A Tale of Two Kitties

I know that many of you will immediately stop reading when you see this is about cats. I know that cat lovers are in the minority. I won't pretend that I don't understand why. I get it. I totally get it.


Thirteen years ago my very new and naive husband, The King, brought home two Himalayan kittens, Murphy and Chloe. Murphy was beautiful and Chloe was a freak of nature.

As a small kitten, Chloe fell in her water bowl and apparently spent a substantial amount of time there. The result of this time spent in the water was a serious inner ear infection that has left her with one bad case of vertigo. Her head is crooked. (She thinks she's right side up...bless her.) When she jumps, her body does an entire flip. Sadly, since she is now a senior citizen cat she makes it all the way over about 78% of the time. The other 22%? Not so pretty.

One time, she licked a pile of Cheer detergent and barfed blue bubbles. We had to rush her to cat emergency.

Another time, she had a reaction to her vaccination and almost kicked it. Some big vet hospital in Colorado did a study on her weirdness.

Murphy only lived to be about six. He had some kind of disease that I have already forgotten because I am a bad cat owner. Chloe, on the other hand, is 13. That is, like, 94 in cat years. She is as healthy as can be. In spite of her freakness.

The bad news about Chloe is that she is the most unfriendly creature ever put on this earth. She hates everyone. Except The King when he is on the throne. I mean literally, the throne. That is their special time. He is the only person she acknowledges.

This summer we decided that Chloe needed to work on her social skills. Well, really we decided that we better get an insurance policy cat so that when Chloe breathes her last, The Princess will have reason to go on...have I mentioned that The Princess is really dramatic?

Enter Oliver. We got a boy cat because that was all they had. However, we kind of tell people that we got a boy so Chloe wouldn't feel threatened. We didn't, but our vet told us that getting a boy was a really smart thing for us to have done. We try to look smart whenever we can.

Oliver was 3 months old when he came to our home. He is now 6 1/2 months old. Chloe weighs 5 pounds. Oliver weighs, um, 8 pounds.

Chloe has hissed at Oliver from day one. She hates him. HATES HIM. Growls. Hisses. Spits. ALL THE DAY LONG.

In the beginning, Oliver was falling for Chloe's bravado. He left her the heck alone. Now?

Bring it on.

Oliver is growing at a rate of about 1/2 pound a day. He is probably going to be at mountain lion size by spring break. His brain is catching his girth, and he realizes that Chloe is a wuss.

He hides behind furniture to scare her. He chases her. He stands outside the litterbox when she's inside so that she can't get out. He is such a boy.

We are not really sure that it was a good move to bring Oliver to The Palace. Chloe is old and cranky and is never going to like him. He knocks things over a lot. He has broken a vase and a picture frame. I am buying 4 times the amount of cat food as before. But, come on.

Look at that face.

Even you dog people have to admit he's pretty cute.