After several months thoughts of Whittington the cat become part of my memory mosaic with memories of the good times replacing the difficult ones at the end. Concurrently, the awareness that there was a cat-sized vacuum in this house increased and about a month ago I put out the word that I was looking for a new cat.
My request was pretty specific. I wanted a short-haired mackerel tabby male with enough presence to tolerate dogs and kids. I also wanted a barn kitten or one from roots that would suggest good hunting potential because the basement of this old house is more or less at one with the earth.
Shortly after I put the word out my son, Dan, called to tell me that some friends of his had a litter of kittens, all but one of whom was taken. The mother had been tossed out of a car in a parking lot along with a male cat and Dan’s friends took them both home, only to discover that the female was pregnant. Dan sent me a picture and
told me it was the kitten on the left and it was a female.
Hmmm. I looked at the picture and I’m thinking “This does not look like a farm cat at all!” but you know how it is when there’s a cat-vacuum in your life and home. It doesn’t take much of a cat to fill it.
So even though I wanted a big burly male I said, “Sure, I’ll take her” and she arrived about a week later. When she did, there were several things about her that surprised me. The first was that she was so incredibly small. She was all tail, legs, and ears. Toss in the triangular face and her chattiness and I had to wonder if there was some Siamese in her lineage somewhere.
The second was that she was fearless, into everything and anything she could get into. Hence the name Bamboo, after the plant that would take over my yard if I let it.
Bamboo on the left trying to nudge out the lilac bush on the right.
I set up what I thought was a tiny kitten escape-proof box
and she was out of it in minutes, although fortunately the dogs have yet to figure out how to get in. Now I’m thinking, “There’s something fishy going on here. This kitten has way too much energy and is way too cocky for one so small. You don’t suppose…”
Sure enough it turned out that she was a he. And after a harrowing 3 days waiting to hear if Dan had accidentally been given the wrong kitten and I’d have to give him back—during which time he learned to go up and down the stairs and trash my bed playing hide and seek with the little dogs–I
learned he was mine to keep.
Now it’s just a case of staying one step ahead of him.
…which might be challenging.
