Ok Goose.  Here’s yours. 

The fellow and I started talking about getting a cat as soon as we moved in together (coinciding with our landlord’s strict rules to the contrary, of course).  As previously mentioned, I grew up with cats and missed the attitude of dismissal and disdain only a cat owner knows and appreciates.  Otto was just too damn friendly, after all.  I needed some fur that was in equal parts cute and jerk.  Otto is just cute all of the time.  I mean come on.  (For the record, even when he poops in the living room, he is very, very sweet about it.)  Enter the Goose.  Or as we lovingly call her, Little Mee-Rowe Ree-Rowe:

Because of the Otto Dog, we needed a cat who could do some damage.  I wanted to get the fattest, meanest, three-legged, one-eyed killing machine I could find — mostly because I know not many folks go for that kind when perusing potential cuddle-mates at the pound — but alas, we had to get a kitten who was not already fearful of canines.  So for my 27th birthday we headed to the Oakland SPCA and were chosen by a little three month old furball named Scarlet.  She was an immediate purrbox with floppy ears and oversized paws, qualities that convinced me that she would indeed grow into the fattest, meanest killing machine around.  Otto would (eventually) meet his match!  We called her Goose and she owned our home upon entering it.  Just like any cat should. 

Goose is a character.  She is definitively my cat — she follows me everywhere, prefers to maintain physical contact at all times, and enjoys sleeping on my face.  Literally.  On my face.  (Cute as hell but makes for difficult breathing.)  She has her usual bouts of afraid-of-nothing-ness, but overall presents wonderfully to company and isn’t skittish.  I must admit, her cute far outweighs her jerk, but I adore her nonetheless. 

So Goose, I am just so grateful for you.  For your relentless affection/biting, for our a.m. conversations over oatmeal and kibble, for that squinty-eyed look of disgust you give me every time I turn a light on.  Thank you for teaching me how to nap, and take my time, and get excited about eating the same thing every day. 

the wall is fascinating. 

As mentioned in my hard-hitting exposé on Otto this week, the animals in my house are indeed pillars of consistency in a world of chaos.  The moral of these posts?  Fur good.  Even when I have to vacuum constantly.  Even when there is poop in places poop just doesn’t belong.  These delights are nothing compared to the sincere joy my zoo brings me each and every day. 

Someone please clean the litter box,

L

For the record, Otto and Goose are indeed best friends.  They romp, they play, they do all of those cute things you see in JIF files emailed from your family members who send emails with all of those cute things.  And despite Goose’s petite stature, Otto really has met his match.