Monday, February 15, 2010

A Cat Named Skittles!

We started with 2 adorable cats at the 5645 N. Drake homestead, Molly and Boo. When Molly died way too early we decided that Boo needed a new friend and adopted Skittles, a Maine Coon kitten that was one part flesh and 9 parts crazy, curvy, twisting tufts of never ending fur. The cutest little cotton ball fluff you ever did see. But beauty doesn't mean brains (just look at me). Skittles must have been separated from her mom when only days old because she hadn't been taught one wisp of common cat sense.It turned out Boo didn't take to her and neither did I.She couldn't do the simplest cat things, like hop on your lap to be patted. She'd walk up and think about getting patted, then back off, then come forward, then change her mind. You'd soon be be driven dizzy waiting for her! If I left my studio for a second she'd jump on my drawing table and stick her paw in my mug of brush rinsing water tipping it over on overdue assignments. Her only skill was finding wherever I hid that cup and knocking it down. Well that and shedding on every single article of black clothing. You could take a black shirt, lock it in a vault, throw away the combination, and she'd still will her furs in through the cracks and coat it in a layer of cat. She had the arm motion (or is that "front leg" motion) of covering up her poop with cat litter down, but she would scratch at the plastic litter box rim instead of the litter. The sound of her endless clawing could go on for up to HALF AN HOUR unless I ended it early by a swift kick to the side of the box (and she'd leap in the air like a Jack in the Box). I've always been a cat person and didn't think it was possible not to like any purring fuzzy adorable feline. My day would be spent growling at her to get out of my way when stomping aboot (that's my imaginary Canadian accent peeking through) as she did her best to always be between my shoe and the floor (I might kick a litter box, but I've yet to purposefully step on a cat).Then one day I uncovered what real misery was and having a dim cat who walked around with her tongue hanging out didn't seem so bad after all.Before sleepin' I decided to give her a heaping helping of scratching, patting and love talk ("Oh you so cute you a cutie you a fluffy cutie that's right") as she purred and kneeded on my chest. Nights were spent with her blissfully snoring on top of me. In the morning before I got up we did it all over again. Soon I had a best friend. Skittles followed me everywhere, with frequent rest stops purring in my lap. Now, since we're so tight, when she starts plastic scratchin', all I have to do is shoot her an exasperated look and she'll hop off. I also make compromises, my cup 'o' water is never left unattended.
Mitch, what's the point of that story? Is it about being kind and having it returned 10 fold? Is it about that leap of faith giving love to those you dislike? Is it about your only girlfriend being a cat? Is it about your habit of talking to yourself?
No, the point of the story, like ALL my stories, is to subtlety show how wonderful I am! Hello!!

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