…and it’s me.
Last year we gave in and gave house space to “Dammit” Barbara Elizabeth Hitler Whippytail. Now there is a siamese cat hanging around the house crying. It has been here a couple of weeks. It cries hoarsely, then runs in front of us and lays purring paws-up, wiggling and batting at us. Its eyes are pale watery blue. It has wall-eyes, droopy eyelids and the tip of its tongue always hangs out.
We are apparently getting a new cat.
Its name is Hedwig Wall-eye.
Dagnabbit
My late wife used to say that I obviously have a large Dayglo “Sucker” tattoo on my forehead that only cats can see. Over the years I have taken in more cats than I care to think about, usually from friends “just until we can find another home for them”.
Three months ago I acquired two black kittens that a friend found under her trailer.
The mandatory photo : Barbara | Conurept | Flickr
And the Geriatric chain-smoking potty mouth CeeCee: Ceecee | Conurept | Flickr
This is the happiest picture I have of her.
I just posted these in another cat thread, but I’ll take any chance to show off my new babies, acquired from a co-worker who apparently saw the ‘Sucker’ sign on my head:
Calvin and Hobbes.
Barbara has been talking to the stray through the glass door for a couple of hours now. they hiss, bat, sniff at the glass, and exchange “merr” noises. Occasionally one or the other lays down or scrabbles at the glass
Bibliocat, your kittens are just cuteness defined. Now I must go take some insulin.
Spotted a sucker, maybe. Spotted a great family to make a permanent home? Definitely!
Yeah, I think they’re cute, but I’m a bit biased. They’ve just discovered they can climb trees. They get about 10-12 feet up and then look around as if to say, “Holy cow, I’m really high! How did I do that?” Then they come skittering back down.
This thread hits uncomfortably close to home (but the pictures make it all worthwhile).
I have two cats, two dogs, and a husband. All of them are jealous of my affections, and none of them are looking to expand the menagerie.
Of late, however, a young male cat has taken to hanging out in our back yard. My cats have attempted to convince it, through dramatic displays of hissing and wailing, that this is not a good idea, but it keeps coming back anyway. And I’m hoping this is just my imagination, but I think it is looking thinner than it used to be.
I’ve taken the first step on the road to hell (aka the road to owning three cats) by giving it a name. Well, I can’t just keep calling it “that black and white young male cat that keeps coming into our back yard,” can I?
His name is “Spare Cat.”
Wish me luck as the drama unfolds.
On July 5th, I was taking the dogs (two dogs who go crazy barking at the mearest possibility of a cat whisker outside of our house, and let us not mention the big brown bunny who lives in the yard next door) for their 6:30 am walk. A slightly damp and terrified tortiseshell kitty suddenly dashed out from underneath the neighbor’s car, meowing like hellhounds were chasing her and throwing herself at me. Suddenly finding myself juggling two leashed and howling beasts and a crying kitty, I somehow managed to drag the beasts back up the stairs to shut them into the house. Said kitty was now purring and clinging to me, and freaking out and crying when I tried to put her down.
I managed to calm her down somewhat eventually. She was obviously a well cared for house cat who had never been outside before. Every time I put her down, she would go no further than the edge of the house before she came running back. Finally giving in to the blatent manipulation, I brought her inside and put her into the dog crate with a little food (scarfed down like she was starving) and water.
After a month of calling around and checking her for microchips and talking to the neighbors and local pet stores and looking for posters and such, we finally gave in and named her Lily. (No pictures handy here at work, sorry. )
So we’re now up to two dogs, four cats, a dragon, and a 95 gallon fish tank. (And a partridge in a pear tree.) We must have “sucker” stamped on our foreheads.
I currently have 8 cats. I remodeled a two car garage into a “cat suite” where I am currently sitting.
I bottle raised 4 of them. Two others are rescues.
The “sucker” on my forehead is visible for MILES.
My mom had the neon sign, searchlights and fireworks. I have some of those genes.
Several years ago, shortly before we were going to be moving, a stray was hanging around the yard and would run up to greet me every time I came and went. One day she just followed me into the house, ate from the food out for the other two cats (who were watching wide-eyed at this ghastly intrusion), and then found a snug corner to nap in.
As the move got closer the question became “what do we do with furrball number 3” and she went by “Furrball #3” for the next seven or so years until her heartworm and thyroid caught up with her. She knew a sucker when she saw one as well.
At least you guys are getting pets. I feed and house (sort of)* a slightly scruffy little stray. There’s no way I’d want him in the house, he’s got fleas and I react badly to cat fleas. In any case he’s far from tame, I doubt very much that he’d let me get near enough to pick him up. After a couple of year’s worth of tuna and kibble you’d think he’d be friendlier. Maybe he resents the netting I put over the pond to stop him catching the fish?
- Scruffy sleeps in the garage, either on the car bonnet or on an old dufflecoat in the corner or when it’s cold in a sucker supplied cat sized box.
This one so needs to be LOLcatted! A perfect caption for the picture! 
One of our cats had a litter and we managed to find homes for all but one calico female. I kept insisting that we were not going to keep her, and as a sign of my determination I refused to call her anything but “The Kitten”.
Kitten was around for several years, served as seeing-eye cat for one of our cats that went blind, and she was the only bull-dyke cat I’ve ever known…she used to try to mount not only her mother, but her uncle (they were a pair of three-legged kittens we took to keep them from being sent to a shelter where the odds were than they would be put to sleep rather than being put up for adoption. She choked to death on something while I was at work, and my wife wasn’t able to get her to the vet on time. 
I’m freakin’ jealous, conurepete. You have a cherry-head and two (C? T?)AG’s!
Hitler Whippytail
OK, that made my day.
The cherry-head is a mitred conure . His name was George and he was the worst possible first parrot. He died of cancer. I miss him. I have a CAG and three TAGs, all of whom have been through a few homes. The CAG Zahzoo terrorized his owner and the dogs, the Tag twins were birdy-sat and decided they wanted to live here forever and ever, and Steve the TAG was a bitey eating-disorder bird. The african greys are way loveable, and all 4 together are less trouble than George.