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I'm orange, gosh darn it!
May. 1st, 2003 04:55 pmThere is no such thing as a "normal" cat. Felines are quirky creatures, at best. However, I'm increasingly of the opinion that orange cats are quirkier than most. Maybe it's that the color goes all the way to the brain, or they're just a touch too aware that they somewhat resemble circus peanuts, or something. But the orange ones tend towards more weirdness than most.
We can look at Tristan as an example. No, you may not "take him as an example". While he's not my cat, I've become very fond of him. If you were to take him, you'd make me angry. I'd have to hunt you down and harm you, and that would be very messy and involve much paperwork. So, no taking Tristan. Or Percival either. Just because this entry isn't about Percy, and he's grey instead of orange, don't think for a moment that he isn't also under my protection. Taking cats from my household is a good way to make your life difficult, in the way James Bond's life is difficult, as you too would have a mad (meaning angry) mad scientist on your case. Anyway, we can use Tristan and his relationship with a toy as an example.
Tristan has a toy we call "Jingle Mouse". The original Jingle Mouse was a little grey felt catnip mouse toy with a jingle bell on it, part of a lot intended for sale as a veterinary school Cat Club fundraiser. For Tristan, it was apparently love at first sight (or more accurately, first sniff) - he snuck into a closet, chewed through the box, and liberated the mouse for his own use. Ever afterwards, they were constant companions. Tristan carried the toy around the house, played with it, slept with it. Aside from his mommy, Jingle Mouse was Tristan's favoritest thing in the whole world.
Tristan loved Jingle Mouse to death, quite literally. By the time his Mommy was ready to move in here, the toy was in a sorry state. It had no stuffing left. It had no eyes, no ears, no tail, no jingle. It had been reduced to a simple scrap of grey felt, but Tristan still loved it. But, just before the move, the toy disappeared. Even upon emptying the Lady's old apartment, the remains of Jingle Mouse were nowhere to be found. I was sad for Tristan, because he was going to have to get used to a whole new home without his little felt pal.
Luckily, right after the move, another mouse from that original lot turned up in one of the Lady's desk drawers. This one was yellow, but Tristan fell for it just the same. He played with it incessantly, carried it around the house. Jingle Mouse II was born.
My role in Tristan's life was cemented when he learned that I could make Jingle Mouse fly. Tristan is an energetic little fellow, and when he wants to play, he wants to make an aerobic workout of it. Perhaps his favorite game has me standing at the bottom of our carpeted staircase. I toss Jingle Mouse up the stairs, and Tristan chases it pell mell to the top, whereupon he plays with it all the way back down. I pick it up, and we repeat until Tristan can no longer breathe. It has gotten to the point where Tristan has learned to come into whatever room I'm in, carrying Jingle Mouse, trying to meow around the mouthful of felt and stuffing. He drops the mouse on the floor, and then stares at me until I get up and make the mouse fly.
Tristan will also use Jingle Mouse as a means of self-expression. When the Lady or I am feeling particularly sad or sick, Tristan will bring Jingle Mouse and drop it on the bed next to us, as if to say, "This brings happiness, and you need some." Since Tristan is unbearably cute when performing this little ritual, his morale raising attempts generally work.
A few days ago, Jingle Mouse went missing. This is not uncommon; Tristan will occasionally play it into a corner out of sight, and it won't show up until he digs it out to play again. But sometimes he forgets where he last had it. This time it was missing for a few days, and it seemed to me that he was showing signs of the loss, though I admit I might be anthropomorphizing a bit. When we finally started looking, the Lady found Jingle Mouse in a fairly obvious place under a table in the living room. It seemed a little odd that Tristan hadn't found it on hs own, though he had dug up several other toys we hadn't seen for months. Maybe Tristan hadn't lost track of it at all? I tossed the mouse into the upstairs hall, knowing that the cat would find it there.
