Se7en

DON'T HIT ME [ducking for cover]:






But, for reals? Just look at that face.

This is Toothless. As you may have guessed, he's named after the dragon from the How to Train Your Dragon film.

He's as sweet as could be, a little shy, and one of the most lovable animals I've ever encountered.







Ok, so how did we end up with this cat? Well we started noticing him in November or so of 2010. He would often show up around feeding time when we were still feeding Moonie outside. They would eat from the same bowl without conflict. But he was so shy and unsure of us (worse than Moonie, if anyone could believe it), that he was literally like a shadow of a cat. He would hide somewhere until we closed the door and then he'd come out to eat. Open the door, and poof, he would dart away into the night. We started calling him Toothless because of both his look and behavior!

After we brought Moonie into our house, he started coming more frequently, often twice a day. Every few weeks I noticed that he was letting us get closer to him. One day in April or so, he actually let me pet him on the head. From that point on, the improvement in his trust in us was increasing much more rapidly. We considered bringing him in. But since Moonie was still not used to us or her surroundings, and we had reached our usual capacity of 6, AND we knew that he was not neutered yet (expense and spraying inside were big concerns) we decided that maybe we'd wait. Things were great and we were happy to feed him outside, as he basically appeared to be pretty much living on our property quite happily, safely, and comfortably. Until...

Mulder. Yes, Mulder as in Fox Mulder. In May I noticed this orange and white tabby just sitting on our lawn. An attractive cat, he had very large ears, a long body and a slightly bushier tail than most cats (especially since he's a short-hair). Very fox-like. So I just stared calling him Fox Mulder one day and it sort-of stuck. I took a picture from the window:













Well...Mulder and Toothless did NOT get along. In fact, Mulder is quite the bully. We noticed one day that Toothless had a cut on his head and another time a bite near where his ear meets his head. Whenever Mulder was around, Toothless was absent. If Mulder showed up when Toothless was there, then Toothless would run away as if the devil himself were chasing him. It was obvious that Mulder was claiming our house as his territory. Toothless started coming less frequently, and almost always in the dark. In fact at one point, we hadn't seen him in about 4-5 days. I feared the worst. But because Toothless had built up a trust with us, he actually responded to hearing his name! He would come from seemingly out of nowhere after hearing me call him. We decided that we had to bring him in. He would not survive long with Mulder around, plus the heat of the summer.

So Todd scooped him up in early July and we made a comfortable, private space for him in my knitting room. We were worried that the scars from Mulder would result in Feline HIV or leukemia or something, but after a vet visit, I am happy to report that he's completely healthy. Toothless is only about 15-16 months old. He weighs around 10 pounds. We have his neutering scheduled for July 27. The vet also told us that he's a very timid cat. Her exact words were: "He's not very brave." He's not the type to fight or spray (he has never sprayed at all, which was a miracle). She said that when confronted, he will run away or hide. :-( My poor, little Toothless.

He's still getting used to the house and his siblings. Luna is behaving most deplorably, if I do say so. I think she's a little jealous. I am most concerned about her being evil towards him. My other concern, albeit much less, is Hercules. Herc has always been rough. He's also frickin' HUGE now. I think he's got to be 20 pounds. He could really put some hurt on a cat as shy and small as Toothless. But Herc's not evil, just big and rambunctious.

So, there you have it. And UGH, I just realized that I now have to change my header AGAIN!

Call the Men in the White Coats

Because this guy needs a straitjacket STAT. I mean, seriously? At least it's a free pattern. And if anyone of you makes this, I will stab you.

Can't see things in Ravelry?

Ok...

"Um...what the hell is it," you ask? "That can't be a...."

"GRAPE COZY???!?!??!" Sigh. It is.

You know, some days I feel like I may have crossed the threshold into insanity, then I see things like this. Some other lunatic commented on this in Ravelry saying, "I love this! This would also be nice for a little hershey kiss or some m & m’s. Thanks!" SURE. Apparently crazy is now an airborne disease.

If I start knitting cozies for individual pieces of cat-food kibble, please have me committed.

That is all.

