Those who know me beyond the virtual context of The Fanciful Lobster will all readily agree that I'm a fan of cats. I grew up with them, and I spend more time than I care to admit watching silly feline videos, a habit that my friends and relatives encourage by regularly sending me links to them. I've even been known to buy Christmas presents for my parent's cats so that they don't feel left out during the holiday. Yes, I'm that person.
Growing up, I had an orange Maine-coon mix named Milo (and yes, I had watched Milo and Otis as a kid). He was a very sweet, mild-mannered cat, ideal for a child just learning how to care for animals. He died right before I left home for college, and it would be several years before I'd even consider getting another cat. As a college student, graduate student, and intern, I was too impecunious to responsibly care for one.
During my first year in Roswell I was offered cats on several occasions, but each time I turned them down, pleased with my self-restraint. All that started to change in July, however, when a friend offered me a kitten that bore an uncanny resemblance to Milo in looks and personality. I turned it down because I knew I'd make unfair comparisons between the kitten and that late great cat, but it did melt something in me. For the first time in a decade, I began to seriously consider the possibility of bringing a cat back into my life.
So off to the Humane Society I went. As I've mentioned in a previous post, Roswell has a large feral cat population; the shelter has no shortage of homeless cats. I've always advocated shelter adoptions anyway, because why spend hundreds on a purebred when there are unwanted animals in cages across the country?
There were plenty of adorable, rambunctious kittens, the kind that have no trouble getting adopted, but my attention was drawn to this cat:
Aside from being a very sweet cat who enjoyed both snuggling and playtime, I was intrigued by the fact that the name card information on his cage simply read "No Paper." When I asked about it, I learned that he'd taken to shredding the newspaper lining his cage in an effort to alleviate his boredom. I also learned something else. Baby Boy, as he was called at the time, was brought to the shelter when he was six weeks old, but now he was well over eight months old. In other words, he had spent nearly his entire life in an animal shelter, with no one adopting him. The folks at the Humane Society told me that black cats (and dogs, it turns out), have a harder time getting adopted.
After thinking it over, I returned to the shelter and paid the adoption fee. Baby Boy, I'd decided, was coming home with me. He was also going to get a name change.
Initially he was a bit overwhelmed between getting neutered and relocated, but he's adjusting surprisingly well. He's gotten comfortable with exploring his new surroundings, and loves to play.
Growing up, I had an orange Maine-coon mix named Milo (and yes, I had watched Milo and Otis as a kid). He was a very sweet, mild-mannered cat, ideal for a child just learning how to care for animals. He died right before I left home for college, and it would be several years before I'd even consider getting another cat. As a college student, graduate student, and intern, I was too impecunious to responsibly care for one.
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| Milo was not only dapper, but exceptionally patient and forgiving. |
So off to the Humane Society I went. As I've mentioned in a previous post, Roswell has a large feral cat population; the shelter has no shortage of homeless cats. I've always advocated shelter adoptions anyway, because why spend hundreds on a purebred when there are unwanted animals in cages across the country?
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| The drypoint of feral cats I made last year. |
There were plenty of adorable, rambunctious kittens, the kind that have no trouble getting adopted, but my attention was drawn to this cat:
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| I took this photo during a one-on-one playtime session, when he was allowed out of his cage. |
Aside from being a very sweet cat who enjoyed both snuggling and playtime, I was intrigued by the fact that the name card information on his cage simply read "No Paper." When I asked about it, I learned that he'd taken to shredding the newspaper lining his cage in an effort to alleviate his boredom. I also learned something else. Baby Boy, as he was called at the time, was brought to the shelter when he was six weeks old, but now he was well over eight months old. In other words, he had spent nearly his entire life in an animal shelter, with no one adopting him. The folks at the Humane Society told me that black cats (and dogs, it turns out), have a harder time getting adopted.
After thinking it over, I returned to the shelter and paid the adoption fee. Baby Boy, I'd decided, was coming home with me. He was also going to get a name change.
Initially he was a bit overwhelmed between getting neutered and relocated, but he's adjusting surprisingly well. He's gotten comfortable with exploring his new surroundings, and loves to play.
We're still getting to know each other, but I already know that this little guy is a positive presence in my life. I enjoy getting to pet and play with him every day, and it makes me happy to know that I'm able to provide him with a safe, loving home.
He's definitely a welcome addition to the Fanciful Lobster universe.
P.S. What would you name this cat? Send your ideas and I'll share them on Friday when I reveal kitty's new name!
HIS NAME IS LEON FARNUM.
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