And, a few hours later, after he'd had a little nap, I hear an odd, almost pitiful meowing coming from the hall. I poke my head out to see what's up, and there's Tristan. Not playing, just hunkered down with Jingle Mouse in his mouth, meowing away in relief that his friend had come back.
Weirdo cat :)
We can look at Tristan as an example. No, you may not "take him as an example". While he's not my cat, I've become very fond of him. If you were to take him, you'd make me angry. I'd have to hunt you down and harm you, and that would be very messy and involve much paperwork. So, no taking Tristan. Or Percival either. Just because this entry isn't about Percy, and he's grey instead of orange, don't think for a moment that he isn't also under my protection. Taking cats from my household is a good way to make your life difficult, in the way James Bond's life is difficult, as you too would have a mad (meaning angry) mad scientist on your case. Anyway, we can use Tristan and his relationship with a toy as an example.
Tristan has a toy we call "Jingle Mouse". The original Jingle Mouse was a little grey felt catnip mouse toy with a jingle bell on it, part of a lot intended for sale as a veterinary school Cat Club fundraiser. For Tristan, it was apparently love at first sight (or more accurately, first sniff) - he snuck into a closet, chewed through the box, and liberated the mouse for his own use. Ever afterwards, they were constant companions. Tristan carried the toy around the house, played with it, slept with it. Aside from his mommy, Jingle Mouse was Tristan's favoritest thing in the whole world.
Tristan loved Jingle Mouse to death, quite literally. By the time his Mommy was ready to move in here, the toy was in a sorry state. It had no stuffing left. It had no eyes, no ears, no tail, no jingle. It had been reduced to a simple scrap of grey felt, but Tristan still loved it. But, just before the move, the toy disappeared. Even upon emptying the Lady's old apartment, the remains of Jingle Mouse were nowhere to be found. I was sad for Tristan, because he was going to have to get used to a whole new home without his little felt pal.
Luckily, right after the move, another mouse from that original lot turned up in one of the Lady's desk drawers. This one was yellow, but Tristan fell for it just the same. He played with it incessantly, carried it around the house. Jingle Mouse II was born.
My role in Tristan's life was cemented when he learned that I could make Jingle Mouse fly. Tristan is an energetic little fellow, and when he wants to play, he wants to make an aerobic workout of it. Perhaps his favorite game has me standing at the bottom of our carpeted staircase. I toss Jingle Mouse up the stairs, and Tristan chases it pell mell to the top, whereupon he plays with it all the way back down. I pick it up, and we repeat until Tristan can no longer breathe. It has gotten to the point where Tristan has learned to come into whatever room I'm in, carrying Jingle Mouse, trying to meow around the mouthful of felt and stuffing. He drops the mouse on the floor, and then stares at me until I get up and make the mouse fly.
Tristan will also use Jingle Mouse as a means of self-expression. When the Lady or I am feeling particularly sad or sick, Tristan will bring Jingle Mouse and drop it on the bed next to us, as if to say, "This brings happiness, and you need some." Since Tristan is unbearably cute when performing this little ritual, his morale raising attempts generally work.
A few days ago, Jingle Mouse went missing. This is not uncommon; Tristan will occasionally play it into a corner out of sight, and it won't show up until he digs it out to play again. But sometimes he forgets where he last had it. This time it was missing for a few days, and it seemed to me that he was showing signs of the loss, though I admit I might be anthropomorphizing a bit. When we finally started looking, the Lady found Jingle Mouse in a fairly obvious place under a table in the living room. It seemed a little odd that Tristan hadn't found it on hs own, though he had dug up several other toys we hadn't seen for months. Maybe Tristan hadn't lost track of it at all? I tossed the mouse into the upstairs hall, knowing that the cat would find it there.
And, a few hours later, after he'd had a little nap, I hear an odd, almost pitiful meowing coming from the hall. I poke my head out to see what's up, and there's Tristan. Not playing, just hunkered down with Jingle Mouse in his mouth, meowing away in relief that his friend had come back.
Weirdo cat :)
