2005-12-26

A Kitty For Lees and the Houseboy.

Heavens to Betsy. It's been a dog's age. I apologize for this, chickens.

The holidays have been interesting. I finally joined this century and got a cellphone, AND a digital camera. Very exciting. The latter bit of business is going to result in some very stupid pictures of my day-to-day goings-on.

Anyway.

In the years that our beloved Whitey B. has been gone, I've spent many an evening bewailing our lack of a kitty. I would go on at length about the "kitty-shaped hole in my heart" to the houseboy. "How I wish I had a kitty to LOVE," I would whine to no one in particular.

Be careful what you wish for.

Meet Samantha.

Samantha is the 11...maybe 12-year-old, utterly spoiled, totally batshit insane animal companion of my parents. For reasons we shan't go into right now, they were unable to bring Samantha with them to Florida this winter. My siblings could not take her, so the houseboy and I gamely stepped forward and saved the day.

Samantha has now been with us for just about a month. We do not call her "Samantha," in the same way that we seldom addressed Whitey by her given name. In the past few weeks, this porcine specimen of feline coquettishness has been referred to as: Puff, Poof, The Puffinator, Samma-Bamma-Whamma-Jamma, Sammikins, Samhain (a deliberate mispronunication, lest any of you pagan types feel it necessary to correct me), Fatty-Fat-Fat, Stinky McFeet, Lucretia My Reflection, and Big Fat Beach Ball With Tiny Little Golf Ball Head. She responds to pretty much all of these monikers.

For her age and size, she's remarkably spry and kittenish. She has taken a liking to my rubber "jelly" bracelets, and bats them gleefully around the house. She even -- and I know some of you won't believe this -- plays FETCH. I swear to God. It is just about the cutest thing ever. Except when she rolls over onto her back and shows her fluffy-wuffy belly, which she does frequently. We call it her "baby harp seal" look.

lisamcc at 5:49 p.m.

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