquisitiveness and I have grown to love them both.
Myth one – cats hate water
Quinn feels that it is his personal duty to inspect my bath water each night. He will scrutinize the bathtub prior to the addition of the water and then the actual water once added. He also has a habit of a more intimate perusal, which usually ends with a hearty towel rub. I’m not sure which he enjoys more, the shock of the water around his body or the towel across his buttocks. Ally too takes an interest in the water, but she just tastes it, she doesn’t try to wear it.
Myth two – cats are detached
When I come home after work, I am greeted by two balls of fur, crying to get into my lap. It is not as if I am giving them bribes, to be affectionate, this is just their way. Whatever room I am in, Quinn and Ally are close by. If I am watching TV, they are often perched on the couch at my shoulders. I have to be careful if I move because they are usually resting against me. If I go to the washroom, I have an escort. (Even if they fall asleep once they get there) as I am writing this, Quinn is checking out his paw and my bulletin board in front of me. (Excuse me; he just located the push pins.)
[‘p; [‘; p;; Ally has just discovered the key board. QAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA Quinn’s turn.
When I am home we are all together. I have been accepted as part of their clan. I get a wash every now and then; they play with me and cuddle. I have given them a birthday of 10 February 1998 because the vet figured that would put them at about the right age. They know their names and the word no, and they choose which to acknowledge. Excuse me, someone has requested my attention: time for a belly rub.
Quinn has discovered that I have chains hanging on a hook near my jewelry box. I had thought to keep them out of the way. One of them has a large crystal pendant that makes a very satisfy “clunk” when it hits the wall, Quinn’s discovery. My discovery is that it is enough to wake me in the middle of the night. When I scold my male baby Godzilla, he promptly jumps onto the bed and presents me with a silky tabby colored belly. Now who has trained whom?
Ally, on the other hand, prefers to play before I go to sleep at night. We have a game that we play each night. I run my hand under the blankets and she pounces. Fortunately she usually resists the temptation to sink her claws into my oh so sensitive flesh. I said usually. When she gets excited (and she does) she forgets. I bare my combat wounds bravely and with pride. (Of course I do yelp a lot).
25 august 1998
To be continued ….