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So I am a cat person.

This could be an important thing to know.

This is my cat. Her name is Cat. As you can tell, Iím not that great with names. When I was really little, I had two pet mice, a boy and a girl. Their names were Boy Mouse and Girl Mouse. Cat is actually short for Catherine the Great, Tzarina of all Russia, who ceased power in a bloodless coup, all smotherings. Cat is the only pure-bred(or close to pure-bred anyway) cat I have. She is a Maine Coon, and just happens to be brimming over with Maine-Coonieness.

Moving on down, this little orange beast is Schrodinger. Yes, I have a cat named Schrodinger. If you donít get the reference, look it up on Wikipedia. Schrodinger has a very special place in our hearts because, well, we rescued him. One of my motherís coworkers found him near her house, surrounded by the bodies of his litter mates. The mother had either abandoned them or been scared off (or eaten), and the only survivor was this tiny, malnourished little orange fleebag. We brought him home, spent 3 hours picking flees off of him, and raised him to be the pointy orange kitten we know and love today.

I havenít had the best luck with cats though. Cat and Schrodinger are my fourth and fifth cats respectively. My first cat, whom I wish I had a picture of to post, was the most beautiful long haired white cat youíve ever seen. Which probably explains why she was cat-napped.

My second cat was a great animal that loved to sit in my lap and play (Cat + Laser Pointer = Good), but she didnít get along with my sisterís cats. It got to be such a problem that we finally had to send her to a new home.

After that, I picked up this grey cat named Misty. Misty is gone now, God rest her fury grey soul, but I loved her very dearly. In all her pointynessÖ

These are pictures of Misty from the cat shelter, the same place I adopted Cat (who knew you could find a perfectly good Maine Coon kitten in a shelter?) Misty was eight years old when I got her, so I wasnít expecting the long hall. But she was very sweet. Occasionally, Cat will give me a good hard bite to help me remember Misty.

I didnít name Misty, by the way. She came with that name, and since she actually responded to it, I decided to leave well enough alone. I know its an incredibly stereotypical grey-cat name and sounds like she was probably named by a third grader, but you canít just change a catís name after eight years! They donít appreciate it.

Rest in peace, Misty, I hope the year you had with me was the best in your life.

©2005 Rick Austinson