cats are a man's...

Thor is trying to get my attention. He wants his dinner. Up onto the counter he goes, to knock little things to the floor intentionally. I know his routine and I'm not dealing with it right now. I slap his little cat ass and he jumps down.

Rex wants his shot. He is pacing to-and-fro with heavy-footed abandon from the dishwasher to the stove. Soon he will try the counter-top routine but I will not budge. The apple I'm peeling for my human offspring takes precendent at the moment. They sense my tunnel vision and back off.

They are both in the middle of the kitchen now, on their hindquarters, waiting. The cats are good cats for the most part. They've resided in our household well before our two boys came along but it is becoming more and more difficult each day to deal with them. I have a guilt about this and I converse with my inner Dr. Phil about it daily.

We adopted Rex and Thor from a family in Quakertown eight years ago. No bigger than a 10 year old's hand, Thor was black as a moonless midnight sky and Rex was an orange tabby. Mind you (in case the word was is throwing up flags), they are both still here and doing well. I remember the day they came here for good, all small and innocent and cute. Those days are long gone though. The small kittens are now humongous freakazoids. Two little feline Godzillas with their individual agendas.

Thor is the smart one. The fit one. The leader. The button-pusher. I'm sure if he could talk his voice would have the upper-crust accent of a middle-aged British butler. Rex is the not-so smart one. The big oaf. Fleety. I imagine that if Rex could talk his voice would sound like the big special guy from Of Mice And Men. I may need to take credit for that since his head got in the way of my five iron when I was practicing my swing in the living room. I knocked him out cold and when he came-to, he was never the same again. He will not jump to my lap or hang with me like Thor does but he does give Sue attention and affection in bus loads.

Not long after they came into our lives I or we (don't remember) made the selfish decision of having their front claws removed. We intended on our kitties to be indoor cats. Why would they need them? They won't be going outside and have to fend for themselves. Karma was definitely in play here because while we had every intention of keeping our carpet and furniture scratch free, we gave no thought whatsoever to one of our cats forgetting what a kitty litter box was used for. So instead of removing a couch or chair because of unsightly scratch marks, we've had to methodically cutout pieces of carpet because of the overwhelming stench of cat urine. Ha Ha, the jokes on us. The kicker is, Thor tries to jump out the front door everytime a person tries to enter now. We let him. He may not have his claws but he does have his required shots.

I don't know why I sat down to write about them tonight but I guess I'm taking this tale somewhere. I get so caught up in the work of these two that I often forget why we got them in the first place. I suppose my guilt surfaces when I realize
cont'd later