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10,000 Steps to Moggle Mog
Mar. 7th, 2022 08:55 pmWe mourned. I made spaetzel because that was the last thing Dorian merrily plonked his face into when I tried to have lunch. His ashes were ready to pick up before Valentine's Day. We grimly walked to the emergency clinic and back. They took a paw print before he died and I marvelled at the fact he really did have the biggest toes. When I wasn't cripplingly sad, I was determined to fix up the parts of the house that had lain neglected after Sif wrecked them and I didn't get to because I had a second cat who was liable to get into the same places. I told myself we were not getting another cat until I at least patched up the spots my poor fluffy cloud of anxiety peed on. Weeks of sanding and wood filler later, I had to concede I was never going to get the straight, baby smooth lines I wanted out of my work without mechanical help. I'm an engineer's daughter. Every time I look at the rippled, uneven skirting where my hand-sanding could not get right, I wince. I kind of, sort of made the wrought-iron grate over our old-fashioned floor heater not rusty and repainted again. I still think I did an ass job with the walls. The floor looks nice only because the sealer I use makes my roughshod work look shiny. To the best of my knowledge, it no longer smells like cat pee.
Somewhere in mid-February, I was getting the husbandly brainwaves thinking he'd better get a cat to sleep on me before I collapsed from re-caulking the mouldy bits around the kitchen sink. Oh, that's been mouldy since we moved in. The sealant I got was way more liquid and tacky than caulk I'm used to. It refused to smooth down without a fuss. I swear I got it in silver and it both applied and dried on as white. Nothing on the label before or after purchase indicated this would happen. My first application looked like some kid had splooged toothpaste around our sink. I was so bothered by my work I ripped it out and started over. After judicious applications of painter's tape, a scraper, rags and isopropyl alcohol, it still looks kind of sad to be honest. Seth thinks it keeps out water and replaced the weird, hardened black bits I was trying to improve, so it works. I told myself if it really bothered me down the line, I'd apply some paint to make it match the rest of the grout in the kitchen.
The week before Seth's birthday I was so miserable Seth asked, "If we got a cat, would that make you feel better?" The short answer was yes, though the long answer was that both of us were still overwhelmed from losing Dorian. Unfortunately, the SPCA had about five cats available the day we visited and all of them didn't quite work out. There was a bonded pair of 8-year-old mackerel tabbies where one had a tumour the SPCA vets were inspecting. It pained us immensely we couldn't help them. We'd just lost a cat to lymphoma and they were much older than we were expecting to work with.
We went home and said we would come back the next weekend. There might be more cats. If not, we'd re-look at the cats we passed up on. Maybe they'd be less traumatised from recent transfers to the shelter. I kept my eye on the SPCA and Animal Care & Control's cat adoption pages. That Saturday, a posting went up on the ACC's website about an extremely friendly, chatty mottled 2-year-old tabby that spoke in "growls". I dragged Seth out to the ACC to see him. This was something I couldn't do without Seth because the ACC had moved since I last visited them and it took his map-reading skills to find the spanky new place they'd moved into. It was really swank and really quiet compared to the SPCA inside. Both of us were relieved we had the room to think here, relatively unbothered by people.
When I'd read the posting about the cat we wanted to visit, I neglected to read the part about his weight. We walked into his room expecting a small, sleek tabby that was probably still a teenager and were instead greeted by 15 pounds of friendship. This was the largest cat I'd ever seen in my life—and I had Sif when she was 20 pounds and in the words of a dear friend, "hard to tell where Jupiter ends and the cat begins." This guy was built like he was made to guard barns. He immediately clambered onto Seth's chest and licked his chin, twice. He had the most humongous purrs, wouldn't stop squeaking and rumbling and made very clear he liked us very much. Our cat had found us. It would have been offensive at that point not to take him home.
The sweet cat minder at the ACC asked if we had a name in mind when we put him in a crate. I said, "Yes, Moggie!" Shirley Jackson had a cat called Moggie. Yes, I am aware calling a cat "moggie" is pretty much the same as calling him "cat". The other reason that came to mind was that with his squinty-eyed countenance and white, fuzzy bigness, he reminded me of Great King Moggle Mog from FFXIV. For reasons entirely related to my love of hamsters and Unidentifiable Fluffy Objects, he's one of my favourite characters in the game and an amazingly fun fight. Hit me up if you want to try it. I could do that thing in my sleep.
