The cat we feed

You might remember Snurp, our cat who we called dumber than a donut on this very blog. Snurp is still with us. And he still hasn’t gotten any smarter.

Of late, Snurp has become wary of strangers. When other people visit the house, he either hides outside or howls at the top of the stairs.

“What is that?” a neighbor asked one afternoon standing in the living room.

“It’s our cat,” Sally replied, making quotes with her fingers when she said cat.

To be fair, Snurp has improved some. For instance, he rarely does his business in the dining room. He’s also tolerant of Slade, who spots Snurp, booms, “Hi, itty cah,” and pats (read: pounds) or hugs (read: tackles) Snurp almost every day.

Gentle, we remind Slade.

“Geeee,” Slade babbles, sometimes smiling like he gets it. Then he tackles the cat again.

And Snurp? The cat takes it. In fact, Snurp never acts irked by the indelicate toddler yelling and yanking on him, which is impressive, actually, even if it does reaffirm our belief that the cat is brain damaged.

Snurp used to bite people, but he’s grown out of that.

Okay, not really. Not completely.

He still attacks Sally, and only Sally, for reasons we can’t figure out. She’ll be lounging on the couch or walking down the driveway or sitting on the toilet, and Snurp will pounce and chomp. Snurp’s favorite time to attack is when Sally is dead asleep. I’ll hear Sally swear in our dark room, and Snurp will bound off the bed, and I’ll look at the clock, and it will show 2:15 or 3:37 or 5:15.

“Snurp?” I’ll ask, even though I know.

“The jerk bit my toe.”

A couple of weeks ago, lying in bed after downing four pumpkin martinis at Apache Shores movie night, Sally retaliated.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” she snapped after she bit the cat’s tail.

“Okay, I think someone had one pumpkin martini too many,” I said, acting like a grown up or maybe an asshole. And then I had to ask: “What exactly does Snurp taste like anyway?”

“Like terrible cat,” she said.

You’d think we’d learn by now. You’d think we’d leave Snurp outside at night to tangle with the coyotes or that we’d at least shut him out of the bedroom. But we haven’t. And we won’t. The truth is Snurp is part of our pride, and we want him to be around, even if he is half feral and chuckleheaded and insane.


2 Responses to “The cat we feed”

  1. 1 Teri December 7, 2010 at 6:22 am

    I love Snurp. He sounds like a normal cat to me — or maybe mine are abnormal. So hard to tell.

  2. 2 lesleyfamily December 9, 2010 at 11:12 am

    I think he is a normal cat, which, of course, means he’s abnormal. We love him, too. He’s a good cat, or at least an interesting one.

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