Time to learn a little German — a German cat food (I hope) magazine ad from the 60s.
Toitoitoi — You’re going to like this word.
I wasn’t supposed to like her.
I had gone to Central Dakota Humane Society looking for a calico, and there were a few. It was great fun meeting them all.
And then I was told there was one more in quarantine along with a sister and two brothers. They had been abandoned during the night at the shelter.
The calico was Patchie — You know her as Cricket these days. There was a black and white boy with an impressive overbite named Sylvester. There was a tumbly orange fella named Nipper. And lastly, there was an adorable doof with orange and white fur and a single canine tooth named Sophia.
I wasn’t supposed to like her.
As I sat on a chair inside the quarantine, Sophia came right up to me, stood up and put her front feet on my leg to check me out, purred, hopped into my lap and then hopped on my shoulder like a parrot.
And then she hopped into my heart. Continue reading
And always stylish.
Today my family said goodbye to our huge and fluffy country cat, Fluffy. He was 16.
Actually, he was Dad’s cat, selected from a litter of feral farm kittens somewhere up North not long after I had moved back to Bismarck.
My fondest memories have to be from the late 90s when Dad would occasionally drive into town, come in through the side door of the agency, walk up the stairs while carrying his surprisingly-well-behaved Fluffy in his arms, and look for me. Just to say hi.
Because that was the sort of thing that Dad did.
Dad and Fluffy made quite the pair. And Fluffy managed to live on for over eleven more years after Dad passed away. Mom took over where Dad left off.
But Fluffy had grown old. Limping. Confused. Mom called me during the day to tell me it was time. I agreed, but it still hurt.
I like to think that somewhere high up above, Dad heard a quiet mew that he hadn’t heard in a long, long time. Smiling, he turned around and looked down to see Fluffy staring back up at him. Dad bent down, scooped Fluffy up into his arms, and started walking around to show Fluffy off to his friends.
Because that’s the sort of thing that Dad does.
Rest in peace, Fluffy. And no bitey.
