We have a new cat. Well, to be accurate, as Mr.GG says, “We have a new USED cat”. We were down to just one gray tabby after my beloved 16 year old female died last summer. At that time, I swore I was never gonna get another cat, because I couldn’t go through losing any more critters. Even though Furbutt was cranky, incontinent, and very demanding, when she cuddled up against my belly at night, she purred like a 747 revving up for take off. I couldn’t believe how much I missed her. When the vet sent me a sympathy note, and later, a card saying they had donated a tree to a National Forest in Washington in her name, I lost it all over again.
So down to one cat, a very calm, stoic, 5 year old male, who doesn’t get excited about anything. He doesn’t like to cuddle, and always has a somewhat detached look on his face. He sleeps on the bed with us, but I think it is the BTU’s we put out, not a longing for our company. He’s big on watching. I have to stop myself from screaming, “Don’t judge me!”, when I’m on the receiving end of one of his stares.
Anyway, after Christmas I got a terrible cat craving. I started looking at shelter websites, and Craig’s List, and then a friend passed along an email about this yellow cat that needed a new home. With Mr. GG’s grudging assent, I called and interviewed with Sam’s owner. She’d raised him from a tiny kitten and he wasn’t going to go with just anyone. Now, I’ve never been attracted to yellow cats, but something about Sam spoke to me. We went for a home visit. We fell in love. A couple of weeks later we brought him home.
Holy Catnip, what a difference! Sam is a lap cat. He thinks people are there to adore him. And guess what? That really works for him. You have to pry him off your lap. In fact we now say stuff like, “I gotta pee. Can you hold the cat?”. Or, “I can’t get the phone, Sam’s on me”.
And that part about me not liking yellow cats? Well, the longer he lives with us, the more I see that Sam is a magnificent mélange of peach, apricot, melon, cream and russet. And here and there, an accent of iron ore. What was I thinking?
Sam has brought new energy to the entire house. He plays with Mr. Mittens (must I still use these aliases to protect the cats’ identity?). He learned to use the cat door in record time. All right, so he’s gotten a couple of birds, and Mr. GG wasn’t home to dispose of the remnants…. that set me back a bit. And ever since we discovered no counter was too high to keep him from a stick of butter – well, we are more careful about leaving food around.
Since we didn’t get to name him – he came with that moniker – I have to repress these nauseating urges to goo goo at him, and I hate to report this, but I have found myself calling him Sammers, or Samurai, or Sammerabi. Mr. GG is more restrained. His conversations are more like, “How you doin’, buddy?” Don’t let that brusque man talk fool you – Mr. GG is maybe even sappier than I am about the cat.
Anyway, whatever the reason, all the beings in this house are a lot perkier. Sam and Mr. Mittens play chase and get stoned on the same catnip filled banana. I have a kitty who likes to cuddle, and he sighs as he stretches out in my lap. Mr. GG has a nap buddy. Life is good.