Jan 23, 2005

The Triumphal Return of

Finnegan!

"Who the hell is Finnegan," I hear you ask? Well, lemme tell ya. Finnegan is our sixth cat, and carries the proud "F" name, sixth leter of the alphabet, but honestly Finnegan belongs, as all tomcats do, to himself. He found us at the old house and stayed around as much as any tom does, eating and being a menace. He has a habit of accepting lovin's for as long as you dare pet him, but the moment you stop and straighten up he likes to leap up and claw and bite the back of your leg to remind you that you're not really done with him yet, are you? That aside he's still a very sweet old cat, or young cat, as the pic I posted there is about a year old, and he's grown much bigger since then. He's followed us up to the new house, and has made a home next door under my Uncle's house.

And then there's the matter of his head. He's got a big head. And I don't mean a big head as in he's egotistical, or like "That cat's got a big head." I mean it like "Holy sweet fiery monkey of Gawd, that cat's head is HUGE!" He's got the tomcat cheeks something fierce, and combined with the standard American domestic cat's roundish face and short muzzle it makes his head almost football shaped.

It's a big head.

My cousin, whose house he used to visit, used to call him "Big Head Cat." It's that big.

Anyhoo, we've been seeing a certain other tom around here the past few days, a tabby who looks about like a cup of Dannon Fruit On The Bottom Apricot yoghurt. He's that sort of candy-floss peach colour, sort of washed out, like he's covered in very bad dandruff, or has just been rolling in the baby powder. Old boy has been circling the house steady for a week or more now, calling and talking, and driving our cats slightly nuts. Well, one of our cats. Delilah. She positively hates him. I don't know if he said something to her one afternoon, or maybe she doesn't like yoghurt, but for whatever reason she really sincerely does not like this tom. She dislikes him enough that one afternoon she ran headlong through the patio screen to chase him down and beat him within an inch of his life. She dislikes him enough that she has thrown herself against the windows trying to end his little peachy life.

The thing was, we could never figure out why he's been hanging around so much, especially in another tom's yard. Well, I found out today. Went out to finish hanging the door on my shop, and saw a very young female, obviously in estrus, doing the 'heat dance' and crying her heart out. Beats me where she came from, I've never seen her before in my life. Then there was ANOTHER strange tom out there beside her, a big solid greymalkin, who I've never seen before, and he had that smug look on his face that says "Oh yeah, this is mine and you can't have any." Equidistant at about six feet out were the Yoghurt Cat and Finnegan, both sitting patiently, saying to themselves "Yeah, but you gotta sleep sometime." So all day, while I have toiled in the suddenly unexplicably freezing weather the cats have roamed all over the two yards, singing and crying and making little Finnegans and Yoghurt Cats and Greymalkins.

The thing that keeps haunting me is that if she's around here in heat, and a stray, she's gonna have the little ones around here, and if they survive kittenhood, guess who is gonna end up owning all those litte G's, H's, I's and J's?

You got it. The sucker.

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