I like cats, and yet I am not sympatico with cats, if you know what I mean. Cats and I give one another a friendly tip of the hat when we pass on the street, and certainly I would send a holiday card to Cats if I knew their address. But that is where Cats and I end. Their pee smells bad and they kill migrating warblers, which is not their fault, but distasteful nonetheless. There are two exceptions to my feelings of tepid and composed goodwill toward the felines of the world. They both live at my house.
I believe I've mentioned Zucchini before in this blog (on October 18, actually). She has an icy demon heart and instead of meowing like other cats, she has this brain freezing harpy howl that is JUST SO OFFENSIVE. I got Zucchini when I was 21 from some people who were smoking menthol cigarettes in the back of their Chevy pickup in the Walmart parking lot in Prescott, Arizona. She was the only kitten left in the litter they were giving away, and by the end of our transaction, they actually tried talking me out of taking her home because she was "ugly and her personality was bad." It turns out they were partly wrong: she turned out to be gorgeous and her personality is bad. Or at least she's what I believe is referred to as "mentally strange." So, a word to those of you who are young and soft-hearted: Zucchini and I have lived together over 10 years, and I suspect she will follow me to my grave. My point is, be careful who you talk to in the Walmart parking lot.
Robin is the other cat in my house, and he is my soul mate. I found Robin the week after a horrendous breakup--one of those where everyone you know (including the cleaning lady in your office building and your massage therapist) either won't speak to you or yells at you every time they see you because it turns out you're bad, bad, bad, bad, bad and also BAD. So, on Sunday of The Worst Week Ever, I was driving down Prince Avenue, when what I thought were 3 little squirrels started hopping out into the street into oncoming traffic. As I approached, I realized they were kittens, and I basically almost got myself and the kittens killed as I stopped abruptly in the middle of after-church rush hour to scoop them up before they were barreled over by a Cadillac Escalade. Anyway, as I didn't have anyone to talk to anyway, I just hung out with the kitties for 3 weeks. Finally, I found an older gent whose wife was in hospice to take two of them and I kept Robin because I just couldn't part with him. I would give that cat one of my kidneys if he needed it.
It's not that Robin's very nice or smart or thoughtful, and he'll kill just about anything in his weight class or below, plus he's greedy, unpredictably violent, demanding, overweight and I think it's probable he's been two-timing me since 2004. But that cat can snuggle. He's even started joining Odessa and me in our morning cuddletimes. Odessa and Robin spooning warms the cockles of my heart, at least until Zucchini starts yelling at us from the laundry room because she wants her senior hairball formula catfood NOW, HOSE HEADS! NOOOOOW!