Thoroughly Insane...

...on many accounts, not least of which is knitting.

On Friday I decided to knit something for my friend Yuko. She's leaving the USA in July (maybe for good) to go to Southeast Asia (I think Cambodia) to work with Team Boravuth, a group that promotes child education. She's a very sweet, kind, lovely person. All who know her will miss her terribly, but we understand that the work she will be doing is very important.

So I wanted to make her something very nice. Where she's going, I doubt hats and scarves would get much use. Dishcloths/washcloths? Meh. So impersonal! I decided to make her a tank top. I searched on Ravelry for some patterns and decided on this one. I just so happened to have 6 skeins of Patons Grace yarn in a light pink color, which would be perfect both for Yuko and for this pattern. I grabbed the yarn and cast on. I have knit 2 of the 3 bottom repeats so far. It seems to be going ok. Size looks good. Yuko is easy to knit for; she's quite petite. So small is always a good bet.

Ok, well sounds good so far right? Why does this make me insane? Well, we're having a farewell party for her in June. Yeah...so...will I get this done by June?? I realize that it's not even May yet, but I am a SLOW knitter.

I will be spending several days in North Carolina, visiting my sister in early May. Maybe this will be a good opportunity to work on this. I'll keep my fingers crossed.

And for the second bit...

Allow me to present to you cat number 6:



Come on, y'all. How could anyone resist such a face? Here's the short story:

On Saturday, Todd and I were in PetSmart buying supplies for the other beasts. I asked if we could walk by the shelter cats to say hello, which is something we often do. And this cat was there. He just looked up at me and I died in a fire. I went in and held him for a little and just knew that he needed to come live with us. We filed the application and we picked him up last night.

Details:

He's 4 or 5. We checked his teeth to be sure that he wasn't really like 17. He's a Snowshoe mix with light blue eyes. He only has 3 toes on each of his front paws, which actually looks really adorable! He's fairly large, but not enormous. I think he weighs 13 pounds. He's super chatty, very "chirpy," friendly and lovable --- very lovable. He likes the other cats, even though they aren't too fond of him yet. Well, Titus is fine with him and, believe it or not, so is Sophie. But the other three (particularly Fi Fi and Luna) aren't happy. Give it a couple of days though, and he'll start smelling like the rest of them and I think all will be O.K.

He had the most GOD-AWFUL name that could ever be given to a pet ever: Sudoku. I have NO idea who decided that would be a good name for him. But it's got to go.

So what to name him? We're still tossing around some options, which include the following:



Orson, Caesar, Henry, Wolfgang, Ivan, Oscar, Julius, Ash, Teddy, Vulcan, Cupid, Kuma, and Todd's offering...


Lando Catrissian.



But I don't know if any of these names really suit him. Although Lando Catrissian isn't half-bad! I was pretty much dead set on either Orson or Henry when I first started thinking of names for this little guy. Any one of those up there is most certainly better than Sudoku! RETCH.

On the way from the car to my office today a name suddenly occurred to me. One which was perfect for his personality and his look and which would fit in really well with the names of his siblings.

So what do you folks think of...


Romeo?











And don't you just lurve his widdle feets??? Me likely. :-)

Should I Have?

I am a fairly reasonable and level-headed person. I tend to not lean toward the paranoid, conspiracy-theory outlook on life. But there have been a few experiences that I've had in my life where---looking back on them---I wonder if I should have been upset or angry or insulted. You know what I mean? I let things slide, a lot. Mostly, it's because I hate conflict and confrontation. When it comes to "flight or fight," I am outta there! My mantra should be: In case of anything remotely dealing with awkward human interaction, RUN.

Maybe it would have been better if I did get rip-roaring mad; maybe it even would have been justifiable! Maybe my life would have turned out differently, which is a mostly scary thought. I don't know. I've had more than my share of these little experiences but the following three just seem to linger with me. What do you think?

