Posts
18 March 2024
I have theeeeee most scrumptiously
cute little Kittycat. And then I also have another one…
It all started when The One and
Only Cole was twelve years old and in Gr 6. He absolutely loves animals and we
decided to get him a cat for his birthday. Great excitement all around!
We’re very fond of rescue animals
and simply always try to give a needy animal a home. As such, all of our pets
have been rescued. Barring the goldfish we had years and years ago. Not that
many rescue goldfish out there. Though I suppose they are in desperate need of
rescuing when they’re in a pet shop. So there’s that.
We’ve had a long line of rescue dogs
and we’ve completely loved all of them. Such special pets. Maybe it’s
because they know subconsciously that their days are potentially numbered? Thus,
they really know how to amp up the lovable factor. Big time.
So when we decided to take the
plunge and get a cat (something I had been begging for, for years), we went our
regular route by going to the Animal Welfare. How can one not?
Grant and I set off one morning
and much to our delight they had a litter of kittens. Most of them were already
spoken for, but there were three little females in need of a home. We decided
that the final choice should be Cole’s. We paid the adoption fee and as Cole’s
birthday was on a Saturday, we would come up to the Animal Welfare in the
morning and leave the final decision to Cole. On the morning of his birthday,
Grant first entertained us by choosing an appropriate soundtrack for the
opening of the presents. He loves doing this and to be fair, he didn’t
disappoint. Tom Jones’, “What’s new pussycat” was his choice. To much
snickering from Amber and I. Grant looking pleased as punch with his witty
choice of song.
Cole unwrapped a whole bunch of
cat paraphernalia – food bowls, a basket, toys, cat food and the like. And we
happily informed him that we were getting him a cat for his birthday and that
we were going to jump into the car immediately to go and fetch her from Animal
Welfare. While driving through, we told him that he would be the one who got to
choose which kitty he’d like. And we also told him that it was definitely going
to be a little girl. I advised him to start pondering so long on names. An
activity and exercise I thought he would really enjoy. It’s a true mark of pet
ownership when you get to name a pet. A great honour indeed.
My intention had been for him to
take his time. To give it some thought. To think long and hard. It was a
lifelong commitment to the pet after all. But I should have known better. There’s
a reason my youngest son is known as The One and Only Cole. Cause he is rather
unique, has a wonderful sense of humour and is refreshingly quirky and
different. The words, “you can choose a name for her”, were still echoing in my
ear. My mouth still pouting over the word, “her”. When he piped up from the
backseat, “I’m going to call her Mary Johnson”.
Floored. As per usual. A regular occurrence
in Cole’s presence. But I suppose I shouldn’t have been. By this stage I had
had twelve years of experiencing The One and Only Cole. Decisions are made on
the spur of the moment. Off the cuff. Without hesitation. I immediately urged him to maybe take a
little bit longer to think of a name. There was no rush. Because let’s keep it
real. When it comes to cats, it’s not really as though they even respond to
names, right? It’s more just a way for the owners to address them. Felines don’t
bow down to mere mortals like petty humans and deign them with responding to an
undignified uttering of their name. Perish the thought!
Yet Cole would not be swayed. He
was determined. His cat was going to be called Mary Johnson. Decision made. No
wavering at all. Hardly surprising I suppose, that it didn’t take me very long to declare that our beloved Mary
Johnson was a southern gal. Of course she is with that name. By the end of the
day, I simply couldn’t utter her name without giving it a real Southern
American twang. With that upward tilt to the name, just as I imagined it would
sound. Somehow it just fit. Nearly eight years later, and I still do
it. Some of my family no longer give it the twang when they utter the name, but
I’m a stickler for proper pronunciation. In addition, in the intervening eight
years, we’ve never resorted to abbreviating her name and calling her MJ. She is
always addressed by her full name, with the correct amount of respect that such
a name demands.
By now, the cat bug had really
bitten. And just six months later, My Grantie surprised me with my very own
little black kitten. The cutest most adorable little ball of fluff to have ever
graced this earth. I fell head over heels in love. And am completely and
utterly besotted, to this day. Unlike The One and Only Cole, I decided to give more
thought than he did when it came to choosing a name. She needed a name that
would suit her. That would attempt to depict her cuteness. And would make my
heart even more mushy when I used it or even when I merely just thought about
it. And so I called her Piglet. So perhaps, I’m not that different to my son
after all? I clearly also have a flair for the ridiculous. Within very short
order, her name led to loads of variations of it. And we’re mostly fond of
Piggie, when we don’t call her Piglet.
She sleeps with us on our bed
every night and we have lovely walks in our garden (she definitely has a keen
interest in gardening and is most supportive and encouraging of my efforts). We
also have lengthy conversations, in which she absolutely takes part. She’s fond
of a lengthy miaau, clearly bemoaning her fate on the odd instance when she’s
been done a grave injustice. I have given to offering her sage advice on these
occasions. And it’s pretty much always something along the lines of, “You’re a
strong independent woman. And we don’t take any nonsense from boy kitty cats.”.
This declaration satisfies her greatly
and then we go into a long discussion on how she should stand up for herself.
Not that she has any issues in that department. But a girl does like to feel
heard and justified in her feelings. Hey, I’m her biggest fan and
supporter. As well as her devoted slave.
Now here’s the thing. Mary
Johnson (picture twang) was a delightfully social little cat. Fond of lots of
attention as well as generous with her affections. Indeed loveable.
Until Piglet came along. She has
been in a snit for nearly eight years and shows no sign of easing up on her
anger. Gotta give her kudu's for holding onto that grudge. She shuns affection, often growling when you try to pet her. Grumpy in
the very extreme. She spends very little time at home. Mostly being spiteful by
being exceedingly friendly to all of our neighbours and their children. Even
random strangers who stop outside the pan handle in which we live, are
generously showered with attention from her and people often remark at what a friendly
cat she is. Truly baffling and oh so dramatic! She trots up to them, tail aloft,
rubs between their legs and acts all cute.
But we know the real truth. She’s
an excellent actress. And all of this is just a show, in order for us to be
aware of what we’re missing out on. And don’t think that we can give her
affection when she’s showing off to others. That simply won’t do.
She’s currently just using us for
food. And to show off her teeth and claws. And thinks we’re lucky to be even
deserving of that much from her.
So there you have it. We’ve got
two cats. Ridiculously, adorably, unbearably cute Piglet. And the other one.
My fur grandkids.....
ReplyDeleteThat Mary Johnson sure knows how to nurture a grudge!!
But Piglets cuteness makes up!