As far as I am able to determine, my cat Hercules was born at or near the town dump.
An ignominious beginning, yet somewhat prophetic. You see, Hercules is the kind of cat that, like most felines, will eat anything off of the floor. String, aluminum foil, bits of flint, moths. Whatever’s handy.
Hercules (also known as Mookie Kitty, Scooter Butt or Monkey Face) was a stray. Our landlord Linda rescues strays, brings them to a vet for snipping or spaying and then either finds a good home for them if she can or releases them where they were found. It was by my moving into her house that Hercules descended from the heavens and right into the nearest food bowl.
I have always loved cats but for more than ten years have not been able to have one. I lived in a small, tiny, weenie studio apartment in San Francisco and in order to get any cat lovin’ would visit a friend to see the wonderful Henry. He tolerated me well, considering I used to chase him mercilessly lookin’ for that kitty love. What a handsome one he was, too, rather like a Burmese . Perhaps Tonkinese. I’m not sure. But when I needed a kitty snuggle, Henry would present himself from time to time and allow me to sit or play with him.
When I moved back to the east coast, suddenly — no kitty. None. Not a single kitty to love, bother, chase or be attacked by. That is, until I moved into the Baltimore area with my sister, who happens to have the other most wonderful cat in the world. Seriously. I even wrote a fairy tale about her. Her name is Sophie.
Sophie, my sister and me lived together for roughly a year. In that time, I fell deeply in love with her. Alas, she was not mine, so when I moved again, she stayed with her mom. And that’s all right. We Skype from time to time. She parades in front of the webcam and it looks like a periscope going back and forth, that dandy tail of hers. She is a princess, that’s for sure.
And then, Hercules came into my life. He’s a prince, no doubt of it. He keeps me on my toes, pretty much, and he and I are coming to a very clear understanding of who runs the joint — and it isn’t me.
I’ve been blogging about other things and it came to me that I could give him a blog of his own. Where it’s going is anyone’s guess. But this just might give me impetus to photograph him more, or talk about his crazy antics or what he’s been doing that he’s not supposed to.
Join me from time to time and let’s peek under that kitty flab and find out what makes Hercules tick. No. Forget the tick. Just going to update you on what makes my kitty run. At four in the morning. After ghosts n’ stuff or whatever it is that makes them totally mental.