February 21st, 2005

I Will Not Defame New Orleans.



We have two cats, Peeper and Harley, both old, cranky bitches, but hey, they're our kitties — whatchagonnado?

Recently I adopted Candace's black kitty as an outdoor man-beast. When she brought him over, I kept him inside one night to get him acclimated, took him outside, and as I was showing him the food dish, he darted under a fence and I never saw him again. Whoops! Sorry, Candace!

Right, so, flash forward. I'm reading "Sybil," a terribly engrossing book about a woman who, due to childhood psychological and physical trauma split off into 16 personalities (people of my generation will remember the Sally Field TV movie of same).

The book is a mindfuck in itself, and reading it, you may find yourself splitting off into different people. Empathy is like that.

Anyway, as I was reading this book, it seemed, under the hazy influence of the topic, that Harley and Peeper were splitting off, because back came Candace's kitty…

Gomez Addams

… and as I read further, and more and more people crowded in Sybil's head came forth, suddenly and literally on our doorstep showed up a little orange kitty…

Morris Bart

…and a little gray kitty…

Theo (short for "Theoretical Loss")

Each of the kitties have completely different personalities of course, and I can't describe how weird it is to be reading about Sybil's entourage of inner selves and suddenly have your cats multiply around you.

They're all really sweet, but I think we've simply hit our quota of kitties.



Anyone interested in an affectionate, chatty, purring, curious, sweet little critter, we're offering up Morris Bart to a good home.

On Friday, I had his nuts lopped off and gave him all his shots, so he's prêt-à-porter, as it were.

If you'd like to come meet him, drop me a line: morrisbart@dejadu.com