A little over a year after Molly came into our lives, I began to make my case to my boyfriend for the addition of a kitten.
At first I was outright rejected, and I responded by slowly exacting revenge in my own way – by “forgetting.” In the morning, I would pay attention to his routine. As soon as he mentioned that he was out of something, and would have to buy more, I would swoop in and offer to get it for him. “I’m going to Target, anyway,” I’d trill, batting my eyelashes and really laying on thick. “So don’t even worry about it!”
“Um, ok,” he’d reply, eyeing me warily. “Are you sleeping okay?”
When I’d get home after work, I’d make a big show of putting away my newly purchased toiletries. Eventually he’d ask me for his deodorant, or pack of razors.
“Hmmmm?” I’d ask, feigning confusion. “What are you talking about?”
Eyes closing with impatience. “Remember this morning? Seriously, Amy, I need to shave.”
Then I’d laugh, apologize, and promise to buy it the next day, knowing full well it would be too late. Haahahahahahahahahaaaa! Revenge is mine!
Eventually, he caught on, and asked me what the hell was going on. I said but one single word:
KITTEN.
A few weeks later we adopted Jack from our local shelter. From the moment we saw him he started yelling at us. His meow stood out from the rest; it was loud and insistent. And really, really, funny. I can’t quite explain it. Even when we were in a different room, we could still here his little voice crying out: Pick me! Please, pick me! Oh, pleasepleaseplease pick meeeeeee! We’d peek back into the room and he’d be staring at us from his cage with comically large eyes. He looked like an alien-kitty, with his small head, large eyes and big bat ears.
The rest of the kittens were almost indifferent to our presence, but Jack had zeroed in on us and wasn’t letting us leave without him. We couldn’t help but agree.
When we first brought him home we set him down and opened the crate door. He didn’t want to come out. Despite our pleadings, he stayed in that crate for almost an hour. Then, he came half-way out and promptly fell asleep.
The best way to describe Jack is big ball of love. He’s one of the sweetest cats I’ve ever met. That’s not to say he doesn’t have a temper, because he does. It’s kind of cute, too.
Molly and Jack did not exactly get along right away. Actually, Molly took one look or maybe one sniff of that crate, let out a growl and attacked it. Jack screamed from inside. I screamed from outside. Carlos ran and grabbed Molly, who was panting in … fear? Anger?
I comforted Jack and we took it slowly. Eventually they started playing through the crate. When we let Jack out they took to each other immediately.
As the days passed they grew closer and closer.
Jack will let you do anything to him. He doesn’t mind getting his claws trimmed, or his paws cleaned, or really anything. All he wants to do is be with you. His temperament is much more canine-like than feline.
He loves to have water drip on his face. When he drinks from the Drinkwell watering fountain he lets the water drip down his forehead, and then he laps from the bottom. He’ll sit there and close his eyes as the water beads down his face.
I don’t know if you can tell in the photo, but his forehead is soaked. It’s dark gray instead of his normal light gray.
He always looks very handsome in his blue bow collar.
He’s a very proper little gentleman, too.
And he loves to lie down like this:
Thank you, Jack, for making me very, very happy.
Kiyokotown 