There are cat people, and there are dog people. (The two aren't mutually exclusive by definition, but frequently are in nature.) I'm a cat person. My honey is a dog person. However, we're both flexible — I get along just fine with her dog, and she's been receptive to the idea that she could live with a cat. (This respective and respectful flexibility is just one of the many reasons that we're going to share a happy and fulfulling relationship for approximately the next thirty zillion years.)
I grew up with cats in the house, and really missed living with one for the past fifteen years. (My fascist landlord refused to allow pets of any sort, denying every appeal to their cupidity.) Friends have cats, and family has cats, but really it's not the same. So having my own cat(s) is something I've been looking forward to for a long time.
My honey, bless her, has been perfectly willing to countenance the acquisition of a suitably configured feline. She's a bit nervous about claws - I don't blame her, because cats can do an enormous amount of damage with their claws, no matter how well behaved. On the other hand, neither she nor I would ever declaw a cat. On the gripping hand, there are plenty of declawed cats available for adoption.
So it came to pass that she of the m4d g00lge sk1llz happened across a listing for "Jab", a declawed male black DSH, in residence at the Pet Refuge, a nearby no-kill shelter. We went over there, and found Jab to be a real sweetie — everyone took right to him, and he to us - head-butts, purring, you name it. So we made arrangements for the shelter to hang onto "Jab" for a while, until circumstances were such that there would be someone in the house with him for a as long an unbroken stretch of days as possible. The planets aligned properly this past Thursday, and so we stopped by and picked him up.
Interlude: In the meantime, we worked on figuring out a new name for him, since none of us really cared for "Jab". The selection criteria were as follows: (1) No "stereotype" names, like "Midnight" or "Shadow" or "Fluffy", etc. (2) No people names. (3) It had to be easy to say. (4) It had to be a name that you wouldn't be embarrassed to call out in someone else's presence. (5) No "recycled" names from previous pets living or dead. After much consideration, we arrived at Reggie.
I brought Reggie home late Thursday afternoon, ahead of the rest of the family; that way he had a little time to roam around the house and get acquainted with his surroundings. He found a place in the (finished) basement room to hide, and he did that for a while, eventually emerging to explore a little bit. We've let him have his run of the house, excluding him only from those areas that we felt would be unsafe for a cat due to debris, instability, unfinished surfaces, etc.
Downstairs there's a carton of wheat grass, a bed containing a blanket with his name embroidered on it, and a few toys that he had in the shelter. (Turns out he's not much for toys, though he does go in for strings and woven cords — like, say, the lanyard on a digital camera.) Upstairs? Well, upstairs it's kitty heaven, especially if you've been locked in a 2x3 cage at an animal shelter for the past three months. There's a king-sized bed with a down comforter that, even with humans, isn't too crowded to stretch out and make muffins and snooze on. (We've noticed that he does tend to hide under the bed, which we try to discourage because we don't want him to be antisocial - but it's one of his upstairs "safe spots", so he's allowed.)
He's already litter trained, so getting his pan habits sorted out hopefully won't be too bad, but he didn't go for the litterbox in the basement, choosing instead to relieve himself on the bathroom floor at 0130 the other night. So the litter box is temporarily in the bathroom, and he's using it there, so we're off to a good start.
All in all, things are going great. He's gorgeous, and even-tempered, and affectionate — all the things one looks for in a cat. Everyone's adjusting well. It's been a great opportunity for Spud to learn some valuable life lessons. (One of the biggest ones so far is that cats, like people, won't do any particular thing just because you want them to.) K and I built him a shelf to hang out on; it's right by the front window, and it's easy to get to, while being high enough off the ground that he's got a place from which to survey his domain. ("Reggie" is in fact a contraction of "Reginald Wenceslas First of that Name, Ruler of the Southern Realm and Protector of the Weak.")
Aside: The "Wenceslas" comes from a friend of mine who somehow thinks that cats have to have pretentious names. I say, any pet can have a pretentious name, as long as the owner is sufficiently pretentious. After all, if it were limited to cats, why then do we have teacup poodles whose names, when written out longhand, weigh more than they do?
Reggie's even mastered his own unique version of the Buster Flop, a maneuver in which the cat walks a few steps toward or away from you, and then — whump! flops on its side in a comfy spot and waits to be petted. In Reggie's case, he leads with his right front shoulder, and the rest of his body follows with the whump. Then he lies there purring and waits for the lovin'.
Anyway. you've gotten through this entire post without seeing any cat pictures! Thanks for reading this far. As a reward, here are some pictures of the world's best cat.