Experience 1:

When I was 19, there was this boy that I absolutely, utterly worshiped. He was in my art class during my first semester of college. I've mentioned him before on this blog. Ok. Also in the class was a girl---actually a woman, as I found out later that she was 26 when we were all 18-19. She had an...odd personality. She was mostly bubbly, but she could really grate on your nerves. Nobody really liked her all that much because she was just so annoying. We discovered later in the semester that she also had epilepsy. And she had a seizure one day in class, thankfully not a horrible one. I was the person who got a wheelchair, and put her in it, and wheeled her across the campus (albeit a small one), and waited outside with her until someone in her family picked her up. Nobody else would.

So that's the back story there. Ok. For the sake of avoiding confusion, we will call this epileptic girl Candace.

Candace knew of my unending adoration for said boy. I mean, if anyone didn't know, they had to be legally blind and deaf. Seriously. I tried to not make it a big deal, but I usually wear my heart on my sleeve. With me, I'm very WYSIWYG. Yet somehow, inexplicably, the BOY didn't know.... I think he knew; just pretended he didn't. So anyway, one day during a break in our 3-hour class, I was in the hall talking to this boy and Candace. Loved every second of it. Another girl, a different one from our class, who was absolutely drop-dead gorgeous, comes into the hall and starts talking to us. Boy goes back into class with gorgeous girl. I said, "Sigh. That's going to be a problem." There is no way I can compete with raving beauty, especially when we are talking about a guy who is like 19, you know? So I got a little choked up. And I made a run for the ladies room. Real mature, I know. But hey, I was 19 and absolutely SICK in love with him. You have NO idea. Candace comes in after me; tries to make me feel better. I don't remember anything at all of the conversation we had EXCEPT this sentence that she said to me:

"You should forget about him; you are too ugly for him."

O_o

Know what? I BELIEVED HER. I maybe even went as far as AGREED with her. WTF? Now, I ask you, what would you have felt, done at that time? Should I have punched her in her stupid face? Or been like, "Oh yeah? At least I'm not a no-talent, 26-year-old college freshman, LOSER." Looking back on it, I know I should have been offended or insulted. I know. But I let it pass. It ate away at me, though. Obviously. ;-)



Experience 2:

Todd and I got married in June 2004. But we had been an exclusive couple since Jan 1, 1999. Yeah, I know, it took him long enough! So for 5 and 1/2 years, it was just Todd and me (still is, now 9 years). We went to Bermuda for our honeymoon. It was lovely there. If you haven't ever been to Bermuda, I highly recommend it as a vacation/honeymoon destination. So about 4-5 days after we returned, I started feeling sick. Bladder infection, I was sure. Yuck. I'd had a couple before. For anyone who's ever had a bladder infection, you can back me up here: you KNOW when you have one. Period. You feel me?

Well, I really hate the doctor. At this time, I was actually in-between doctors too, which makes matters worse. So I tried to self-medicate for a couple of days. Which means, I drank tons of fluids and took cranberry capsules. And it may have gotten marginally better. Then it got majorly WORSE. I was at work and suddenly at about 11:00am I got horrible chills and my lower back started to hurt. By 2:00pm, I felt like a freakin' camel kicked me repeatedly in my kidneys and I could barely stand up. My boss drove me to the emergency room.

Emergency rooms, in general, SUCK ASS TIMES ELEVENTY. As a result, I waited quite a long time before anyone saw me. When someone finally came over, they naturally asked for a urine sample. They got one from me, no problem. They gave me some ibuprofen in a cup for pain. I tell them, "I think I have a kidney infection." More waiting. The attending ER doctor comes over, a young man, nice. He tells me, "Well, it looks like you DO have a kidney infection. But we'll get that taken care of." Fine, great, super. Then he says, sort of sheepishly, apologetically, "Uh, the head of ER wants to talk to you first about a possible...uh...complication. It's...not a big deal...but he has to do it. Legalities and such. Ok?" So I say, "O...k." More waiting.

