Well, to keep up the whole “moosh-factor”, I’d just like to say here that living with George Huxley Riddle*, our cute new kitty is like… well, like…
…
…LIVING WITH AN INSANE FERRET!!!
Let me tell you folks, this cat is a psycho weasel-beast from Watabungi**!
I’ve had other cats. My senior year of high school, I had a little white cat and a little black cat named ‘Crockett’ and ‘Tubbs’”***. They mostly stayed outside, and I didn’t live there for very long, so I don’t remember much about them. Then in junior college, dad and Shirley let me feed a couple of stray kitties, both black with white trim, named Jenny-fur and Lucy-fur. They were outside cats too, same deal. I guess they wandered off after I moved into the dorm.
When I was at USM, I got another black cat named Nephilim. He lived inside and I knew him well, but he was fairly sane. He played with string and toy mice, got into a little trouble every now and then, and fell in the tub once, but overall seemed like a normal cat.
I adopted him out when I moved into a place where I couldn’t really keep him. Then we had Logan, who grew into an ENORMOUS, poofy**** cat. Logan was weird in that he liked to watch ice skating… hm… (see ****) and could beat up wild animals, but he was otherwise your average, playful, lazy, stately cat. He went to live with Ronnie and Heather at their Cat Farm when we moved into our apartment. Then came Ra and Set. They were two sweet tabby brothers who came to stay briefly until I found them a home with a lonely elderly lady – just normal, playful kittens.
Then there was Cat, and she was CAT incarnate. Stately, graceful, bitchy, spoiled. She wasn’t too crazy about most people, she kept Luna in her place (and frankly scared the bejesus out of her too) and played a good bit, stalk, hunt, and chase; she liked things on strings, and loved to bird watch – normal cat.
Not Our George.
This morning (after he got in the tub with me again. I thought he’d stop after I sank him yesterday…) he was tearing around the house like a maniac. He tried to attack Luna several times – she ignored him. When she got up on the foot of the people bed, he got in her bed on the floor. She got up, rousted him out and under our bed. When she got back up and comfortable again, he came out and got right back in her bed. Repeat process. SEVERAL times.
Last night as I was trying to write in my journal, they decided to play “chase the evil kitty around mom’s chair”. I had a good time watching Luna watch me try to teach George “sit” and “stay”. She was very amused. I was exploring the concept “futile”.
After that, I made a bed on the floor. My back was hurting, and I thought a night on the floor in front of the heater would do me good (it did – I slept better than I’ve slept in WEEKS, maybe even MONTHS). As soon as I got situated in the dark, and got my covers and pillows just right, I heard “brrrrrrump, brrrrrrrrump, Brrrrrump, BBRRRUMP!” and then catrunningrightacrossmyface “brrrrump, brrrrump, brrrrump…”.
"!&#$-*%#! IT, GEORGE! GYAH!!!" (cuss, cuss, cuss...)
Another moment, then “brrrrrrump, brrrrrrrrump, Brrrrrump, BBRRRUMP!” and then catrunningrightacrossmyface “brrrrump, brrrrump, brrrrump…”
*sigh *
I think this happened three times before he got distracted and went to tweak elsewhere.
I told Chris this morning that I think he has a tiny little meth lab under the spare-room bed. He’s constantly climbing on things, knocking things over, jumping straight up into the air for no reason whatsoever or doing that weird, arched-back, sideways-hop Halloween cat/weasel thing, attacking Luna’s tail, fighting with everything in the house, whether it moves or not. His favorite toy currently (other than Luna) is a shoulder pad cut out of a silk shirt. He fights with it and carries it around in his mouth. The only problem is that it’s much bigger than his head and he carries it by the center seam of the shoulder pad. He can’t see around it, so he walks with this strange stagger, his head moving like someone with palsy on speed, trying to see around the pad. And he has two speeds: on and off. If he’s not harassing someone or something, or just running and jumping, then he’s either unconscious on a convenient blanket, chair or person, or completely invisible (as well as apparently deaf). Sometimes, he just disappears. My house is really tiny, and the first time he did this, we panicked. We looked EVERYWHERE. We called, we got flashlights, we scoured every inch of the house, and looked all over the yard – Luna couldn’t even find him. We even opened sardines and still no George. Two hours later, he wandered into the dining room like he’d never been gone. We think he’s built some sort of time capsule or space-bending machine – possibly next to the meth lab – and that he just goes interdimensional occasionally. Can you say “John Whorfin” folks?
I’m pretty sure he thinks of us as “Monkey-boy" and "-girl”

The little weasel is constantly under my feet – or my @$$. I have to look where I walk, where I sit, and I have to be extra careful when I turn over in bed for fear of crushing him. He tries to climb on me (or down my pantslegs) when I'm onna potty; when X wakes up in the morning and tries to skwooch me we always hear “MEOW!”, ‘cause George sleeps between us; and I can’t take my bath without the little beast walking out on me like I’m an island or a dock there for his convenience. He tries to climb in the refrigerator every time we open it, he is guaranteed to try to get through any door we open - especially if it leads to the magical, mystical outside; and goddess forbid you accidentally drop anything on the floor.

The freakiest thing of all is that we think it’s great. There is an energy in the house that wasn’t there before. We all have something to focus on other than ourselves. Chris can put aside his school and work worries for a little while, I can forget about feeling bad for a while, and Luna can forget about being lonely all the time. Sure, there’s a litterbox to clean again, and there are going to be new vet bills and concerns, but there’s more love in the house, and certainly more acceptable chaos (which Chris craves). Not to mention the sheer entertainment value.
Who knows, maybe he’s here to help me learn patience.
*sigh*
We shall see.
Wish us luck and
Much love,
-s

*George Orwell, Aldous Huxley, Chris Riddle
**Luna is the "Devil Dog of Watabungi"
***I also briefly had a brown puppy and a blonde puppy named ‘Rico’ and ‘Sonny’ – yes, I was a die-hard MV fan, so sue me.
**** - in more ways than one. He preferred the ‘intimate company of other boy kitties all of his days.

"John Whorfin" images courtesy of World Watch Online - What a great site, BB fans!