Morning Scratch editor
Dear Morning Scratch readers,
Thank you for the birthday wishes. It was quite nice of you all to stop by. Photos from the birthday celebration (I mostly napped) coming soon. Hm. Speaking of napping. See ya.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
By The Investor (aka Mom)
Morning Scratch Investor
It's hard to believe a cat I was suppose to watch for just a few weeks has been in my life for more than seven years now, and that today, he's 8 years old.
He is my first cat. I had no idea what I was getting into.
Bogdan came to live with me in my San Francisco flat when a friend of mine, who grew up in a home with lots of cats, visited his friend's sister's home in the Central Valley -- and he felt so very sorry for a little black and white kitten left all day and all night in the garage because it scratched and bit the kids. The parents didn't know what to do with the cat -- a cat that had not held up its end of the supposed bargain of unconditionally entertaining the children.
After getting my approval to take in the cat until he found housing that would accept animals, my friend returned to Manteca, where the 7-month-old boy was still in the garage — waiting for its real home.
And so begins my life with this lovely devil of a cat.
He's ornery, that's for sure. He's bossy. He's demanding. And unfortunately for my sanity, he's incredibly smart.
He understands how doors open, and we know one day we'll return from work to find him living it up in one of the "off-limits" rooms. We had to put baby locks on all the kitchen cabinets. Bread goes in a bread box — BEHIND a cabinet door. Bathroom doors are closed because he'll unroll all the toilet paper. I'm convinced he persistently and purposefully does particularly bad things because he enjoys to (and knows it annoys me). He understands words (outside, treats, dinner), and in fact as I write this, I just discovered he broke into the cat food because I didn't put the top on tight enough (seriously - just now). He likes his space, and he's not afraid to express it .... bringing me to ...
He has claws and teeth, and he knows how to use them.
He was a terrible little adolescent. He's bitten my nose, my lip, my ear; he's attacked me with claws out from around corners; and he's scratched friends and family (highlights: he slapped my mom in the face and he made a decent gash across a friend's forehead). He couldn't be trusted with our ferrets, and he barely could be trusted with Sara when I first brought her home. He was sometimes a mean, mean kitty.
Oh, and I'm sure it's helped that he's aged.
And here we are. Nearly eight years later, and he's stuck around (maybe because he's indoor-only...). He still doesn't much like the other cats. He'll hit Sara and hiss at Kat 3. Jeff is far more persistant than the others, and Bogdan has been forced to occasionally share his cuddly cup. I'm not sure why he allows Jeff to do this. Maybe he's given up; maybe he's softened.
Happy birthday, my little guy!