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| Name: |
Al
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Age: |
Ten years old
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| Gender: |
Male
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Kind: |
Tabby
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| Home: |
Los Angeles, California, USA
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This
varmint is my pal Al. He's both the best and worst cat ever. I
say the worst cat ever because of all the naughty things he does - he begs
for food all day, he jumps on my desk, he shreds paper, he bites my feet for
no reason, he hogs the covers at night, he snores, and he reaches into the
shower to scratch me in the morning. Once, before I left on vacation, he
pooped in my suitcase. "Cats cannot be made to do anything useful," said P.
J. O'Rourke. "Cats are mean for the fun of it." Yep, that's Al.
Yet he's the best cat ever because he hugs. Some cats won't even tolerate a
hug, but Al insists on them. He jumps into my lap and then stands up and
drapes himself over my shoulder. I hoist him up and pet him and he purrs so
loud I practically need earplugs. Al has nice gurgling purr that is
especially pleasant to hear. He enjoys hugs so much, in fact, that he
refuses to end one. After a few minutes I have to lie down on my bed and
dump him off. He requires at least a half-dozen hugs a day. I also kiss him
on the top of his big, furry head but he doesn't seem to enjoy that as much.
I think it embarrasses him. Go figure.
Al, who weighs twenty pounds, is a pre-owned cat. I got him seven years ago when
his first owner adopted a dog and Al wouldn't stop picking on the poor
thing. It wasn't the first dog Al had beaten up, either. His first owner
said he would attack every mutt he came across, regardless of size. He once
tried to fight a golden retriever but was restrained just in time.
Al didn't like his first owner's boyfriends, either, and the feeling was
usually mutual. She told me that one guy got so furious with Al that he
picked up a brick and chased Al into the yard to clobber him. Al escaped
through a hole in the hedge and vanished. His owner searched for him for
days, posting signs and fearing she had lost him forever. Then, by
happenstance, she found him in a tool shed - filthy, hungry, and covered
with fleas. She broke up with her boyfriend and took Al home.
These days Al lives an easier life. I keep him indoors for the good of the
whole neighborhood, and he wiles away the hours napping, grooming and
whining for kernels like the lazy lout he is. Food is everything to Al; it's
the focus of his whole existence. Every day he has a big breakfast, then a
morning nap, then a mid-morning nap, then a late-morning nap, then lunch,
then a series of grueling afternoon naps, then he gets up and starts griping
for dinner around four. After his repast he indulges in a long evening nap,
goes out and patrols the hallway of the apartment building where we live, or
has another window war with the Enemy Cat, who gazes down at him from a
balcony next door. Then at midnight he demands another snack. Despite all
these meals, Al acts like he's starving all the time, which is funny
considering what a rotund rodent he is. If it were up to him, breakfast,
lunch and dinner would be served about two minutes apart. He eats so fast he
doesn't even chew. When friends come over he mooches snacks off them.
Perhaps he used to attack dogs because he wanted to eat them.
Al's such a homebody now that you'd never know he once went outdoors. He
likes being home so much that I can't even board him when I go away. I tried
to do that once a couple of years ago at the vet, but Al got so upset while
he was there that he didn't even recognize me when I came to pick him up a
few days later. He was berserk. To get him into his carrier, a nurse had to
wrap a towel around him while he screamed and screamed. As soon as we got
home, however, he was fine. And, of course, he wanted a snack. Now, every
time I pull into my driveway I see Al's head and shoulders silhouetted in
the window as he peers out at me. Perhaps he's making sure it's really me,
or perhaps he's seeing if I'm bringing cat food. He greets me at the door
and escorts me to his empty bowl.
Al has mild asthma, which is the reason he snores. Plus, he was diagnosed
with diabetes a couple of years ago. As a result, he lost the strength in
his hind legs for a short time, waddling around like Charlie Chaplin, but
now he takes medicine twice daily to stabilize his blood sugar and he's
doing fine, jumping around and frolicking like a big hairy oaf. He's
basically the Orson Welles of cats - portly, self-absorbed, and charismatic.
Of course, Al was never married to Rita Hayworth and never hawked cheap wine
on TV.
Well, I have to go now. Al wants another hug and a fresh snack. For my
part, I would just like some kind of drug or device that would let a cat
live forever. If anyone has a way to do that, please let me know!
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