When I was but a kitten-ish age, I found myself in the unfortunate situation of being a homeless cat. However, I am a highly intelligent and also handsome cat, so I made my way to what can only be called the Palace of Homeless Kitties. Mother, please insert the picture now.
Anyway, Mother's friend worked at a veterinary hospital nearby, and happened to come across a very dirty and fishy-smelling Me as I was perusing the contents of the Dumpster one day. At first I was a little miffed by being removed from my food source, given a bath, and put into a box. But then the cat food started coming, and believe me, it was a lot less rancid than my usual fare. I abhor things that stink (i.e. Reuben), so it was a relief to finally have clean fur. However, the bath was not to my liking.
Mother was far away in her first semester of college, and frankly she was a little lonely. Her friend called her and said "I have found a very dignified and snuggly cat, would you like him to live in your dorm room with you?"
And that is what happened. I spent a lot of time sleeping and playing with string in Mother's dorm room. I helped her make friends by being an attractive cat who garnered much attention from the other girls. However, I think they did not appreciate the odors eminating from my litter box in the closet. Her dorm boss lady found she did not care for me either after she discovered me wandering the hallway, but after some pleading and perhaps a few tears (from Mother, NOT me), she allowed me to stay.
Mother was concerned that I wasn't getting enough excercise, so she purchased a cat collar and a leash and attempted to walk me about the college grounds. This experiment was unsuccessful. So as soon as she could, she moved to a place called "off-campus" and then I was free to become the master of my domain that I currently am. I did this by peeing on many, many things. It is the one thing that Reuben and I have in common.
A few years later Kanga came to live with us. As a female orange cat she was "special." And I don't mean in the way that female orange cats are "rare." Kanga really was just stupid, but Mother loved her for some reason. I took the advent of Kanga as a sign that it was time to establish my mark inside the house, on as many surfaces as possible.
And I did not stop until Kanga tragically passed away in 2011. I prefers not to talk about it, for it calls into question my own mortality, especially as my mortality relates to vicious racoons and the food dish in my neighbor's backyard. Getting choked up.... excuse me..... ............ ok, moving on. Occasionally I miss her stupid fluffy little butt, especially when I am peeing on things.
I have come a long way from being a homeless cat at Hadfield's Seafood over 13 years ago. I am very proud of myself.
Why, you may ask, is my name "Hatfield" instead of "Hadfield?" It sounded better. That is why.
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