The head of ER finally comes over. I recognized him. This dude had been all over the place for the last several hours. I had suspected it was he that was the head of ER. Not by his caring, attentive nature, nor by his attention to detail and order and professionalism, but rather by his fucking swagger and his ill-fitting greens. All he needed was a gold medallion and he could give Barry Gibb a run for the money. Ok. He starts a long, rambling speech about "people your age" and "living life at the extreme." Yeah, extreme for me is ordering curly fries from Arby's. Do I DARE? Also? In June of 2004, I was 32 years old. Not exactly the age group that "lives life at the extreme," and last time I checked, I don't count Paris Hilton or Britney Spears among my best buds.

This was not an old man, by any means. Late 40s, early 50s tops. I'm just biding my time, nodding, waiting for him to shut the hell up and release me so I can go the hell home after being trapped in there for 6 hours. So he gets to his point (finally), which was: "I'd like to, with your permission, give you a series of tests for Chlamydia. Because often Chlamydia masks itself as another ailment and you have all those possible symptoms. So you may think you have a bladder, er, rather, kidney infection [rolls his eyes] but it might be something way more serious."

O_o

What I wanted to say is, "Dude, are you seriously telling me---someone who's just returned from their HONEYMOON--- that I have the fucking CLAP?" But instead, I just said, "Uh, no. That won't be necessary. I'm sure I don't have Chlamydia." He pressed the issue, "Well if you've ever had these symptoms before, if you ever thought you had a bladder infection in the past, it could very well be Chlamydia." I could see the other doctor, the nice one, in the distance just sort of shaking his head in dismay and a little embarrassment. I just shook my head and said, "No."

Should I have been angry, insulted, offended? What could I say? I think the issue with me is that I tend to defer and give respect to people in positions of authority. Twelve years of Catholic school hammered that into me. I think that was the case here. I probably should have told the asshole to go to hell, but there was some part of me that held back.


Experience 3:

So you all know I work at a university, where I've been employed for a little over 5 years now. I put up with a lot of crap in my job. With the antics of the faculty combined with the idiocy of the students, it's a miracle I haven't gone rogue and shot a bunch of people in a shopping mall. This recent experience is the culmination of 5 years of frustration. It sums up in a brief encounter the kind of existence I have at work.

I had a very busy 2 weeks. It was the first 2 weeks of the term, which are always very hectic. I have tons of things going on, students to advise, forms to fill out, webpages to update, etc. etc. As I may have mentioned before, I seldom take a formal lunch. I usually sit at my desk, door open, so I can be aware of what's happening around me. My boss has told me, on several occasions, that I should a) leave the office entirely for lunch (preferred) or b) close my door. It's kind of nice that he believes that I need to get out of there for a little bit every day. At least he gets it.

So I decided to shut my door one day for lunch. About a half hour into my lunch, there's a knock on my door. Sigh. I delayed about 10 seconds, hoping that maybe whoever was on the other side would realize that a closed door at 1:00pm means that someone might be eating lunch. You know, common sense? No such luck. Knock, knock, again. I swallow my Triscuits and answer the door. It's one of our faculty. The biggest douchebag on the planet. Douchebag doesn't even apologize for interrupting my lunch, just says, "I need to do a change of grade form. Where are they?"

O_o

The forms in question are in the copy room, which is directly across from my office, which is also where the forms have happened to reside for the LAST 2 YEARS. Douchebag KNOWS this. HAS TO. I know for a fact that Douchebag has submitted many-a-form of this kind before. So, incredulous, I shamble over to the copy room while saying, "They are here, in the copy room, on the bottom shelf, left side." I take one and give it to Douchebag. As I pass the reception desk, I see our department secretary there. She looks up at me, and just closes her eyes and shakes her head, knowingly. Then another level of anger hits me.

She's sitting there at her desk, out in the open. I am in my office, several paces away from her desk, with my door closed. Douchebag couldn't save themselves the extra effort of walking FURTHER and actually knocking (twice) by asking the department secretary---who was right there---for the form instead? No. Douchebag HAD to come ask me. Why? Because Douchebag has complete and utter lack of respect for me and my job. Period. This is the trend in my department.

