Henry, 12/21/08, 6:40 p.m.:
’tis the season….
Please welcome Beau to the LGM family.
This is clearly Palin’s fault:
The large cat that’s been popping up around Anchorage over the past weeks has been captured alive by a man using a dipnet, according to the Alaska Department of Fish and Game.
The animal was at first thought to be a serval, a wild, medium-sized African cat that is illegal in Alaska. Turns out, it is a savannah cat, a mix of a serval and a domestic cat that is legal, said wildlife biologist Rick Sinnott.
The cat, whose name is Simon, had actually been missing since last spring from its owners home in the Kincaid Park area, Sinnott said.
Depending on how many generations removed the animal is from its original cross, a Savannah cat can apparently run anywhere from $2000-4500.
Henry, by contrast, cost me $10 in 1994 ($14.75 in 2008 dollars). That’s one inflation-adjusted dollar per year for this sort of semi-daily entertainment:
“Henry? What are you doing to my bear?”
Mr. Fulrath is one of a growing number of single — and yes, heterosexual — men who seem to be coming out of the cat closet and unabashedly embracing their feline side. To that end, they are posting photographs and videos of their little buddies on YouTube and on Web sites like menandcats.com, and Twittering about them to anyone who will listen.
On the other hand, perhaps my cat blogging indicates that I’m particularly secure in my sexuality. Paul Klusman:
Any single, straight man who has the slightest bit of insecurity about his own sexuality will probably find it difficult to admit to owning or even appreciating cats.
Right… Via Jack Shafer, who appropriately calls out this nonsense.
Today marks the 250th birthday of Vice-Admiral Lord Horatio Nelson.
It is also the third birthday (observed) of Lord Cat Nelson.
A common infirmity is not the only connection between Vice Admiral Lord Nelson and Lord Cat Nelson; no few Manxmen served in Vice Admiral Lord Nelson’s fleet at the Battle of Trafalgar.
Henry is on extraordinarily thin ice around here. Since we returned from vacation in early July, he’s been spraying the front door of our house every day [clarification: on the inside of the house], sometimes on multiple occasions. Though neutered at an appropriately young age, he’s gone through occasional marking phases his whole life; we’ve endured these patiently, cleaning up after him and — during a few longer periods — using artificial pheromones and even amitriptyline to chill his ass out. At fourteen years of age, it’s possible he’s simply losing his marbles. Or he might just have a thing for doors. Who knows? Physically, there appears to be nothing wrong with him, and our vet predicts he’ll live another five years.
If he doesn’t knock off the pissing, though, he might not make it until next week. I’m trying to find a new home for him, based on the absurd theory that he’s simply grown tired of living with two dogs, and three humans, and his sister. For some reason, though, my friends and colleagues are unwilling to adopt a cat with a history of drenching doors with urine. I can’t imagine dumping him at the humane society — a no-kill shelter, but still — and I couldn’t bring myself to snuff him for this. I’d wish for a stroke or aneurysm to knock him out quickly, but I’m sort of angling for one of those myself, and I don’t want to blow all my negative karma on a cat. My wife, meantime, suggests we lather him in fish oil before sending him off to meet the neighborhood bears.
If any LGM readers are capable of speaking telepathically to cats, please tell my boy to knock this off.