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All cats have their “thing”, and ever since we got Sparty, he’s had his particular quirk. Whenever we change the kitty litter and spread Arm & Hammer on it (because we like kitty poop to smell like baking soda and artificial flowers, duh), he ROLLS AROUND IN IT. Now, it’s not like he’s totally gross; he won’t do this in dirty litter. I tried describing what he does to other people, the entire body FLOP and roll around, but it’s so much better when you see it… and so, I present you with this video. Enjoy!

Sparty is disgusting from Lorenia on Vimeo.

We have become crazy cat people.

This was never our intention.

OK, so, George travels a lot. His job description actually states that he be in Houston (or Tampa or wherever else he’s needed) fifty percent of the time, which makes for a lonely Lorenia. We decided to get a pet. We like dogs, but they’re higher maintenance, what with the walking and not being able to leave them alone, and cleaning up HUGE STINKING POOPS, which I would be fine with if George was home more (because I’d totally make him do it) but alone? Not so much.

Enter Leo, stage left.

The last time George had to go to Houston, he had accumulated enough Rapid Rewards for me to tag along free (yay! free stuff!) so we had a friend come over every day, refresh Leo’s water, fill his food bowl, give him love, etc. (Thanks, Rene!) But when we came back, he was positively feral. See, this cat is weird. He’s even more of a dog-cat than any other kitty I’ve had. If you go into another room, he follows you, even if he was asleep, and curls up there. If he can’t see you, he whines. He likes sitting on your lap and having all of your attention. If you don’t give him enough attention, you’re in trouble. He’s very affectionate, and that doesn’t mix well with your Masters going on trips… or with the Female Master who was always at home with you before getting a job because she’s finally getting her work permit, thus leaving you alone for up to nine hours a day.

And so I was able to convince George we decided it would be a good idea to get a second kitty to keep him company. We found an adorable baby, about six weeks old, that needed fostering until he was old enough to be adopted. The plan was to bring him home and take care of him until the shelter people took care of his vaccinations and neutering (we’re not cruel, it’s state law for animals adopted from shelters), at which time we’d be able to officially adopt him.

We went to pick him up yesterday, and he was in a carrier with his sister, Dreams.

And Tina asks, “Would you be willing to foster her with him until she’s old enough for vaccinations and spaying? We already have applicants for her, so it would only be a couple of weeks until her adoptive family could have her.”

George nodded; he figured he could indulge my kitty love since she’d only be with us a couple weeks, tops. I joked about keeping them both, he eyed me and reminded me our deal was two kitties, tops. I was only joking, anyway, so no harm done.

Until we brought them home.

After half an hour of petting this:

I tease, “I bet you want to keep her.”

“Do you think they’d let us?” George asked, looking up at me with big, sweet, brown eyes.

I was on the computer emailing Tina before he could change his mind.

The reply:

“OK, so that’s the quickest I have ever seen anyone fail at fostering.”

And so we are now two kittens “richer” (oh, boy) and having fun trying to help Leo adapt to pesky little moving fuzzy toys. He’s thoroughly confused: they’re about the size of his toy mice, but they squeak, try and steal his food, and never stop moving. Poor guy. Let this entry stand, Internet, as proof that I never tried to get George to keep them both, never tried to convince him, and that it was totally his idea.

P.S. Name suggestions welcome!

For my birthday, George let me adopt a new baby. Presenting, Leo Tolstoi!

He is a long haired Russian Blue mix and the Russian part of that is why we chose that name for him, besides knowing we were going to pick someone in the arts to name him after. My initial pick was Yevgeny Zamyatin, the author responsible for me becoming obsessed with Science Fiction (and stories about dystopian futures) at the tender age of nine, but, ew, naming him Eugene, no matter what language it’s in, is gross. Being a Russian Blue means he’s ridiculously smart. Example? He figured out how to get into our room after we shut him out for being too energetic last night. Also, when you “discipline him” (aka, spray bottle, I know, I know, bad pet owners, but it keeps him in line without having to yell at him!) he tests you by pushing the limits a tiiiny bit to see how much you’ll let him get away with. When he does something he knows he shouldn’t do, he’ll “Meow?” at us and come into our laps, stand up and nudge our noses with his. Sly little minx.

He’s growing like crazy right now, and he’s in that awkward phase where his tail and ears are too big for his body. I LOVE THIS PHASE.

I said “let” me adopt him because I’ve been spending a lot of time alone and wanted a pet. I don’t clean poops, so a puppy was out of the question. Birds, wildddddly allergic to their poo (and they make too much noise). Anything else? Eh. I love kitties. We made sure that we’d have a baby-sitter if we both had to be out of town (Elina, you were instrumental to him letting me get LT), and I really think that what cinched the deal was that I started whining about all of this right around my birthday. (I not only know which battles to pick, I know when to pick ‘em! *winkwink*)

He’s only been with us 10 days, but I already love this little guy. He’s the most tolerant and sweet little attention monger kitty I have ever seen. Thank you, Borges!