The New Roommate

I really had no intentions of being gone for so long. A few days turned into a few weeks without me even realizing it. Somewhere I got it into my head that my next post was going to be on my computer (now that I finally moved it out of Zappagirl's hallway), but it took longer than I expected to actually get online and up and running.

Now that my computer is a few feet away from my futon, I have no excuse to not post on a regular basis. Well, except writer's block, lack of motivation, and the ever popular "I had a really bad day and I was freaking exhausted and all I wanted to do was drink some Sleepytime tea and go to bed."

But not tonight. I'll let the Sleepytime steep while I tell you about the other new addition to my household besides the computer: I have a new kitty.

Waaaaay back when, some of you may recall that Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's cat had kittens. A litter of six. One black male, one black female, one grey female, and three males with seal point Siamese markings. We all set about claiming our kittens for when they were ready to leave their mother. Hsu Lin, the black female, went to a relative of Rosencrantz's. Roger Mexico took one of the seal points and named him Bowie. A former DJ friend of ours took another of the seal points, but had to give him up when he moved. (His cat has found a new home with Tammy and her family.) JohnnyB is giving serious thought to taking John the Baptist, the black male (so named because he was the first to venture into the wilderness, and he meowed at everything new he encountered; it was decided that he was testifying to the bookcase...and the computer desk...and the litter box...). And Epiphany, the grey female, will be staying with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern.

The third seal point? He was mine.

By conventional senses, he's not a normal cat. Due to a neurological disorder (probably resulting from a large litter and a very small mother carrying them), he has difficulties with his back legs and stumbles rather than walking with a cat-like grace. He has a slight tremor when standing still. Upon first meeting him, I remarked that he looked like he'd had too much caffeine. ("What, like you?" Roger Mexico added while Bowie dozed in his lap.)

Rosencrantz and Guildenstern took him to the vet to see if there was anything physically wrong with him, and he came back with a clean bill of health (aside from the unsteadiness). I immediately claimed him and named him Ma Huang (after the herbal stimulant).

But then Elvis passed away in January, I wasn't sure if I was ready to bring a new cat into my life. I was still in grieving mode for the cat that had been a part of my life for six and a half years, and a very small part of me felt responsible for his escape into the hallway that resulted in his untimely trip to the SPCA. What made me think I could do any better with another cat?

(These thoughts were during the time when I was going slightly insane, and was blaming myself for everything. But sometimes letting go is a lot harder than you think.)

But I finally decided I was ready, and paid a visit to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern's, cat carrier in hand. Getting him into the carrier wasn't a problem. Listening to him yowl all the way back to my house wasn't a problem. (Funny, I'd never heard him make a sound before the night I came to pick him up.)

Getting him out of the cat carrier? Now that was a problem. I would have figured that with all his complaining, he'd be anxious to get out of the big plastic box, right?

Think again, hotshot.

I opened the door and waited for him to come out. And waited. And waited. I put food in front of the carrier. Toys. Anything I could think of to coax him into his new environment. Given the fact that he was making a big adjustment in moving from a two story house with eight other cats to an apartment with no other cats (but probably the lingering scent of the previous feline resident), I didn't want to traumatize him by forcing him out of the carrier when he wasn't ready.

After five hours of waiting, I gave up and took off the top portion of the carrier. He stepped out, sniffed about for a few seconds, and cowered in my lap.

Great. He's finally home, and he's terrified.

He eventually went to explore the bathroom, discovered the litter box, and promptly hid in it for the rest of the night. The following morning, I coaxed him out of the litter box, only to have him hide under the couch for the entire afternoon. Zappagirl came over to watch him while I went to a play with my mother, and she didn't even see him until I got home and we started moving furniture.

After about 24 hours of playing hide and seek, thought, he decided the apartment wasn't so bad after all, and decided to explore his surroundings and eat all of his toys. Yes, you read that correctly. You know those wand toys with the feathers and ribbons at the end of the string? Apparently the ribbons taste pretty yummy, because he managed to pull them off within a day. And I guess the tail on the little fake mousie tasted good too, because that was missing as well when I left for work the next day. Needless to say, all edible toys have been taken away and replaced by jingly plastic balls. Hartz is making a fortune off me.

A week later, and things are going much better. Most of my furniture is low enough for him to jump onto, he doesn't dive under the bed anymore when someone comes down the hall outside my door, and the change in diet (IAMS rather than Science Diet, because Kroger's carries the former) doesn't seem to have confused him all that much. He seems to have gotten used to the idea of being a solitary kitty, because that just means he can monopolize more of my time. The only problem I can see is that he's extremely jealous of the computer, since every second I spend on the internet is time I could be petting him.

Well, that and he's fallen asleep on my robe in the middle of my bed, and I don't want to wake him. Awwwww.

Guess we know who's boss around here, huh?