Not My Cats Again!

Dear Reader,

Please bear with me as I revisit my panthers in the parlor.

You shed tears when Pirate, my blind, tuxedoed, 17-year-old Maine Coon passed. I posted here about his journey, which, I regret to say, ended the worse for him.

The author’s new companions: Andre, left, and Pete. Photo by Thomas Gunning

Not long after Pirate turned ashen, I stumbled across Andre the Giant. It wasn’t a misnomer. The coal-black Andre glowered goldly in his photo. What caught my eye was his 17.5-pound weight. A giant indeed, I’m sure you’ll agree.

But the humane society’s website stated, “Available at Omaha Petco,” a chain with a dozen stores here. I finally found him. Short-legged, massive and gorgeous.

Busy with rehearsals, I decided sedentary Andre was bored. Enter Pete, a tuxedoed former feral with a clipped ear. Pete weighs less than 8 pounds and, at 14, is twice Andre’s age. This imbalance doesn’t stop the little bully.

Pete’s my first lap cat. Noisy, warming but ugly, with the unblinking eyes of a demonic lemur.

So, dear reader, with playful Andre the Giant and nasty Pete the Skanky, I’ve cobbled my life together.