I just let the rage boil inside me. Douchebag got the form and left. I went back in my office, shut the door, and choked down the rest of my lunch along with the bitter bile of resentment, which is a taste I know all too well. Should I have just stood my ground and said to myself, "I will not answer that door." Or should I have said to Douchebag, "I'm eating lunch, ask the department secretary." But see, to me, that lacks common sense and common decency. It's RETARDED to tell someone to ask another person for something when you know the answer. It's just not in my being to be that way.

So there you have it. Am I a pushover? Or just too nice? Or what? What could I have or SHOULD I have done?

Day One: The Insanity Begins

Today marks the first day of classes at the university where I work.

Sigh.

Is it me, or does everyone go rat-shit insane just in time for the first day of classes? You'd think it was a full moon or a lunar eclipse or something.








Consider the following, please:


Exhibit A: Commute to work
Todd and I arose bright and early---well, maybe just early---today in order to get out and on the road early enough so that I would actually be on-time for once. Technically, my work day starts at 8:00am. I know, that SUCKETH. But I don't usually wander in until 8:30ish. Since I am salaried, not hourly, this isn't really a huge deal. But because today is the first day of classes, I really wanted to get here on time. I almost never take a real lunch hour anyway. Rather, I sit at my desk and cram pretzels down my throat while students wander about. To continue, we left the house at 7:27 am. It takes about 30 minutes to get from our driveway to my drop-off point at work. I was most pleased...for about 10 minutes. I'm not sure what happened, but suddenly we were stuck in the middle of I-95, barely moving. No exit in sight to take an alternate route. We turn on the radio and learn that there had just been a "multi-car accident" up ahead. Seven miles ahead. Yeah. So much for getting in on-time. I actually didn't end up walking in the door until 8:50 am. Swell.


Exhibit B: Student Iman Idiot
9:14 am
RING...RING
Me: This is Gina Waters
Iman Idiot: Um, hello? HELLO?
Me: Hello, this is Gina Waters
Iman Idiot: Oh, uh, yes, this is Iman Idiot. I met with you a few weeks ago and you helped me arrange my schedule of classes for the term?
Me: Yes?
Iman Idiot: OK, well, I don't have computer access and I can't get my schedule. I know I have 2 classes today, but I don't know where they are located.
Me: Ok, which classes are they?
Iman Idiot: I don't know. Can you look up my schedule for me? I know they are both in your department.
Me: Sure, what's your ID number?
Iman Idiot: I don't know.
Me: ...How about your social-security number?
Iman Idiot: Oh, ok it's XXXXXXXXX. My last name is I.D.I.O.T.
Me: Got it. Ok. You are scheduled for Yadda-Yadda at 10:00 in BLDG Q, Room 202. And at 12:00 you have Badda-Bing in Crap-ass Hall, 343.
Iman Idiot: ...Ok so, 202 in where?
Me: BLDG Q. And at 12:00 you are in Crap-ass 343.
Iman Idiot: I'm writing this down, BLDG Q, Room 202. And Crap-ass---what was it?
Me: 343.
Iman Idiot: Crap-ass 314.
Me: No. Crap-ass 343. Three. Four. Three.
Iman Idiot: Ok. 343. Thanks. So it's BLDG Q, Room 202 at 10 and Crap-ass 343 at 12?
Me: Yes, that's right.

And then my brain exploded.


Exhibit C: Department Head(case)
9:55 am
DH: Do you know the location for a CRSE 685? Whatshername from the Provost's Office just called me and said there are students wandering all over the place, in and out of their offices looking for the class.
Me: We offer no such class. We are offering a section of CRSE 285, meeting at 10:00---I assume this is the course they mean--- in the same building as the Provost's Office, MAIN 328B. It's the Honors section. [I snort under my breath]
DH: Oh? The Honors section? Distressing. Well can you call the Provost's Office and tell them that it's in MAIN 328B?
Me: ...Uh...I...
DH: I'll call.
Me: Why did they even call over here? We don't assign rooms for courses. And the office that does IS AROUND THE HALLWAY FROM THEM.
DH: I don't know. But they did, so we should tell them.
Me: And how many students were there "wandering" all over the place? The class only has 13 enrolled.
DH: [shrugs].

