The Cat

I love my kitty. He's black and white and furry and was a birthday present from Lester.

His name is Yoggi, pronounced Yojee. We got him in 1999 at the animal shelter over by the airport, not knowing there was a much closer shelter. I told Lester it was meant to be. All the other cats were slumped in their cages, but Yoggi was pawing and meowing at us. The choice was easy.

According to the sign at the shelter, he was 2 months and 4 weeks when we got him. I've spent the last eight years trying to decide if 2 months and 4 weeks is older or younger than 3 months.

He was an expensive birthday present, as it turned out. He got congested as a kitten, so we had to stuff him inside a green bag the size of a makeup bag and zip it up until only his head was poking out. Then we fed him by syringe until he could smell his food again.

He has survived the birth of two babies-turned-toddlers, who, when they saw him would emit a high-pitched squeal loud enough to make any cat run off.

Now, when I'm writing at the computer, he is my muse. That is, he sits on my lap and purrs while I type. He's particularly helpful when he parks his fat carcass on the desk right in front of the screen.

Now, Brandon is in cat-loving mode. For instance, here is how his nightly prayer goes:

Mommy: Please bless Daddy, Mommy, Alexis, and Brandon...."

Brandon: "And kitty."

And today when I was in the shower, Brandon sat on the back of the toilet (no privacy for the mothers of 2-year-olds!) and wanted to sing "The Wheels on the Bus Go Round and Round." Who should be on that bus but "kitty." And who is on Old McDonald's Farm? Kitty. And when I'm drawing a picture of Thomas the Train for Brandon, who has to ride on it? Kitty.

Finally, Brandon shows his love by pulling Yoggi's tail.

Sad to say, it's a case of unrequited love. :-)