Run Away! Cats!

If you’re one of those folks who hates all those stupid, moronic cat shot diaries, run away! If, on the other hand, you don’t mind a pootie pic or two, I’ve got a ton of ’em from being kind of stuck indoors with ’em a lot and having a digital camera. Here’s a few shots of two of mine, one of which I lost not too long ago. Before we check her out though…

This is Sweet Poo, when he was a kitten, given it a big yawn. I like to think of him as a male, feline Ella Fitzgerald though.

Sweet Poo is a Manx, so he really doesn’t have a tail. Well, he’s got a little stumpy thing. The Manx cat comes from The Isle of Man. Here’s the deal on that:

The Manx breed originated on the Isle of Man (hence the name), where they are common. They are called stubbin in the Manx language. They are an old breed, and tailless cats were common on the island as long as three hundred years ago. The taillessness arises from a genetic mutation that became common on the island

I wanted everyone to know this before I showed you these pictures of me and ‘Poo, goofin off:

And then…

Just so happens that one of Poo’s fluffy toys looks like it could be his tail! Hilarity ensues! (Yeah, I’m desperate)

He’s pretty smart, actually. Here he is, watching a dog show on tee-vee (Know thy enemy and all that…)

He’ll even fetch Q-tips, and bring ’em back, like a dog.

Anyway, lastly, here he is again, hangin’ around me, bored shitless…

This next one is the one who got me started with the manx breed. She was in the city animal shelter and my girlfriend showed me a pic of her online and this cat was hilarious. It looked like Adolph Hitler – little mustache under the nose – and it was screaming… Not in fear or anything, just “hollerin”. I thought surely someone would snatch her up. But no one did. As her days grew numbered, I couldn’t stand it and my girlfriend and I picked her up. I had no idea what the hell kind of cat she was – turns out she was a manx.

Let me tell you, she was a bitch!! She’d hop up on my kitchen table, then put her paws up on a chair – so she could get eye-to-eye with me… Then she’d SCREAM at me when she wanted something – like to play with some string, get fed, let out, whatever. She was like this little Mussolini cat and I have no idea why but I really loved that cat. She had 10 times more personality than 90 percent of the people you meet. And she wasn’t a bitch all the time – on the contrary she was really sweet when you picked her up and she had a good “motor” (purr).

She wasn’t de-clawed but she never used ’em on us. She was an incredible hunter though and pretty much every day there was a dead mouse on the back doorstep.(Delicious!) She had to earn her keep, she thought.

So of course after only having her around about a year, she was hit by a car (truck actually) right in front of my house. I’m pretty sure she died instantly; I mercifully didn’t see it happen. My neighbor called, I looked out and yeah. That was her. I had to bury her in my backyard and it really fucking sucked then and and it still sucks now.

Without further adieu, here is Cutlet rolling around on her back, in the dirt. When it comes to cats rolling in dirt, you’ll be surprised as an owner when you first see it, considering how clean they like to keep themselves usually, but all cats have a strange habit of doing it every now and again:

She looks kinda stupid there – but she wasn’t. That cat could open any door in my house. She was a fucking safe-cracker.

This next one she’s actually yawning. But it captures pretty well what she looked like when she’d scream at me:

This next one was taken the day before she was hit. I like it but it sure makes me sad.

Well, I have two more cats and a bazillion pics. If I don’t get flamed too bad for this essay, maybe I’ll save them for another day. Oh and feel free to leave a pic of your critter – feline or otherwise!