Moggie is simply the most affectionate cat either of us has ever met. The first afternoon with us, he was anxious about being in a new place. Since he seemed to not mind the bedroom, I tried getting him on the bed with me because it was way more comfortable than sitting on the floor. This was how we spent our first hours together with him flopping about in my arms requiring frequent kisses on the head. He has none of the aloofness of a normal cat. The ACC warned us he was a street cat and nervous about people. It's been more like he's afraid of being left alone. We thought we'd have a week of slowly getting to know our new cat, who would slowly learn to trust us. The first night, he slept between both of us on the bed. He's a restless sleeper. Twice in the night I was woken up by a 15 pound cat hunting my toes under the blanket. I reckoned he hit my toes with such concussive force, had they really been mousies, I would have woken up to presents the next morning. He also flopped on my face—that's his thing, flopping mightily upon surfaces—flopped on Seth's kidney, flopped on Seth's head, flopped on my head, flopped into my arms and kicked both of us every time he flopped one way or the other. Neither one of us humans slept very well that night. But our cat was fine. Since then, he has learned that we spend a lot of time sitting on couches playing video games, so the highlight of his day is to flop upon us after licking our chins and bumping heads. That's how we wake up every morning by the way, with a cat licking our chins and rubbing against our face. It makes me suspect Moggie spent part of his childhood being raised by dogs. I haven't had anything so enthusiastic about rubbing faces with me since I last had a dog.
He's a very loving cat but not too bright. I've tried to introduce him to concepts like hunting for treats around the house. Sif really had about two brain cells to rub together herself, but she was a bloodhound. Dorian was smart enough to follow me around the house so he could eat the treat as I hid it. With Moggie, I realised I had to hide things in simpler places. Like, if the treat isn't right in front of him, it's too much work. He did, however, learn fast that crØnkles probably means food about 60% of the time. Henceforth, every time we open a bag or box or crØnkle, a face appears next to us.
He is also a playful cat. Very quickly we figured out he has the skills of an Olympic jumper. He clearly has a hunting instinct and quite a bit more enthusiasm than either of my previous cats in terms of digging toys out from under sofas and chasing after toys that run away himself. Yesterday, I got woken up by a cat furiously chasing his tail on the bed for five minutes straight. (It felt like an earthquake.) This happened twice. I got so worried I asked Seth if this was some kind of cat illness. Seth: "No, he's just dumb."
Both of us are still hit with random pangs of sadness over Dorian. Sometimes, we call Moggie by the wrong name. But having Moggie around helps. If we're miserable, he tells us he loves us. He flops into the most luxuriant tangle of feets and tummy or gives us a kiss. We have hope. And he has a family that will most certainly keep him.
Somewhere in mid-February, I was getting the husbandly brainwaves thinking he'd better get a cat to sleep on me before I collapsed from re-caulking the mouldy bits around the kitchen sink. Oh, that's been mouldy since we moved in. The sealant I got was way more liquid and tacky than caulk I'm used to. It refused to smooth down without a fuss. I swear I got it in silver and it both applied and dried on as white. Nothing on the label before or after purchase indicated this would happen. My first application looked like some kid had splooged toothpaste around our sink. I was so bothered by my work I ripped it out and started over. After judicious applications of painter's tape, a scraper, rags and isopropyl alcohol, it still looks kind of sad to be honest. Seth thinks it keeps out water and replaced the weird, hardened black bits I was trying to improve, so it works. I told myself if it really bothered me down the line, I'd apply some paint to make it match the rest of the grout in the kitchen.
The week before Seth's birthday I was so miserable Seth asked, "If we got a cat, would that make you feel better?" The short answer was yes, though the long answer was that both of us were still overwhelmed from losing Dorian. Unfortunately, the SPCA had about five cats available the day we visited and all of them didn't quite work out. There was a bonded pair of 8-year-old mackerel tabbies where one had a tumour the SPCA vets were inspecting. It pained us immensely we couldn't help them. We'd just lost a cat to lymphoma and they were much older than we were expecting to work with.
