Day 15. Tell the story of how you got the thing you are going to keep forever.
This is totally going to be a fluff piece.
That being said, it'll also contain several images of my cat when he was a kitten. Like this one.
So, you know. The decision is yours.
...
We decided Alistair needed a playpartner. Ness and I were working, and he enjoyed the company of my brother's cat so much (wish I could say the same for Othello, that cranky little bastard) that it seemed logical to get another little beast to keep Ali company during the day.
So we headed back to the shelter. We were thinking a female cat, older, to even out Alistair's still-kittenish tendencies. The owner knew us, since we'd picked up Alicat from her and stopped by often to give her updates on him. We spent an hour or so meeting the kitties, sussing them out to see who would be a good match. In the end, we were undecided; we figured we'd think it over, talk about it, and come back.
On the way out, we spotted a cage in the corner holding this little gremlin.
Ness leaned over the cage to get a better look at him. He was staring up at us, obviously curious. And after a moment of hesitation, he leapt at her like a facehugger, clinging to the roof of the cage with his hind legs scrabbling for a grip.
"Can... can we take him out?" I could see the glee in her face. It was infectious. The owner nodded, and we eased the wiggly little creature out of the cage. He was a mass of flailing limbs and claws until Ness laid him on her chest, just below her shoulder.
He calmed immediately, slowblinking, kneading her shirt, and purring like a motorboat. The woman at the counter told us his story - he was found as a newborn in a parking lot; he was only four weeks old, still being weaned. He'd tested FIV positive, though oftentimes newborns come back with a false positive because of the antibodies in their system.
On the drive home, it only took me a minute to ask. "We're getting him, aren't we?"
"Yup."
We had to wait another four weeks before he was weaned and ready for his shots, but we passed the time by driving over to visit the little beast whenever we could. The FIV test turned out to be a false positive, and we finally brought little Zevran home.
The final test lay in what Alistair thought of his new little brother. There was some light hissing and chasing at the get go, but in the end, they seemed to get along all right.
Over the next few weeks and months, Zevran proved to be an unusual little beast. He was insatiably playful, always wanting to be on one of us in some form or another. He'd flop down to sleep on Ness' head at night, play fetch with me before work. I taught him to sit on my shoulder, something he still does daily.
Really, there's not much more to tell of the story. Zevran's become what I imagine a warlock's familiar is; he's there, waiting for me at the door when I come home, walking beside me as I putter around the house, sitting on the counter and watching me as I make myself dinner. He's sitting on my desk next to me as I write this. If I remain sitting for much longer, he'll be in my lap, headbutting my elbow and purring. And tonight, I won't be able to sleep until he suckles at my blanket and flops out on my chest.
He is my companion.
And while he still refuses to make me cookies on demand, I think I'll keep him around. I know I can't do so forever, but I'll make sure to make the most of the time I can.
...
Zevran is the star of my now-dormant blog, I Hate This Cat.
Also, BiSCuits - if you can identify where I got my cats' names from without using the interwebs, I will buy you a taco in Vegas. Those of you who I've already told are disqualified. Though I'll probably wind up buying you tacos anyway.
This is totally going to be a fluff piece.
That being said, it'll also contain several images of my cat when he was a kitten. Like this one.
So, you know. The decision is yours.
...
We decided Alistair needed a playpartner. Ness and I were working, and he enjoyed the company of my brother's cat so much (wish I could say the same for Othello, that cranky little bastard) that it seemed logical to get another little beast to keep Ali company during the day.
So we headed back to the shelter. We were thinking a female cat, older, to even out Alistair's still-kittenish tendencies. The owner knew us, since we'd picked up Alicat from her and stopped by often to give her updates on him. We spent an hour or so meeting the kitties, sussing them out to see who would be a good match. In the end, we were undecided; we figured we'd think it over, talk about it, and come back.
On the way out, we spotted a cage in the corner holding this little gremlin.
Ness leaned over the cage to get a better look at him. He was staring up at us, obviously curious. And after a moment of hesitation, he leapt at her like a facehugger, clinging to the roof of the cage with his hind legs scrabbling for a grip.
"Can... can we take him out?" I could see the glee in her face. It was infectious. The owner nodded, and we eased the wiggly little creature out of the cage. He was a mass of flailing limbs and claws until Ness laid him on her chest, just below her shoulder.
He calmed immediately, slowblinking, kneading her shirt, and purring like a motorboat. The woman at the counter told us his story - he was found as a newborn in a parking lot; he was only four weeks old, still being weaned. He'd tested FIV positive, though oftentimes newborns come back with a false positive because of the antibodies in their system.
On the drive home, it only took me a minute to ask. "We're getting him, aren't we?"
"Yup."
We had to wait another four weeks before he was weaned and ready for his shots, but we passed the time by driving over to visit the little beast whenever we could. The FIV test turned out to be a false positive, and we finally brought little Zevran home.
The final test lay in what Alistair thought of his new little brother. There was some light hissing and chasing at the get go, but in the end, they seemed to get along all right.
Over the next few weeks and months, Zevran proved to be an unusual little beast. He was insatiably playful, always wanting to be on one of us in some form or another. He'd flop down to sleep on Ness' head at night, play fetch with me before work. I taught him to sit on my shoulder, something he still does daily.
Really, there's not much more to tell of the story. Zevran's become what I imagine a warlock's familiar is; he's there, waiting for me at the door when I come home, walking beside me as I putter around the house, sitting on the counter and watching me as I make myself dinner. He's sitting on my desk next to me as I write this. If I remain sitting for much longer, he'll be in my lap, headbutting my elbow and purring. And tonight, I won't be able to sleep until he suckles at my blanket and flops out on my chest.
He is my companion.
And while he still refuses to make me cookies on demand, I think I'll keep him around. I know I can't do so forever, but I'll make sure to make the most of the time I can.
...
Zevran is the star of my now-dormant blog, I Hate This Cat.
Also, BiSCuits - if you can identify where I got my cats' names from without using the interwebs, I will buy you a taco in Vegas. Those of you who I've already told are disqualified. Though I'll probably wind up buying you tacos anyway.
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