cats


Someone once said the Internet is little more than thousands of pages about somebody's cat, so here's mine.

don't hate me because i'm beautiful I have two cats: Reverend Daddy-O and Iceberg Slim. It shouldn't be difficult to guess which is which. Click the pictures to see bigger versions.

Daddy-O was ordained a Reverend in the Universal Life Church shortly after I adopted him in 1991. comfort before dignity He was a stray, and had been taken in by a very nice person whose other cat didn't like him much. She'd been calling him 'Jigsaw', but I thought that seemed awfully undignified for such a distinguished cat, so I changed his name to Daddy-O because of his cute little jazz beard and his inherent sense of hep.

At the advanced age of 16, he has a slight heart murmur and recently underwent radioactive iodine treatment for a hyperactive thyroid, but that doesn't prevent him from performing his catly duties of beating up on the other cat, lap-sitting, napping, and begging for people food. i'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille

Daddy-O is a world-class gourmand, preferring, strangely enough, yogurt and Thai curries to all other foods. He's also quite fond of coq au vin, tomato sauce, aerosol cheese, McDonald's french fries, and lychees, among many other delicacies. He'll try anything once -- even Vietnamese chili garlic paste, which didn't seem to faze him a bit.

He's also a music lover, and can be depended upon to come in and listen whenever I pick up my guitar. I can tell I'm on the wrong track if he gets up and leaves, because he usually stays for the whole show.

whatever it was, i didn't do it Iceberg Slim is named after the famous pimp of the same name. He was born on a January morning in 1992 to my evil twin Marq's cat Spooge. We believe him to have been fathered by a local tomcat known as Big Head, but of course there's no way to be sure.

Despite his fiendishly deceptive cuteness (he's my little sticky bun, yes he is!), Iceberg is a criminal mastermind. His depths are unknowable, as 70% of him lies beneath the surface. He was probably the one who sank the Titanic.

I wouldn't put anything past this cat -- among his many dubious accomplishments he includes setting my duplex on fire, all this sleeping makes me so tired turning off all the circuit breakers by climbing the electric panel, and chewing lit Xmas tree bulbs. He also taught Daddy-O how doorknobs work, and that the water from the faucet is the only water a cat should deign to drink.

Iceberg had an adventure a few years ago, in which he fell from a 3rd story window, went missing for two days during which he apparently got into a brawl with another cat, and returned to a downstairs apartment, only to be cornered in their bathroom by an enthusiastic terrier at three in the morning. So far, he shows absolutely no signs of wanting to go outside ever again.

I'm pretty sure coffee filters are out of period... Iceberg isn't a fan of human food, and prefers to eat plastic, glass (especially Xmas decorations), and Q-Tips(tm).

I used to have a kitty named Angel, but she ran away. Here she models her Elizabethan look.






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