We went home and said we would come back the next weekend. There might be more cats. If not, we'd re-look at the cats we passed up on. Maybe they'd be less traumatised from recent transfers to the shelter. I kept my eye on the SPCA and Animal Care & Control's cat adoption pages. That Saturday, a posting went up on the ACC's website about an extremely friendly, chatty mottled 2-year-old tabby that spoke in "growls". I dragged Seth out to the ACC to see him. This was something I couldn't do without Seth because the ACC had moved since I last visited them and it took his map-reading skills to find the spanky new place they'd moved into. It was really swank and really quiet compared to the SPCA inside. Both of us were relieved we had the room to think here, relatively unbothered by people.
When I'd read the posting about the cat we wanted to visit, I neglected to read the part about his weight. We walked into his room expecting a small, sleek tabby that was probably still a teenager and were instead greeted by 15 pounds of friendship. This was the largest cat I'd ever seen in my life—and I had Sif when she was 20 pounds and in the words of a dear friend, "hard to tell where Jupiter ends and the cat begins." This guy was built like he was made to guard barns. He immediately clambered onto Seth's chest and licked his chin, twice. He had the most humongous purrs, wouldn't stop squeaking and rumbling and made very clear he liked us very much. Our cat had found us. It would have been offensive at that point not to take him home.
The sweet cat minder at the ACC asked if we had a name in mind when we put him in a crate. I said, "Yes, Moggie!" Shirley Jackson had a cat called Moggie. Yes, I am aware calling a cat "moggie" is pretty much the same as calling him "cat". The other reason that came to mind was that with his squinty-eyed countenance and white, fuzzy bigness, he reminded me of Great King Moggle Mog from FFXIV. For reasons entirely related to my love of hamsters and Unidentifiable Fluffy Objects, he's one of my favourite characters in the game and an amazingly fun fight. Hit me up if you want to try it. I could do that thing in my sleep.
Moggie is simply the most affectionate cat either of us has ever met. The first afternoon with us, he was anxious about being in a new place. Since he seemed to not mind the bedroom, I tried getting him on the bed with me because it was way more comfortable than sitting on the floor. This was how we spent our first hours together with him flopping about in my arms requiring frequent kisses on the head. He has none of the aloofness of a normal cat. The ACC warned us he was a street cat and nervous about people. It's been more like he's afraid of being left alone. We thought we'd have a week of slowly getting to know our new cat, who would slowly learn to trust us. The first night, he slept between both of us on the bed. He's a restless sleeper. Twice in the night I was woken up by a 15 pound cat hunting my toes under the blanket. I reckoned he hit my toes with such concussive force, had they really been mousies, I would have woken up to presents the next morning. He also flopped on my face—that's his thing, flopping mightily upon surfaces—flopped on Seth's kidney, flopped on Seth's head, flopped on my head, flopped into my arms and kicked both of us every time he flopped one way or the other. Neither one of us humans slept very well that night. But our cat was fine. Since then, he has learned that we spend a lot of time sitting on couches playing video games, so the highlight of his day is to flop upon us after licking our chins and bumping heads. That's how we wake up every morning by the way, with a cat licking our chins and rubbing against our face. It makes me suspect Moggie spent part of his childhood being raised by dogs. I haven't had anything so enthusiastic about rubbing faces with me since I last had a dog.
He's a very loving cat but not too bright. I've tried to introduce him to concepts like hunting for treats around the house. Sif really had about two brain cells to rub together herself, but she was a bloodhound. Dorian was smart enough to follow me around the house so he could eat the treat as I hid it. With Moggie, I realised I had to hide things in simpler places. Like, if the treat isn't right in front of him, it's too much work. He did, however, learn fast that crØnkles probably means food about 60% of the time. Henceforth, every time we open a bag or box or crØnkle, a face appears next to us.
He is also a playful cat. Very quickly we figured out he has the skills of an Olympic jumper. He clearly has a hunting instinct and quite a bit more enthusiasm than either of my previous cats in terms of digging toys out from under sofas and chasing after toys that run away himself. Yesterday, I got woken up by a cat furiously chasing his tail on the bed for five minutes straight. (It felt like an earthquake.) This happened twice. I got so worried I asked Seth if this was some kind of cat illness. Seth: "No, he's just dumb."
Both of us are still hit with random pangs of sadness over Dorian. Sometimes, we call Moggie by the wrong name. But having Moggie around helps. If we're miserable, he tells us he loves us. He flops into the most luxuriant tangle of feets and tummy or gives us a kiss. We have hope. And he has a family that will most certainly keep him.
