Party of Five – One Year In

Suggested Prereading: Welcome to Our Quadruped-Centered Life

---

It’s been a year since we took the leap into cat parenting, and what a year it’s been. When I reread Welcome to Our Quadruped-Centered Life, I was aghast at just how duped I’d been. I confidently published that post two weeks after we adopted the kitties, which I now know means that this chimp was acting the chump. Shortly after that post went out, Cheddar decided to reveal his true self. Finding and releasing his inner kitten, he showed he was not the chill, calm pat of butter I’d made him out to be, but in fact just as bonkers as his sister.

I may be calm now, Daddy, but give it two minutes . . .

At about the same time, Mango began showing her more relaxed side. It was as if the two had concocted a hilarious gag in which they would switch personas, not unlike Fred and George Weasley, just to trick us and give themselves a side-splitting laugh.

Don’t put me in a box (heh, heh). I have a varied and complex personality. The acute observer will notice the many moods, the many shades, the many sides of Mango Cat. (The acute observer will also notice that I lifted that line from that other chimp/chump: George Costanza.)

Those first weeks and months I waffled between two basic emotions: adoration (for the cats) and worry (for my furniture, my window shades, my carpets, my nasal cilia—which I feared might shrivel up and die—and my sanity). They made me laugh a dozen times a day, but just as often made me silently lament, “Oh my God, what have I done?” while breaking out in a cold sweat over the lifelong commitment I’d made.

Cheddar is a skilled manipulator, quickly discerning which of his behaviors drive me crazy – like sitting atop the TV – and putting them on vivid display whenever he wants something (food – always food).

My mantra for many months, mumbled below my breath like an incantation, was “Kittenhood will end. Kittenhood will end.” And lo and behold, over the course of several months, as playing decreased in inverse proportion to sleeping, it did end. Of course, were the cats able to construct a post about their first year with us, it wouldn’t say, “Kittenhood has ended.” It would say, “Chimp training is completed.”

Ha! Duped you again, humans. Chimp training is never completed!

But even though the husband man-chimp and I are still in training, I’m going to go out on a limb say that their personalities have largely settled. Drawing on my extensive cat-parenting background, I’ve decided that some cats are climbers and some cats are cavers. And though Cheddar sometimes goes high to annoy me (like every single night in the hour before his dinner), they both have a propensity for caving. Cheddar loves a good box, bag, cubby, or hidey-hole:

And though she’s generally more mature, like a high school sister who rolls her eyes at her brother’s middle school antics, Mango can get in on the caving action, too, though her preference, weirdly, is for waste paper baskets.

The bun wants it made clear, however, that she was, is, and always will be the reigning champion of “boxing.”

After all,

what lowly cat

can chew a new doorway?

Cheddar, though, is a champion of Cuddle with a Chimp time, particularly in the mornings when it takes every ounce of willpower I have to put him down and go to work.

Getting my maternal itch scratched

But when not being held like a fuzzy baby, he likes to sleep in some interesting positions:

Why have you just woken me, chimp? I was sleeping soundly on the twisted nylon straps, metal zipper pulls, and plastic buckles of this empty gym bag. Do not disturb me again.

Mango is more stereotypically catlike when it comes to having chimps touch her. She wants it when she wants it, and when she does want it, it’s less about cuddling and more about heavy petting. It can best be described as a purr-laden, squirming, writhing, full participation lap dance that pushes the boundaries of decency and makes the husband blush with embarrassment.

She can easily jump this half door, but prefers to have it opened for her like an empress.

They still get into trouble from time to time, mainly for being places they shouldn’t be. “Off!” “Out!” and “Scram!” are frequent interjections in our household.

Off!

Out!

Scram!

This took a little more finesse, namely gentle coaxing and crinkling of treat bags.

They’ve also taught the bun some naughty behaviors. She never showed a lick of interest in going upstairs (which isn’t bunny-proofed) or to the basement (ditto) until the cats came along and taunted her with their free-roamin’ lifestyle.

The bun never hopped up here until the cats demo’d the technique.

But usually the cats are just as darling as can be.

Cat TV was tuned to the Frustrated Predator Channel this day.

Though not the BFFs I’d hoped for, they get along well with the bun. Well aware that cat-rabbit cohabitation isn’t always successful—and, indeed, can be deadly—we are especially thankful that we have a rabbit and cats with the right temperaments for a harmonious coexistence.

Mango crowds the bunny keeps the bunny company while she eats.

Cheddar will sometimes roll over and grab her hoping for a fun little tussle, but the bun tolerates exactly none of it. We’ve given her permission to give him a swift kick to the face, but she’s too good natured for that—she just hops away. Thankfully, Cheddar has the decency not to follow, but we’re starting to think he’s using the maneuver to commandeer the bun’s primo lounging spot. What a cad.

Paws off, feline!

We’ve all experienced change as we’ve adjusted to our tri-species family, and this she-chimp is no different. In fact, I’ve probably changed the most. I’ve dealt with every manner of feline grossness and I’m now largely inured to hairballs, cat fur, and diarrhea. And though it’s often a two-chimp effort, we don’t think twice about nail trims anymore. Scooping poop? All in a day’s work. Changing the litter box? Just one of Saturday’s many chores. Cat flatulence? This, too, shall pass. Even an inadvertent faceful of cat butt, though not encountered with glee, doesn’t repel me the way it once did. It reminds me of when I was youngster returning home from a babysitting gig. I’d tell my mom I didn’t want kids, to which she invariably replied, “It’s different when they’re your own.”

I finally get what she means.

The only thing that still ranks high on my Cat Revolt-o-Meter™ is getting sneezed on. Though our purr-babies seem to sneeze in singles, when one comes, it’s fast and furious. They have no wind-up, and without that “Ah . . . ahh . . . ahhh” before the “choo!” we chimps have no hope of protecting ourselves.

Though our new additions complicate the travel picture a bit, I have no regrets about adding another species of furball to our household. I’m (mostly) glad their kitten stage is finished, but I’m so grateful I got to experience those fun and frenetic months. And as for adopting two cats when my strict rule was just one?

Best decision this chimp ever made.

The Three Amigos

Wish I could give credit (or better yet, take credit) for this poem. It’s a FB screenshot.