I got a kitty cat for mother’s day. I’ve not posted anything yet because when you adopt a pet from the Humane Society, you have to temper the desire to form a gushing bond until it’s obvious your pet has adopted you. (Cats are known to just re-runaway).
I knew Anton was ours forever when he saw me taking a nap. Decided to do the same. Jumped on the bed, crawled across my head, then stuck his ass in my face while he found a comfortable spot where he could snug down right next to my nose.
Anton is a Russian Blue cat. We named him after Anton Chekhov. Our former pet, a black cat named Poe, died last year. So in a way, we’re paying homage to her by adopting a silly “famous writers” theme for naming our pets.
I also like to think of Anton as Anton Chigurh:
Anton Chigurh is an emotionless, compassionless killing machine. His inability to comprehend human life is matched only by his ability to take it, as he does with ruthless abandon throughout the running of No Country For Old Men.
My Anton isn’t this mean. But he’s not milquetoast either. He bit me the first time we met. This might be why he had the longest running sentence at the Humane Society. He likes to stand at the top of the stairs and when you switch back to the the second flight, he waits for you to get in his sight line then swats at your head with ruthless abandon.
Like this:
I’ll take him! I thought. He’ll fit right in. The Johnson household could use a little moxie.
2 comments:
The drawing! I love it.
Our new cat's belly-rub fetish is completely insane. It sort of gallops two or three paces ahead anyone walking and does it's best to insinuate itself (in the two seconds it has to work with), belly up in the traveler's path.
Congrats on the kitty! He's beautiful and it sounds like he fits in perfectly!
Post a Comment