Before I moved to Guelph I had two cats: Fluff and Charlie. After I got Tristan, Fluff and Charlie came to Guelph with me as well. Fluff was already a curmudgeon, but Charlie and Tristan got along best kind. When Charlie passed on (a story for another time, perhaps), Tristan was still a young, playful, kittenish thing who wanted a playmate. He tried to convince Fluff they could be friends. Fluff kicked his ass. Seriously. More than once I felt like I was watching The Matrix fight scenes being re-enacted in my room by cats. I swear to goodness Fluff once THREW Tristan across the room.
So I decided the solution to maintain everyone’s sanity was a kitten.
Off to the Guelph Humane Society I go, and there’s a cage with 3 fluff balls of orange fire. Two are sleeping, one is smooshing his face against the bars with his paws reaching out to say “LOOOOOOVE MEEEEE!”. I was sold. I went to find a staff member, and when we came back to the cat room some other hussy was holding MY would-be-kitten, but I didn’t let that stop me. Staff member removed kitten from the latest victims of his charms and he came home with me.
I named him Stewie because I very much enjoy Family Guy and Stewie kills me. So, of course, Stewie has grown up to be fairly evil at times… and really, really dumb. He did effectively distract Tristan from tormenting Fluff… and somehow wormed his way into Fluff’s heart as well. Fluff will let Stewie sleep curled up next to him and TOUCHING. Unheard of. (Fluff and Charlie lived together for about 10 years and Fluff never let Charlie touch him without a smackdown.)
Stewie has been ever entertaining. As a kitten, he killed me daily. As a huge beast of a fluff ball, he still kills me daily. He sleeps in the weirdest spots and/or the weirdest positions. He raises the bar on catnip crazy. He is an arse if you’re trying to get him to do something he hasn’t agreed to, as most gingers are. And if a cupboard has been opened, no matter how briefly and no matter how high, you should probably check for him before you close it. Trust.
He hates being brushed, so he’s of course prone to kitty dreadlocks. (Fluff, on the other hand, lives for being brushed… and never gets matts in his fur no matter how lazy I get about brushing him.) The kitty litter is his security blanket. If we’re in a new place, as soon as I put down a litter box and fill it he gets in it and rolls around and becomes one with it. He also likes to get in boxes of all sorts and sizes. He used to get on top of the fridge and squish himself in empty Clementine boxes. And I do mean squish, my baby is not small.
Highlight of his lack of genius? One day I’m sitting at my desk. There’s a lit candle on my coffee table. Out of the corner of my eye I notice a sudden brightness. I turn, and there’s Stewie, sitting there all nonchalant, HIS TAIL ENGULFED IN FLAME. I screamed, he jumped off the table and the fire went out. Thankfully his tail is so obscenely fluffy his flesh was undamaged… but my apartment reeked of burnt hair for days, and his tail was decidedly unfluffy for awhile. Not dumb enough for you? Well, I also can’t have jar candles in my house. Stewie will stick his face down into the jar, while the candle is lit, and burn off his whiskers. He’s done this more than once. Apparently he missed the “afraid of fire” memo from his ancestors.
Of course, I love my orange love bug. I have a soft spot for orange tabbies of all sorts… I’m a sucker for a ginger 😉 If they’re goofy and ridiculous, that’s just a bonus!