Owning A Cat More Unique Than You



There are plenty of pros and cons to any pets as the general populace has come to learn, and for each person the are certain pet characteristics that bode better for some but not others.

An example of this is; some ambitious folks like to go out for a run everyday with a fuzzy friend.Or some like to have a particular rodent lick their ears while perched on their shoulder. Others like knowing their scaly pet can crush a grown man’s larynx with ease.

I got a cat, because I wanted an independent pet whom I could occasionally sit and cuddle with, quiet, and who didn’t need a lot of training.

What I got was MY cat. A needy chatterbox, who sheds as quickly as he breathes, and who has no qualms about pissing me off deliberately, or fighting skunks.

His name is Kraken. Yes, like the rum. Or the sea creature if you are under the age of 18 and reading this.

I count him as a rescue kitten because I got him from an environment where he had fleas, worms, and was too young to be separated from his mother. My heart just broke when I saw him, and he was the cutest little ball of fluff I had ever seen. In the first few weeks he eventually identified me as his mother, and I couldn’t have been more in love.

Ironically enough, he has since inherited some of my own recurring health qualms, and some unique to himself. The vet has diagnosed him with: “Sporadic anxiety, prone to an enflamed bladder, and cat burps”.

In my previous blog I discussed my coming to terms with mediocrity, well I am now coming to terms with the realization that my cat is more unique than I am.

I remember the first time the vet saw him after his skunk fight, an amazingly kind doctor with a gentle touch that I still visit to this day. She remarked on how handsome he was, and how sweet he was being as he cuddled into my arms while allowing this strange woman to poke and prod him. I nodded tight lipped. My little cherub was full of surprises she had no knowledge of, aside from his inability to pick an opponent he stood a chance at beating.

She picked him up, and walked him to the back to try and wash some of the eye gunk from his creases (I had done it that morning but the stench was really quite potent and he kept tearing up). She returned after what seemed like half an hour, with a far more subdued expression on her face.

“How did that go?” I asked tentatively looking at the patches of water all over each of them.

“Not well.” Her dulcet tones fell a tad flat as I stared at the mischievous gleam in my cat’s eyes. I bit back a laugh.

The stories only increased in weirdness and amount. He learned how to yip and even do small howls like a dog friend of his. Prior to his training to stay off the counters he figured out how to turn on the stove (My significant other is still convinced it was a murder attempt), his poops snapped two scoops and I need a steel spade for litter duty, he puts both paws on your cheeks and leans up for a nose kiss, he will silently raid all garbage cans and exploit the most disgusting contents throughout the house.

Then the best of all his idiosyncrasies occurred.

He started stealing hand towels and moving them to the basement, from there it was my socks.

My beloved boyfriend has an annoying habit of leaving his socks wherever he pleases. When I complain about always finding surprise piles around the house, he grins boyishly and says:
“The sock fairy will get them.”

After finding a hefty pile from under the couch, shelves, and coffee table, this sock fairy was ready to retire.

It took me a month of tormenting my cat with his socks, making them the best play thing since a baggie filled with catnip and feathers. Imagine a training montage to ‘Eye of the Tiger’, and you can see the amount of hard labor that went into this. My significant other and I spend a lot of time apart in long distance, so I had until his next return for my Rocky to take on the Apollo, but even so it was touch and go. I almost lost his interest a few times to a cardboard box and a now decrepit stuffed santa head, but my diligence paid off. Soon, if he heard a sock drop he was there like a shot, doing his little grunt and his pupils the size of marbles.

Then my golden moment came. We settled down to watch a movie, and off came the socks, thrown to the side of the couch on my recently scrubbed floors. I nodded casually at my cat, who may or may not have ignored me as he cautiously and quietly approached his favourite hide and seek item, and trotted off silently with both in his mouth.

I kept my mouth shut until the next morning, and the inevitable question came from my boyfriend.

“Where are my socks? What did the sock fairy do with them?” He turned imploringly to me, but was soon puzzled by my gleeful expression.

“Sorry, there’s a new sock fairy in town.” Hie eyes rounded and he stared at his arch nemesis who sat innocently perched on my couch.

“Did you train your cat to hide my socks?” The note of humour and disbelief in his voice was almost too much.

“I’m not saying I did, I’m not saying I didn’t.” And that was all that was said as he proceeded down into the basement to retrieve his socks, and I gave Kraken a treat.

Pros: I haven’t seen my boyfriend leave his socks anywhere but in proximity to my hamper, and an adorable new sock fairy.

Con: I have one weirdo cat.


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