Now I have a migraine. I know exactly what happened. ONE dumb-ass student walked into their office looking for the room and they got their panties all twisted over it. GOD FORBID the Provost's Office has to, you know, HELP A STUDENT. JEEZ.


Exhibit D: Professor Mustbee A. Douchebag
10:16 am
Prof. Douchebag: Hey, did I get a package on Friday?
Me: No, I don't think so. Did you check your mailbox?
Prof. Douchebag: [Ignoring my question] Is there any way that you can call someone to see if it's on campus somewhere?
Me: ...Er...is it a big package? Like would it be coming through central receiving?
Prof. Douchebag: No. Well, I don't know. It's software for my computer, it should be about this big [gestures].
Me: Hmmm...well I doubt it's coming from central receiving. I can try to call someone in the mail room to see if it's there, but it's harder for them to keep track of small packages.
Prof. Douchebag: The place I ordered it from said they shipped it out on Thursday.
Me: ...Thursday? The Thursday that just passed? Well, this is only Monday, so...let's give it another day and if it doesn't show up, I'll see if I can track it down.
Prof. Douchebag: Oh...ok. [Not happy]

Professor leaves my office and goes to the receptionist, who hands over a package and says, "This just came for you." Professor yells out at me from the reception desk, "Oh never mind, here it is!"

Ok. First of all? Since you ordered software for it, I am assuming you know that there is a magical, wondrous device called a "computer." And since this package you ordered was shipped to you via UPS, it has something called a tracking number on it. This number allows you to use said computer to connect to the Internet and check the progress of your package from the shipper to you. No, seriously! It's AMAZING! AND---here's the really good part---you don't even have to know what that tracking number is! You just log into your fucking e-mail and click on the link in the software company's e-mail to you. You remember? The one in which they TOLD YOU that they shipped you the package? Yeah, that one. And it will take you right to that glorious tracking information page on the Internet. See? Isn't technology grand?

Second of all: Dude. Thursday? It's Monday at 10:00. COME ON. We're closed on the weekend and UPS doesn't even deliver on weekends.


Exhibit E: Student Dummerthana Bag O'Hammers
11:57am
This is an actual email from a student who is attempting to double major in one of our departmental majors AND Education. EDUCATION. To wit:

Gina,
I have spoken to Youhoo in ed. and to Soandso in the student service office and have
also got the signeture from the finiancal aid office, but when I went
to the billing office to get thier signeture and have the paperwork
filed the woman there told me that she could not sign it because she
did not understand how my course of study was being worked out. What
she wants is for you, Youhoo and Soandso in the student service office to send her
a course of study for me. I am sorry for any inconvience this causes
and thank you so much for all your help.

Sincerely,
Dummerthana Bag O'Hammers

I don't even know where to begin. First, I guess I should pick up the remaining pieces of my brain off the floor and try to shove them back into my ears. There, that's a little better.

Since when does the BURSAR'S OFFICE determine if a student will meet all their coursework on time for two majors? Since when do they CARE? They collect money. PERIOD. That I and the education advisor have to submit course plans-of-study to the Bursar's Office is INSANE.

And...this student...sigh...do I even need to write it?



Exhibit F: The Revenge of Iman Idiot
12:04 pm
RING...RING
Me: This is Gina Waters.
Iman Idiot: Hi, this is Iman Idiot again. Remember me?
Me: Yes.
Iman Idiot: Well, I'm over in Crap-ass 243 and there's no class here. In fact, 243 is an office and they don't know where I am supposed to go.
Me: It's Crap-ass 343. THREE. FOUR. THREE.
Iman Idiot: Oh. You said THREE 43?
Me: Yeah. Third floor, 343.
Iman Idiot: Ok, thanks.

3...2...1...KABOOM! Brain gone entirely.

Yeah, welcome to DAY ONE, ladies an gentlemen. Can you imagine what awaits me the REST of this week? For my life, still ahead, pity me.

Mr. Chesterfield

This is Mr. Chesterfield:





















Mr. Chesterfield is a sweet, dignified gentleman and he happens to be the latest addition to the Waters' family of cats.

I know.

I KNOW!

Don't hit!

