Gatwick the Catwick
I got a cat last week. He's my very first pet. He's a five-month-old grey tabby named Gatwick, and I love him.
If I sound like a child as I write this, it's because I feel like one. After all, he is my very first pet apart from the random strays that my parents took in from a few days to a few months when I really was a kid. But more on that later.
I see myself as a six-year-old girl, carrying the cat around the house under one arm. Actually, I like to cradle him in my arms and carry him around. And have him sit in my lap. Lucky for me, Gatwick is a total lap cat. Sure, he gets frisky, but he's a lover at heart. And I'm just eating it up, man.
I've never really been a cat person. Or a dog person, for that matter. I like them both. And I've always been equally afraid and fascinated with each. Animals, even lovable house pets, tended to freak me out. I think I caught a weird Twilight Zone episode with a creepy dog once. Anyway, I like animals, but have never been terribly comfortable around them. Especially when their eyes do that eerie reflector-glow thing in the dark.
But Gatwick is not creepy. Still, I'm surprised to discover just how much I love having a pet around. I initially wanted a rabbit because I heard you can train them and let them hop around the house. But James (my husband) wasn't so keen on the free-range bunny idea.
We moved into our first house about 2.5 months ago, and discussed the possibility of a pet before we even sent the first mortgage check. An encounter with a stray cat that we named Filibuster was probably the precipitous event that sent us to the Humane Society to adopt Gatwick. Even if the Filibuster did send me to the emergency room. (More on that next post.)
Gatwick was at the shelter for about two weeks, during which time he was called George. We promptly renamed him. Well, promptly is an overstatement. It took us four days to settle on a name. In the running were the following: Avery, Chester, Slate, Pewter, Jenners, and Eddie.
Come back later for the Filibuster story, along with the saddest dog story in the world.
If I sound like a child as I write this, it's because I feel like one. After all, he is my very first pet apart from the random strays that my parents took in from a few days to a few months when I really was a kid. But more on that later.
I see myself as a six-year-old girl, carrying the cat around the house under one arm. Actually, I like to cradle him in my arms and carry him around. And have him sit in my lap. Lucky for me, Gatwick is a total lap cat. Sure, he gets frisky, but he's a lover at heart. And I'm just eating it up, man.
I've never really been a cat person. Or a dog person, for that matter. I like them both. And I've always been equally afraid and fascinated with each. Animals, even lovable house pets, tended to freak me out. I think I caught a weird Twilight Zone episode with a creepy dog once. Anyway, I like animals, but have never been terribly comfortable around them. Especially when their eyes do that eerie reflector-glow thing in the dark.
But Gatwick is not creepy. Still, I'm surprised to discover just how much I love having a pet around. I initially wanted a rabbit because I heard you can train them and let them hop around the house. But James (my husband) wasn't so keen on the free-range bunny idea.
We moved into our first house about 2.5 months ago, and discussed the possibility of a pet before we even sent the first mortgage check. An encounter with a stray cat that we named Filibuster was probably the precipitous event that sent us to the Humane Society to adopt Gatwick. Even if the Filibuster did send me to the emergency room. (More on that next post.)
Gatwick was at the shelter for about two weeks, during which time he was called George. We promptly renamed him. Well, promptly is an overstatement. It took us four days to settle on a name. In the running were the following: Avery, Chester, Slate, Pewter, Jenners, and Eddie.
Come back later for the Filibuster story, along with the saddest dog story in the world.
| 9:02 PM
2 Comments:
If males are called tomcats, what are females called?
Oh, do tell the rest of the story! You've engaged my curiosity!
(I found you through a link at Allyson's blog.)
BTW, I love the name of your blog. Very clever.
Post a Comment
<< Home