2010-04-17

Meet Mephisto

It occurs to me that many of you who aren't on Facebook are not aware of the, uh, new addition to our family here.

Meet Mephisto:

As did Foot Foot, Mephisto came from the colony of feral cats that roam our immediate neighborhood. He was one of a family of nine -- two mama cats and their seven babies -- that had turned up in our yard early last summer. The houseboy and I had been feeding them, and wondering what we were going to do about them come winter, when the universe intervened and connected us with several kind folks who assisted us with trapping, luring, and generally getting all nine of them off the streets and into homes or no-kill shelters (my friend Paul took in one of the mama cats, giving her the entirely-fitting name of "Mavis").

I'd had a soft spot for Mephisto, and his brother Iggy, from the get-go.

Of the babies, these two were the "friendliest," and always seemed happy to see me, even if I knew it was only because I was "the food lady." I'd sit on the back stoop and watch them eat, and marvel at Mephisto's perfectly symmetrical little face. "You are too handsome to stay outside," I'd tell him, and he'd gaze at me for me a second before darting back behind the shed in the yard.

Over the course of November and December, we got them one at a time, and fewer and fewer of them would appear at our back door for dinner. Finally, there was just Mephisto. He kept coming for dinner, even though he must have known that we were partially responsible for his family disappearing. It was now after New Year's, and I'd sit on the stoop in the bone-clattering cold and try to REASON with him, the way I had with Foot Foot a year-and-change before. "It's just you out here, buddy. You and the dirty, mean tomcats. I don't want you to be one of those guys. I really don't."

The houseboy and I went out and bought a big cage, set it up in the front room, and prepared to lure Mephisto in once and for all. Never underestimate the appeal of the stinkiest wet food you can find.

Mephisto was PISSED.

At first.

But then he discovered the joys of baseboard heat. And later, after we were certain he wasn't any danger to Foot Foot, he discovered the joys of having a soft place to sleep.

Little by slow, he began to come around. He spent the first couple of weeks under the bed. He would venture out to eat and use his litter box, only to be chased back under the bed by Foot Foot, who was thrilled to pieces to have something other than her George W. Bush doll to beat the crap out of.

And he was generally not much trouble in those first few weeks, except when we had to take him to the VET. It's quite remarkable what a five-month-old feral kitten can do to a relatively small bedroom in a matter of 15 minutes. He yowled, he scampered, he wedged himself into impossibly tight corners and hissed, and - when he realized that none of these tactics were working - he turned himself into a veritable PEE CANNON before we finally broke his will sufficiently to cram him into the carrier. The houseboy took him to the vet. I got to bring all the pee-soaked bedding to the laundromat. I'm still not sure who got the better deal.

And that night, it was as if nothing had even happened.

"Oh, hi."

We've had Mephisto a little over three months now. Unlike Foot Foot, he did not immediately take to us, since he'd been out for much longer. It's taken a lot of patience, and love, to get him fully socialized. Every little thing he does that's more like a "normal" cat is a cause for great celebration. I came home from work the other night and he jumped down from where he was sitting and ran over to greet me. I burst into tears.

We've decided that he's totally metal. I mean, look at him. He's a friggin' God of Thunder. When he was still hiding, I'd stand in the bedroom doorway and sing Black Sabbath songs to him -- "Is he alive or dead? He will not come out from under the bed." Now I call him the fifth member of KISS, and break into "Detroit Rock City" whenever he comes through the living room. He seems cool with this.

He's still pretty flinchy, and sometimes bolts if you come near him, but mostly he's pretty content to hang out with us and be skritched.

And Foot Foot has, for the most part, been pretty good with him. They chase each other around the house and pounce on each other like ninjas. And she's been teaching him the ropes, like: "How to Lose Toys Under the Stove."

And a couple of weeks ago, I stumbled into this heartjerking little scene:

He's going to be a pretty awesome cat.

lisamcc at 3:40 p.m.

2 comments so far
Honey
2010-04-23 23:50:43
Awww. Cats are awesome.
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Lexi
2010-05-07 03:41:57
BWAH HA HA! I love it. I didn't know you got another one of those ferals. What a great name, too. I can't get over how symmetrical his face is; I won't lie to you, the first glace at the first photo up above caused me to say out loud to no one, "That cat looks just like a va jay jay!" What I mean is, Georgia O'Keefe could have painted Mephisto's portrait and it would have fit amongst her works. I guess what I'm saying is: your new guy is my new favoritest pussy cat. ;*
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