Thursday, July 01, 2010

Dingaroo!

Dingo...he's my cat.

His story begins with a death. My MIL death, as a matter of fact. Her passing was sudden and horrific and left all of us in a state of shock and numbness that  lasted for months. Which would explain how we ended up the owners of an indoor cat.

We are dog people. I'm just sayin'. We like our dogs big and protective of the kiddies. They need to be tough enough to stand up to the coyotes that run the range around here and sweet enough to let a little kid lay all over them. We have always had great dogs.

Cats...we had a cat when we were first married. He was okay, but cat's are cats. They never look at you in that adoring way that a dog does. Cat's are demanding and insolent. Sometimes they are down right rude.

So how did dog people end up with a bi-polar, needy, cat?

Grief is a funny thing sistah.

About a month after my MIL passed away, my daughter and I were coming out of a grocery store when I noted the "tub" and words "free" hand scrawled on a piece of cardboard. We all know what's inside the tub and we all know better than to look in it....right?

Girl says, "What's in the bin Mom?"

So cute, she's just ten and doesn't realize that hell comes in many forms.

Of course we go over and look. Of course they are kittens. Small, furry bundles of softness. Ahhh...

"Can I have one?"

This just shows you the depths of our grief. Girl knew better than to ask. We had never taken home a kitten. Ever.

"Sure! We can take one, but it has to be a male."

To this day I have no idea why I said yes or why I said male. I got nuthin' here. Seriously.

"What should we name him?" Girl sparkled as we walked to the car.

I looked him over and noted that his head was about the size of an avocado pit and his ears were HUGE. I mean monstrous. He looked like a tiny, black dingo.

And thus was he dubbed.

In the seven years that he has lived in this house we've learned a thing or two about him. He's very talkative, especially in the morning. While he's supposed to be Girl's cat, he's actually more mine. He despises small children and most of our friends. Dingo will hide, waiting for an innocent victim, usually a friend of the children's, and then spring out and hiss at them.

Dingo is afraid of the noise that raccoons make when cornered by one of the dogs outside our window. He weighs in at a hefty sixteen pounds and will cry all the live long day if he sees the bottom of his food dish.

Each night he tucks us in by climbing up and laying us while purring like a maniac.

Sometimes, when he is especially happy, he drools.

Eww.

For whatever reason, Dingo will not cover up his...poo. He'll be in there digging to China and when I walk in the room he's left his prize right on top of the kitty litter. I think he's does it on purpose. He never gets up on the kitchen counter but loves the towel rack. He is an expert bug catcher and a catnip junkie. Dingo will purposely puke in any shoe left out. He will and trust me, he has terrific aim.

Dingo is a part of our ever shrinking family and right now I am very grateful for his companionship.

Dingaroo!

1 comment:

Bee and Rose said...

I giggled through this entire post! We ended up with a black cat in a similar way...we are definitely not cat people either, but those darn kids and their big eyes...ugh...

Dingo and our cat, Shadow sound like they are twins!