kitty porn

There are three cats in this apartment. Two of them are technically mine; I left them here in their grandparents' care when I went gallivanting off to Madagascar a few years back and never retrieved them. Partly because I don't like the idea of cats in the cargo hold, partly because one of them, the little tabby female Bodicea, developed a pretty intense relationship with my dad, and was a comfort to him during his first bout of cancer treatment. She's tiny and loud, and the only cat who could lay on my father as he slept without putting too much pressure on him.

Then there's Spanky. He's Bo's littermate, but you can barely tell. He's larger, with pretty long white fur, mismatched eyes, and not the smallest bit of a clue. He was the one I'd chosen, and then Bo came and wriggled into my lap and insisted that I take her as well. The neighbor who was giving them away had told me that any unclaimed kittens were going into the Mississippi in a sack. She and her boyfriend and his brother all lived in the basement and scared my roommate and I mightily. We'd find the pallid brother's copies of "Cherry Blossoms" magazine down in the mail collection area, and worry about the innocent Asian woman who might end up with this fella, who made me want to wash. Troglodytes, Apple called them.

Anyway. Apple, a law student who spent all his time either taking his computer apart or falling asleep with a Torts textbook on his chest on the sofa, knew that I was planning to bring up one kitten. There'd been no discussion of two. But I was thinking about the river, and the sack, and the trogs. I was pretty nervous when he came home. Did you get a cat? he asked. I need to talk to you about that, I responded. He turned out to be totally cool with it, and in fact ended up renaming one of them--Spanky's original name was Noam, after Professor Chomsky. As it turned out, Apple could see into the cat's soul better than I could.

Being named after one of the most brilliant men alive just wouldn't have been fair to this cat. He's a few morphemes short of a sentence, if you catch me.

Spanky's always been kind of unusual. He is the only cat I've ever lived with who enjoys having his temperature taken, which has led to some incredibly embarrassing moments at the vet's office. I'm standing there, trying to contain Bo (who is looking around for something to stalk and kill), and Spanky is making this... noise... and pushing his rear up, and the vet is saying, well, ha ha little fella, easy there, and I'm wondering if I'll fit into their beige plastic carrier. He did have a brief period (about two days, as long as it took me to make The Appointment) where he was trying to mount his sister, but he was trying from the side, at an angle that wouldn't have accomplished anything even if she'd been mature. There was the sort of dogged (can we say that about cats?) determination about the whole encounter of a closeted male celebrity marrying Liz Taylor.

Which is why I'm forced to admit that I am a member of PFCH-LAG--Parents, Friends, and Companion Humans of Lesbians and Gays. Not only am I fluid myself, but I apparently have a gay cat. And I have my suspicions about Bo, who I did name after the queen of the Amazons. Who says it isn't genetic? Nature, or nurture?

The question's become relevant here in my parents' place, with their big tom Spencer. He'd be a bear, if he weren't a cat; I can almost imagine him wearing little leather chaps and mirrored sunglasses. He's not just a tom, he's a Tom of Finland.

And he likes Spanky. A lot. They play together in the usual cat ways, they run back and forth, they are collectively puzzled by Bo's queenly behavior.

But there have been a few mornings when I have woken up to the sight of Spencer crouched over Spanky, the nape of Spanky's neck firmly in his teeth. Spanky lays there passively and waits. Spencer is not actually making, uh, full contact--he was caught and snipped at about the same point Spanky was, so he hasn't got the big picture either--but at least he's got a better idea of the general position.

Guys, please, I say. I don't know why this bothers me so much. Perhaps because I feel I have stumbled into the wrong prison movie? My budding filmmaker friend and I have discussed the possibility of these cats having a vignette in one of her films.

Tonight, I took some pictures with my cell phone, as proof. Luckily for you, I have no idea of how to get them online.