o is for … oreo

Day 30:365 Gratitude Challenge and April 18th A to Z Challenge

Today I am grateful for Oreo; Oreo the kitty cat and not Oreo the cookie (although I do LOVE those cookies). Since I am feeling rather tired after a poor night’s sleep, I have invited Oreo to be my guest blogger today. You are in for a real treat because Oreo is a skallywag. So, without further ado, here he is!

Hi! My name is Oreo. My five siblings and I were born to our single mother in a pile of lumber in the next door neighbour’s yard almost one year ago. I don’t know who my father is because he took off the minute he had his fun. Typical old tom cat from what I hear. We were all pretty sick with kitty colds so our smart mom knew that she had to do something to help us get better. Without giving it a second thought, she moved us underneath a large deck which later would become my new home. We were about six weeks old at the time. Mom said that we were just like the Jefferson’s in that we were “movin’ on up to that dee-luxe apartment in the sky”! It was really great under the deck because suddenly a smorgasbord of food appeared. Bowls of delicious milk and plates of kitty kibble were placed before us and, boy, did we start to grow.

It was all going great until the humans who lived in the home attached to the deck decided to inspect us. Ringo (my fraternal twin who has a white ring around his black tail, hence the name, Ringo) was the first to be caught by a crazed woman who thought that she was a Florence Nightingale or some famous nurse like that. Ringo did have a bad right eye though; it was really swollen and full of infection. Nurse Nightingale kept putting some sort of tea bag compress on his eye and before I could say, Meow Mix, Ringo’s eye was healed! And then something magical happened. Ringo was moved into the human’s house never to return under the deck again. Well played, Ringo, well played. Personally, I think he gouged his eye beforehand just so he could get adopted first.

One by one, Nurse Nightingale nursed us back to health. One by one, we were moved into the house as each of us got better. Then one day I overheard the humans talking about finding us homes because we were all better. I was scared because I was starting to like it here but I could understand  why we needed other homes as the human’s house had become a zoo with all of us running around. The humans also had a cat named Miss Kitty who was about eight months old when we moved in. She was really nice to us and wasn’t a bitch like I thought she would be with a name like Miss Kitty. Turns out that Nurse Nightingale didn’t think that Miss Kitty should be called just ‘Kitty’ so she added a ‘Miss’ in front of it to make her sound a bit more sophisticated. Thankfully, it didn’t go to her head like it does with some righteous arrogant cats I’ve heard about.

I whispered to my siblings that the humans were going to find homes for us. Ringo was really smug about it because he knew that he had already been adopted by Miss Kitty and the humans. The rest of my siblings weren’t worried about it because they were all extroverts and were looking forward to starting new adventures. Since I am an introvert, I wanted to stay right where I was. I am shy around people other than Nurse Nightingale; I like her the best.

The night before we were to go to the adoption shelter, I overheard the man human ask Nurse Nightingale, “How many cats are too many to have?” By the old Lord Thunderin’ Jaysus, I stopped mid-poop in the litter box when I heard this. I could hear Nurse Nightingale ask him, “Are you crazy? That’s a lot of poop to scoop out of the litter boxes every day. Do you realize that?” Then I overheard the nurse’s mother-in-law say, “But you can’t separate the twins! The twins have to stay together.” Oh my giddy aunt! I could tell that the emotional blackmail was getting to Nurse Nightingale. Next thing I heard was “Fine. We’ll keep Oreo but no more. The others have to go to the shelter”. Well, sirreeee, I started paw pumping in the litter box and then I finished my dump (gotta keep ‘er clean, you know). I now had my purr-ever home!

Life has been really good since I was adopted by the humans whom I now call Mom and Dad. My Mom tells me that I am really cute and am oozing with personality. Sometimes she also tells me that I am a complete and total whack job but I don’t mind. It is a badge I wear with honour. Sometimes when I am being a complete and total whack job, my Dad calls me a little bastard but that’s okay because sometimes I deserve it. I don’t mean to be a little bastard; sometimes, it just happens.

I would prefer if he would call me the free spirit that I am. Naturally, I am curious but I seem to be more curious than Miss Kitty and my brother, Ringo, put together. Trouble seems to follow me everywhere. Sometimes I cause it and other times I just find myself in the middle of it.

Like that time I wanted to climb on top of Mom’s display case of Willow Tree Angels. Sure it was the middle of the night and sure it woke Mom up. It was kind of funny because when she shone the flashlight towards me, I looked like an alien with shiny green eyes. Mom tried to get me down but, since she’s been banned from getting up on anything (I’ll let her tell you about why another time), she had to wake Dad to help her. That’s when he called me a little bastard for the very first time. Mom was laughing which didn’t help because Dad was buck naked as she calls it, standing on top of the dresser trying to get me down from the shelf.

Another time I thought I could fly. We were at our log cabin and I decided to explore all over. Before I knew it, I found myself upstairs in the loft. Because I was too tired to take the stairs back down, I decided I would jump from the loft down onto the sofa bed. Mom let out a shriek and ran over as I hit the sofa bed. Thankfully, there were lots of pillows on the bed so I only rolled a couple of times before coming to a stop. I was a little dazed and confused but I shook it off and went on my way. I could hear Mom muttering under her breath something about ‘praising the Lord Baby Jesus from up the street’ that I was okay. She also muttered something like, “What the f***? Did I think I was an effing flying squirrel or something like that?”

Mom has told me on more than one occasion that she is going to have to make me some water wings or get me a life jacket because I keep falling in the tub when she’s trying to have a bath. Again, I don’t mean to but I want to know what she’s doing in there and I like touching the water with my paw. I can’t help it if I reach too far and lose my balance. One time, that trouble making brother of mine pushed me into the tub on purpose. But Dad didn’t call him a little bastard. Nooooo, he reserves that name just for me.

Dad is really fond of me though. I don’t want you thinking that he’s mad at me all the time. It’s only when I accidentally do bastardly stuff that he gets upset, like that time I knocked Mom’s reading lamp over and broke the shade. Dad and I do love to watch baseball together. We cheer for the Toronto Blue Jays. I don’t understand why it is on the television only some of the time. When it’s not on, I sit under the television meowing and meowing for it to come back on. Stupid television. That’s when Mom really calls me the complete and total whack job. Little does she know.

I apologize for this post being so long but, seeing that it’s my first time introducing myself, I wanted to make sure that you got to know the real me and not the bastard or whack job that Dad and Mom let on that I am. Mom said that if I do a good job I might be able write another post sometime. Wouldn’t that be fun?

Happy Meow-day everyone (that’s cat for Monday)!

PS.: Mom said to tell  you that my biological Mom and my siblings were all placed in good and loving purr-ever homes. The end.