lolvo
Lairian
- Joined
- Sep 2, 2014
- Messages
- 64
- Points
- 44
"Cats are furry terrorists, and hairless cats are tiny Voldemorts."
I lol'd. It looked true, at least from the YouTube video. I didn't give it a second thought, until I saw Kitty for the first time in almost four years. Her ginger ears swiveled ominously rearwards as she saw me approaching the open rear hatch of my mom's station wagon, and I could tell that she no longer recognized me, let alone loved me. The bright red blood that welled up from the scratches she left me with only confirmed the malice I had seen in her hazel-green eyes: I had waited too long, and there was nothing I could do to bring back the wary-but-genuine affection she had once held for me. Being in essentially solitary confinement for so long can do that to a cat. I've seen it happen many times before with my mom's cats.
I put off telling mom that I wasn't going to take Kitty for what felt like forever. I began to notice sphynx cats more than I might have otherwise, and I began researching them. Then, one day, I was driving down a street I had driven many times, and a pair of sculpturesque bald cats caught my eye from the windowsill of a house. I stopped, walked up to the door, and was greeted by a lovely middle-aged lady and her husband... as well as a flock of chirruping, meowing, and VERY loudly purring cats and kittens, all of them bald as little plucked chickens, except for tail tufts on a couple of the kittens. Within seconds of sitting on the couch, I had four of the sinuous little creatures piled on my lap begging for attention, and a fifth rubbing against me from the back of the couch. The middle-aged lady chuckled and asked me which one I wanted. "All of them" was a bit pricey, so I narrowed it down to either a sullen older white male (who was also a retired show-cat) or the retired-from-breeding-and-still-somewhat-yowly-and-anxious tortie female who had just been spayed. I stayed a while and discovered that the couple had been breeding sphynx since the early 90's, and had made some pretty important contributions to the breed. After what seemed like an entire afternoon of lovely conversation and affectionate cats parading across my lap, I couldn't make up my mind, so I decided to come back a week later.
The next Saturday, I returned to the house and made my choice: I wanted the female, since she was the first one to make it to my lap and insisted on being the ~only~ one in my lap. I got her for the cost of her spay ($100), and was on my way with her TICA papers, vet records, and license papers. She kept her eyes on me from within the cat carrier the entire way home, and meowed along when I played 'American Pie' and 'Piano Man' on the car stereo for her. When I got her home to my apartment, she waltzed out of the carrier, sniffed everything I owned, and then snuggled up next to me to watch YouTube videos.
After a few days, I settled on Miss Demeanor as her new name, since she comes running from wherever she's snoozing the second I put anything my Missy Elliot on, and does have a considerable mischievous streak that includes a morbid fascination with plastic straws, the ability to open most plastic containers (despite not knowing how to burrow under blankets), and a penchant for stealing baked goods in the most adorable of ways. I don't think I could ever hope for a more loving, loyal, or lively animal as a friend. As I type this, she is curled up tight in my lap, front paws wrapped around my thigh and purring away like a diesel train. I've learned my lesson, and I'll always love her and make sure she knows it, no matter what.
"You are now listening to the sounds of Miss Demeanor" - cue the bass drop!
I lol'd. It looked true, at least from the YouTube video. I didn't give it a second thought, until I saw Kitty for the first time in almost four years. Her ginger ears swiveled ominously rearwards as she saw me approaching the open rear hatch of my mom's station wagon, and I could tell that she no longer recognized me, let alone loved me. The bright red blood that welled up from the scratches she left me with only confirmed the malice I had seen in her hazel-green eyes: I had waited too long, and there was nothing I could do to bring back the wary-but-genuine affection she had once held for me. Being in essentially solitary confinement for so long can do that to a cat. I've seen it happen many times before with my mom's cats.
I put off telling mom that I wasn't going to take Kitty for what felt like forever. I began to notice sphynx cats more than I might have otherwise, and I began researching them. Then, one day, I was driving down a street I had driven many times, and a pair of sculpturesque bald cats caught my eye from the windowsill of a house. I stopped, walked up to the door, and was greeted by a lovely middle-aged lady and her husband... as well as a flock of chirruping, meowing, and VERY loudly purring cats and kittens, all of them bald as little plucked chickens, except for tail tufts on a couple of the kittens. Within seconds of sitting on the couch, I had four of the sinuous little creatures piled on my lap begging for attention, and a fifth rubbing against me from the back of the couch. The middle-aged lady chuckled and asked me which one I wanted. "All of them" was a bit pricey, so I narrowed it down to either a sullen older white male (who was also a retired show-cat) or the retired-from-breeding-and-still-somewhat-yowly-and-anxious tortie female who had just been spayed. I stayed a while and discovered that the couple had been breeding sphynx since the early 90's, and had made some pretty important contributions to the breed. After what seemed like an entire afternoon of lovely conversation and affectionate cats parading across my lap, I couldn't make up my mind, so I decided to come back a week later.
The next Saturday, I returned to the house and made my choice: I wanted the female, since she was the first one to make it to my lap and insisted on being the ~only~ one in my lap. I got her for the cost of her spay ($100), and was on my way with her TICA papers, vet records, and license papers. She kept her eyes on me from within the cat carrier the entire way home, and meowed along when I played 'American Pie' and 'Piano Man' on the car stereo for her. When I got her home to my apartment, she waltzed out of the carrier, sniffed everything I owned, and then snuggled up next to me to watch YouTube videos.
After a few days, I settled on Miss Demeanor as her new name, since she comes running from wherever she's snoozing the second I put anything my Missy Elliot on, and does have a considerable mischievous streak that includes a morbid fascination with plastic straws, the ability to open most plastic containers (despite not knowing how to burrow under blankets), and a penchant for stealing baked goods in the most adorable of ways. I don't think I could ever hope for a more loving, loyal, or lively animal as a friend. As I type this, she is curled up tight in my lap, front paws wrapped around my thigh and purring away like a diesel train. I've learned my lesson, and I'll always love her and make sure she knows it, no matter what.
"You are now listening to the sounds of Miss Demeanor" - cue the bass drop!
