♪ ♪ ♪ Getting to Know You ♪ ♪ ♪ {continued}

Love me. Love my cats.

Whoever said cats were domesticated was wrong. Flat out wrong. My wife, Katie, and I live with feral animals. They fight, they stalk, and they are messy. Cats are not the fastidious creatures some assume them to be. No. They aren't.

Let me introduce Franklynn. He is the oldest at about 12 years old. We always use"about" when we're talking about a cat's age, because unless we witness the birth, which we haven't ever, there's no way to tell the exact age. So, we use the first time the cat has visited the vet as a birth date and add as many years as the vet can guess to his or her age.

Franklynn, the pretty boy

Did you ever know that some cats aren't always very attractive for the camera? Case in point:

Franklynn ... Really!

The next three have a background. A story. Two years ago, we lived in a different place. The woman in front of us had three cats who ran around the property freely. The oldest one, Tulip, was an indoor cat until the owner got a leather couch. The cat was set out. The owner fed her and gave her a little shelter on a screened-in porch. Mr. Jingles came one day as a youngster, and Tangerine, also a youngster, soon followed.

About two years ago, the owner came to us and told us that her trailer had mold. She needed to get a new trailer. She asked us if we could take the cats for a month or two, which is the time that it would take to get a new trailer in place. She assured us that she would help with expenses. Two months came and went. We sent her copies of our expenses — vet bills and food — and she said she couldn't pay it and relinquished the cats to us. We didn't want them, but we couldn't let them go back to her either. Even in southeastern North Carolina it gets cold. We sneaked them into our house when we lived there, whether it was cold or hot or mild. We grew to love them, and we wanted to care for them. When they came to live with us permanently, we had a total of eight cats.

Tulip

When we met Tulip, she had already had two litters. We convinced her owner to spay her. Tulip is watching her weight these days. She is quite rotund and does not seem to be able to lose any weight with her diet food. Her nicknames are Tooter and Miss Tabby Two Shoes (for her two white back feet). She is about (there's that word again!) 8. She had a knock-down, drag-out fight with Franklynn recently. She won! You go girl! (Franklynn was the instigator.)

Bjorn, formerly known as Mr. Jingles

This is Bjorn Catspurrski. He is a Swedish/Polish/American Shorthair and proud of it. He is Franklynn's playmate, although he gets along with everyone. He is about four. He hugs. He comes to the hand for a pat, then he swings his rear end around to make contact with the leg. Hugs! We convinced his previous owner to neuter him. She did, and he stayed closer to home.

Tangerine, aka Tangy

Tangerine, now Tangy, was two steps from being really feral when we got him. All he did was pace and make a circuit from one window to the next. This is when we gave up our privacy and left the blinds up. He couldn't stop pacing, and we felt so sorry for him. That behavior was a tough thing to watch. Now that he is ours, he is going to have to learn to live a safe life by being an indoor kittie. Just recently, he has stopped biting when disturbed. Now, he will come and allow us to pet him. He actually leans in to a pet. Tangy is about 2. Franklynn is his arch nemesis. His sometimes-nickname is Sven, since he's Bjorn's brother and so close to the same age. And, he's orange.

Tangy: This young fella needs to learn how to loosen up.

This is our current clowder. We are working on attrition — again! It's difficult to travel far or for long periods of time when we need to get a cat sitter and hope they don't kill each other. 

Oh! The old neighbor never did upgrade her living conditions, and it's two years later.

If you have a cat story, put it in the comments.

From Franklynn to Tangerine...and everything in between...