See, Mr. Chesterfield has a unique story. He is really unlike any other cat we've adopted. No, really!

Last Friday, we happened to be in PetSmart buying supplies for our gaggle of felines who seem to eat us out of house and home. And, as usual, that local PetSmart was sponsoring a major adoption event on the weekend for "Forgotten Cats," a cat rescue organization here in Delaware. Well there were about 50 cats and kittens there---all beautiful animals. We walked by the cages, as we always do, and there was Mr. Chesterfield, standing there in his cubby hole, looking very sophisticated and content. I loved his face the moment I saw him.

When I noticed that his name was Mr. Chesterfield, I about died in a fire. It suits him so well. Todd read his little card and learned that Mr. C (as we now sometimes call him) is, in fact, nearly completely blind. Nobody knew if he was born blind (which I doubt) or how or when he lost his sight. His story was this: he was a family cat whose family decided they didn't want him any more (probably after he went blind, the bastiges), so they dumped him off in a feral colony of cats in a rural part of the state further south. Well, as you can imagine, those feral cats wanted nothing to do with this outsider, a feeling exacerbated by the fact that he was blind. So they kind of beat-up on him and prevented him from getting food, water, etc. Very sad. Someone who looked in on the colony from time-to-time discovered Mr. C there, and notified Forgotten Cats, who came and took him into foster care.




Well, we were immediately enamored with Mr. Chesterfield. Partly because he was calm and quiet, partly because he was blind and had such a sad life, partly because his name was R0XX0R, and partly because for Christ's sake, he's not a TABBY, we began seriously talking about taking him into our home. To make a long story short (too late, I know), we filled out the paperwork, it was accepted, and we picked him up Saturday afternoon.

Yes, he's a Bobtail, too!













We thought that maybe we had made a terrible mistake within the first 24 hours of having him at home. I mean, what were we DOING? A blind cat? Among FIVE other sighted---and mostly evil---cats? We kept him sequestered in my knitting room at night and let him roam around with supervision during the day. Understandably, whenever Mr. Chesterfield sensed one of our cats near him, he would hiss and growl. Who can blame him? This cat is at a serious disadvantage not being able to read the other cats' body language. Moreover, his recent experiences with a family of cats was not good.

I must say that I am absolutely proud of how well my cats have behaved around Mr. Chesterfield. Absolutely exemplary behavior. The only one I am concerned about is Ophelia. She is terrified of Mr. C. Whenever he gets within 4 feet of her, she just starts crying and runs away. Hercules, Luna, and Titus are incredibly curious about him, but not all up in his jimmy-jawn. Sophie, upon discovering that her insane parents had brought another cat into her house, just looked at Mr. Chesterfield, then at us with disdain, then she went, "Hrumph," and walked upstairs, like, "Oh, WHAT-EVER." Hercules wants to play with him, so he's been the cat to make the most attempts to get close to Mr. C. Every day, Mr. C gets a little more familiar with Herc and everyone else (except Fi-Fi). It really is getting better every day.

I think we may even be at the point we we don't have to keep him sequestered from the others when we are not around. My bunch have made no attempts to hurt him or take his food, water, or use his litter box. So, Mr. Chesterfield is slowly realizing that he is safe and that there is no threat. He is very sweet, loves to be petted, and actually sleeps in his own little pet bed! He is so smart! Whenever he goes into a room that is unfamiliar, he walks in a 3-foot circle to orient himself. The other cats are mesmerized by this. So much so that they will literally sit and watch him for 30 minutes at a time.



The information given to us by the folks at Forgotten Cats states that he is about 5-6 years old. I have a feeling that he is a bit older than that. Maybe about 10. I have no problem with his age. We are taking him to our vet next Thursday, just to make sure that he is healthy otherwise. Although I do know that he doesn't have Feline HIV or Leukemia. And I would like to get our vet's analysis of his blindness. I wonder if there is hope for him to get some measure of his sight back?

Anyway, he really is a lovely cat, with a charming personality. He totally won both Todd's and my hearts. Not hard to understand why. Sigh. Six cats. The asylum awaits me, I know.