My
name is Dr If-They-Can't-Take-A-Joke Watson, but my friends just
call
me Watson, or Wats, or sometimes Watsie. I am a 13-year-old black
Domestic
Shorthair, and I currently weigh in at 23 pounds. Hence my other
nick names: the BIG Guy, and Meowmie's wide-bodied jet.
I
don't remember my fur mofur, or even my first home. The first
thing remember is a lady picking me up off the street, and driving
a long way to her apartment. I stayed there two days, and she
drove me a long way back to where she picked me up, and took me
to the Police Station. It seems her roommate was allergic to me.
Well, the lady in the communications center at the police station
did a double take, and said "Sherlock, what are you doing
here?" It seems I looked just like her kitty at home. When
the Kitty Cop came to take me to the pound, the lady told him
she didn't want me to have to stay in the cage near all those
d*gs, and could she come get me when she got off work? The Kitty
Cop said okay, but if anybody called about me, she had to bring
me back.
So
that afternoon I went to my new home, and met my brother Mr Sherlock.
We hit it off right away, because it was like looking in the mirror!
Meowmie could tell us apart if we were next to each other, but
if only one of us was there, she had to pet him to figure out
which one
it was, because my fur was softer than Sherlock's. And we lived
quite happily together for the next two years, and even adopted
a little sister. Then one day Meowmie told us we were going to
move to a bigger place, with two floors, and stairs to play on,
and even a fenced in yard so we could go outside. It was heaven.
Even if the lady who had the other half of the old house had a
d*g! She would let us come to her house when Meowmie was at work,
and generally spoiled us rotten.
About two months later, Sherlock went out one Saturday morning
for a grand adventure. I hope it was grand, because it was his
last one. He didn't come home that afternoon, and when he missed
supper I knew something was wrong. I spent days going from window
to window to door looking for him. Meowmie found his body under
the front porch the next Saturday, and tried to explain to me
that he had gone to the Rainbow Bridge, but I didn't
understand. I kept looking out the windows for him for several
more weeks, even though my sister gave up looking for him when
Meowmie said she found him. I was devastated. The only one who
made me feel better was the neighbors d*g, who curled up with
me and licked my ears. I finally accepted the fact that my Big
Brofur wasn't going to come home, and I would have to be the Man
of the House now! It was a big assignment, but I got the hang
of it eventually, and things were comfortable for a few years.
Then
the BIG TRUCK came, and packed up all our furniture and toys,
and Meowmie told us we were moving to a new house. For the first
few days, I would only come out from under the sofa after dark,
to go eat something and visit the litter box. Then I would run
right back under the couch. Until the third day, when my best
buddy Brandy-d*g came to visit me. Once I saw her again, I knew
it was okay. So I set about the important business of marking
my territory, setting up my travel paths, and generally taking
over the household.
And we were a perfectly contented 2-kitty household. Until they
rescued the kitten from the storm sewer. Meowmie said we didn't
have to like her, we just had to tolerate her until Saturday when
her new Meowmie would come to pick her up. Well, after two days
of watching her huddle in the afghan on the end of the couch,
I couldn't stand it any more. She was tiny, and black, and lonely.
So I curled up with her and started giving her a bath. At the
age of 9, I had become a mofur! I took little Angel under my paw,
and taught her how to bathe, and eat, and even play with toys.
I think I should have checked with my sisfur Lil'Bit before I
did it, though, because she was VERY unhappy about it! But Meowmie
said okay, and now we were three again. Then Angel had eight kittens,
which was very stressful for all of us, but they gave me a new
lease on life. All but one went to other homes, but Day-Late
stayed to keep things even. There are four of us now, in our very
own house in a northern suburb of Chicago. Meowmie takes very
good care of us, and we make sure she is never
lonely or bored. We get to go outside for a little while almost
every day.
My
fur is flecked with gray now, and I'm not as quick to chase the
chipmunks, but life is good for me. I am happy. I am have a wink-wink,
Gigi, who is also a somewhat sedate Older Cat. We're content to
leave the adventures to the younger ones, but that's OK too. A
happy family, a full food dish, and a soulmate. My life is complete;
I am content.
Spotlight
Kitties
Older Cats Society
