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Thursday, August 16, 2012

There's a New Mog in Town and Nobody Likes 'It' Except Snorky

The first day we brought him home at 12 weeks.
Since we lost three of our herd in the last several years, I've been thinking about how 6 mogs is a good number. Of course the universe was listening in on my brain waves and decided that 6 must be too even a number. The other week, a gal in one of my Hort. classes asked us cohorts if anyone would like a kitten, otherwise she was thinking of taking them to a shelter. "Kitten, did you say?" as my ears perked up. I don't like the combination of kitten and shelter spoken in the same sentence. Why she didn't get her cat fixed in the first place could send me on a rant about how shelters are so overflowing with kittens right now that she'd be hard pressed to find one that had room, but I held my tongue and before I could consciously turn off the emoticon of my face, "I will" came spilling out of my mouth almost like a reflex reaction of "ouch" when someone hits you upside the head.

It's been in our history that we never have had to go looking for cats because sooner or later, cats find us. However, we have been long past due for another opportunity. I arranged a time with Antoinette to come pick one out, driving down from my house in Arlington since she lives in South Everett. Before I left, I realized that all of the cat carriers were at Roland's house, so I grabbed the next best kitten transporter; a pillowcase. When I arrived at Antoinette's, only two of the three kittens were left - a male and a female. One, fortunately, had been successfully adopted. The female was light gray with a tortoise shell face and the male was a tuxedo.

My friends, Nancy and Mary have been tuxedo cat enthusiasts for a long time, both owning two of them. They tell me how laid back they are. I've never owned a tuxedo, so I decided to try one myself and put their theory to the test. He has classic markings with a white chin and white paws, so I named him Marcel after the mime. Roland calls him 'morsel'. I stuffed him into the pillowcase and headed for Mog Cottage.

Assuming the usual position
He was handled a lot by kids before I adopted him, so turned out to be any easy purr and pretty much lays in any position you hold him in. I kept him in the bedroom for exactly half a day and he immediately made himself at home in the rest of the house. Unfortunately, the rest of the gang became very disgusted that I would bring that home into their house. Mamah refuses to come inside now (she pretty much schmoozes all the neighbors anyway) and Vinnie and Furbert hiss mostly when they get ambushed. They come in because neither fits through the cat door well - too fat- and they both like to eat. Deirdre growls and hisses at the mere site of Marcel, but is a perpetual house cat, so doesn't feel that she should have to leave. The others don't know he exists because they stay in the laundry room, with in and out privileges through the cat door.Marcel has been sealed off from that part of the house for now. No going outside until he's over his stupid kitten stage.

Marcel attacks toes and had produced some lovely welts on Roland's feet by chewing on them when Roland was asleep on the sofa. Being a kitten of course, Marcel makes every effort to wreck the house...um... more wrecked than it already is if that's possible.

The one beast we have that showed copious amounts of enthusiasm for our new charge has been Snorky. He immediately saw Marcel as a new dog toy and wasted no time engaging him in the chase game. They constantly play with each other, tearing around the living room and through the kitchen. Best dog entertainment next to the squirrel that sits outside the living room window.

Of course I had to brag about our latest addition to some of my friends, one of who replied that I need some grandchildren.


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