Chatty Cathy meme, the answers. Part 1.
From
spongebobjess:
What is your earliest memory?
I want to know more about your cats and their personalities.
My very first memory is more a sense memory.
I am walking, reaching up and holding my mom's hand, and it's hot, and yellow, and there is sand in the wind and the grit is stinging my eyes and face. I'm squinting, and trying to keep up.
Actually, we talked about this event at Christmas this past year, and my mom added some details.
This was when we were living in Saudi Arabia. I was two. My mom and I had been on the bus going home from... somewhere... and the bus driver was making rude/overt/obnoxious advances on her. She insisted he stop the bus and we got off, a couple of miles from home, and started walking.
Apparently she carried me as long as she could, but I was too heavy, and it was too hot and windy and sandy, and she just couldn't do it anymore. Eventually she put me down, looked me square in the eyes and said, "Carin, we have to walk." I understood the seriousness of it and didn't make a peep. She said it was hard, but I was a trooper.
...
My cats, Wilson and Sal are totally awesome and totally obnoxious. They both have incredibly bad breath.
Both came from the Humane Society.
We got Wilson in 2001 (as a companion for Vincent, who was just getting weirder and weirder by being solo). Wilson has always been skittish, although he is mellowing with maturity. He's incredibly snuggly and purrs like a motorboat... when he wants food.
He is a big cat, and behaves a bit like a bull in a china shop. He will knock things over in an effort to rub against them, he will fall off the bed, the cat tree, the couch if he's really getting into being scratched.
He sheds all over the place, and cleaning up after him is almost as Sysiphean as that damned Meta pool.
But he's talkative, and social and fun. I love him.
We got Sal about a month after Vincent died, in... 2005? He came from a cruelty seizure case in Plymouth.
Essentially, the woman who owned the house had FIFTY cats - every single one orange or beige - and one day she just locked it up and left. Two months later, the police arrived on an unrelated burglary charge to find an inch of feces covering the entire house, and the cats starving to death.
The humane society had to go in with HAZMAT suits.
Of the fifty in the house, they rescued 26 living ones, who were only living because they had cannibalized the dead ones.
They were all emaciated. Sal, who was full grown, was 6 pounds. (Think concentration camp hips.)
When we saw them in the room, it was like, these cats NEED us. They NEED a good home. Joe went in, and sat down. Sal was the first one who came up and sat in his lap.
We took him home and slowly nursed him back to health. He's a little wacky shack, because he never had a proper kittenhood, but I've never in my life met a more social, loving, fun cat.
You can't even tell where he has been.
And when he's being a pain in the ass and knocking pencils and stitch counters off every available surface, I just think, give him a break... he used to have to eat CATS.
spongebobjess:
What is your earliest memory?
I want to know more about your cats and their personalities.
My very first memory is more a sense memory.
I am walking, reaching up and holding my mom's hand, and it's hot, and yellow, and there is sand in the wind and the grit is stinging my eyes and face. I'm squinting, and trying to keep up.
Actually, we talked about this event at Christmas this past year, and my mom added some details.
This was when we were living in Saudi Arabia. I was two. My mom and I had been on the bus going home from... somewhere... and the bus driver was making rude/overt/obnoxious advances on her. She insisted he stop the bus and we got off, a couple of miles from home, and started walking.
Apparently she carried me as long as she could, but I was too heavy, and it was too hot and windy and sandy, and she just couldn't do it anymore. Eventually she put me down, looked me square in the eyes and said, "Carin, we have to walk." I understood the seriousness of it and didn't make a peep. She said it was hard, but I was a trooper.
...
My cats, Wilson and Sal are totally awesome and totally obnoxious. They both have incredibly bad breath.
Both came from the Humane Society.
We got Wilson in 2001 (as a companion for Vincent, who was just getting weirder and weirder by being solo). Wilson has always been skittish, although he is mellowing with maturity. He's incredibly snuggly and purrs like a motorboat... when he wants food.
He is a big cat, and behaves a bit like a bull in a china shop. He will knock things over in an effort to rub against them, he will fall off the bed, the cat tree, the couch if he's really getting into being scratched.
He sheds all over the place, and cleaning up after him is almost as Sysiphean as that damned Meta pool.
But he's talkative, and social and fun. I love him.
We got Sal about a month after Vincent died, in... 2005? He came from a cruelty seizure case in Plymouth.
Essentially, the woman who owned the house had FIFTY cats - every single one orange or beige - and one day she just locked it up and left. Two months later, the police arrived on an unrelated burglary charge to find an inch of feces covering the entire house, and the cats starving to death.
The humane society had to go in with HAZMAT suits.
Of the fifty in the house, they rescued 26 living ones, who were only living because they had cannibalized the dead ones.
They were all emaciated. Sal, who was full grown, was 6 pounds. (Think concentration camp hips.)
When we saw them in the room, it was like, these cats NEED us. They NEED a good home. Joe went in, and sat down. Sal was the first one who came up and sat in his lap.
We took him home and slowly nursed him back to health. He's a little wacky shack, because he never had a proper kittenhood, but I've never in my life met a more social, loving, fun cat.
You can't even tell where he has been.
And when he's being a pain in the ass and knocking pencils and stitch counters off every available surface, I just think, give him a break... he used to have to eat CATS.