Cats Have Purrsonality

I do not remember many times in my life when I was not owned by one or more cats. In fact there was a time when there were eight of them. I had the silly idea of taking in a stray to find a home for her. She promptly gave birth to five kittens in my living room. I quickly found a home for her and her babies. Good thing as I was living in an apartment at the time that did not allow pets. That is a good point for home ownership for pet lovers. The cats can swing from the curtains and you do not have to yell, "Get off! Someone will see you!" As if the cats listen anyway. Every one of my cats has had their own unique personality but I have also discovered the have their own "Purrsonality". We are owned by three felines at this time. George and Pooh, the terrible twins that we adopted at six weeks old. Pooh was the runt of the litter and was originally named "Princess Baby Barely There". Pooh is easier. George is Mr. Nosey Cat Face and the class clown. For the first year and a half they were one cat, our "eight legged cat". They walked in unison, moved in unison and where there was one, there was the other. They still have a strong sibling bond but go about their own agendas. Spitak moved in a few months ago.

Each has their own unique purr. Pooh is JAWS. (Hear the music in the background) I can hear her coming from across the room. purr---purr---purr---purr-----Purr--Purr-Purr--Purr----PUrr-PUrr-PUrr-PUrr----PURRPURRPURR----PURR! And then she lands smack in the middle of my lap not to be disturbed.

George is our defective Harley. Pur----Pa-P-Pa pa - Purr ---ppp---Pa pap Purr ----papaPPP Purr purr purr P! He eventually gets his motor going and then goes non-stop.

Spitak can not meow but he has the purr part down great. He walks up to you, falls over and purrs. He purrs when you feed him. He purrs when you scratch his head. He purrs when you talk to him. He purrs when you look at him. He purrs if he even thinks you are looking at him or talking to him.

Spitak has also proven himself well at household destruction. I found a great eBay seller that grew and made their own catnip toys. I bought several of them for my two and for gifts. Then we got Spitak in the late fall. I quickly ordered another toy so he would not be left out at the holidays. The toy arrived in the mail on a Friday. It had been a long week at my regular job and I had been very busy in the evenings as well with my on-line sales. I went to my office, spent a couple of hours on business and then went upstairs to watch some T.V. before bed. I got up Saturday morning, got my coffee and went down to my office. Rather bleary eyed I noticed several dozen pieces of manila paper on the floor. The caffeine was not yet working and I sat down to ponder the pile. A few more sips of coffee and I noticed shredded plastic scattered everywhere. I gulped the coffee and got down to see what the mess was. I quickly recognized the remains of a zip lock bag and then realized that I had not put the catnip toy package away in the closet before I went to bed. The toy was nowhere to be found. I cleaned up the mess and went on about my business. About an hour later my younger daughter came downstairs, annoyed, to tell me that Spitak had spent the entire night destroying her attic bedroom. She waved a soggy catnip toy at me and wanted to know why I had given him his present early. I guess cats don't bother with "Do not open 'til Christmas" He had managed to get the toy all the way up two flights of stairs to show her his present.

Spitak is a bit unusual in another way. My mother loved to tell me a story about when she was a child and visited her great uncle. She would play with her cousins and they always joked that they did not know what a "Catalone" was. Her great uncle was always yelling at them to "leave the Catalone!" I found this amusing until I had children of my own and found myself shouting, "For heavens sake, leave the Catalone!" Fortunately both of my girls love their felines and are good to them. On the occasion that one does get scratched they know my response. "Enough already. Leave the Catalone!" Spitak's girl is very good to him. For one she brought his silly self home, and then she gave him his bow. A piece of white satin ribbon. Most cats I have had have not particularly liked having collars. Spitak loves his bow and will patiently wait for someone to retie it every time it manages to come loose. Personally he reminds me of a guy in a suit with arm and leg hems two inches too short, black wire rimmed glasses and a bow tie. Close your eyes, you can picture it. But Spitak does not care; he knows his girl gave it to him.