No, actually, my love for cats started at a young age (age 3-ish) with origins at my grandparents' farm. Cats could be found in any crack and crevice of that farm, from the barn to the pasture to the greenhouse, and my sister and I loved them all. Well, actually we loved them all except for Fran, who not only was disgraced with such a name, but was apparently bitter about it and would attack without warning if any living thing encroached too closely on her space bubble. Later in life, we would encounter and likely try to lovingly squeeze the souls out of Milo and Winkie, Canuck, Neko, Pikachu and Chibi. Pikachu and Chibi are still around to this day and living in my mother's house. After entering/exiting our college days and moving to separate cities, my sister and I both acquired our own cats. Mothra and Newt were two purebred Siamese cats that belonged for a while to my sister and are now living in Colorado with a dear family member. I encountered Henry through sheer accident while working at an animal hospital in Las Vegas. Henry was found under a dumpster on the *one* night it actually poured rain in the desert. He was about 3 weeks old and a creepy, ugly little malnourished pile of bones and ringworm. I had intended to nurse Henry to health and then eventually him find a new home, but he grew into a beautiful, pitch-black ninja-cat and...yeah, whatever--hindsight is 20/20, I'm a sap, blah blah. Henry is still living with me quite comfortably. Yes, he's quite comfortable, except for when his little brother comes around: Fidget.
Fidget was born in the middle of the desert (so I'm told) along with 4 other siblings. His littermates were quickly snatched up at the Humane Society because the people were looking for "a more docile kitten." Through a series of fateful events, I wound up paying $80 for a runty, cross-eyed, LOUD kitten that melted my heart in an awkward and wonderful way. I brought him home, introduced him to Henry s-l-o-w-l-y and soon was laughing hysterically at his non-stop playfulness and his misjudgement of depth and height. Henry adjusted to the new baby in the family, but his tolerance for Fidget seemed to diminish gradually as Fidget grew to weigh 1.5 times what Henry does as an adult. Whoops.
So, here we are--present day--and Fidget is a loud, bumbling ball of ever-flying fluff (think PigPen, from Charlie Brown) who keeps me constantly entertained, annoyed, horrified and completely confused. He is currently 1.5 years old, and I have absolutely no clue whether he is a genius or genuinely mentally challenged (although I'm sure he's one of the two). So, I invite you to share in the experiences that Henry and I share while trying to..."maintain" Fidget.
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