Stinky
Six or seven weeks ago, Robyn and I took on another set of foster kittens. Four, to be exact, who lived for the first several weeks of their lives behind a washing machine in some lady’s house. When the lady brought them to the shelter Robyn volunteers for, she told the shelter owner that she played with the kittens all the time and that they were really tame.
This would be a lie.
The kittens, whom we named Gilligan, Tina Louise, Spanky, and Maryann, were very nearly feral. Especially Maryann, the runt. It took nearly three weeks before I could even touch her without getting hissed at, but she finally let me touch her a little.
Robyn calls me “the cat whisperer” because I can usually win any cat over with my sweet-talkin’ ways.
Gradually, three of the kittens went to the pet store to be adopted, but not Maryann, because she wasn’t ready. Once the others were gone, though, she really started to come out of her shell. And she took quite the shine to young Tom Cullen, who we started calling her boyfriend.
Come to think of it, all the kittens liked Tommy, perhaps because he’s always so laid back and easygoing. M-O-O-N, that spells easygoing.
When she was the only kitten left, we let her out of the cat room to live in genpop with the other kitties. She seemed to like it quite a bit, and made herself at home.
A little over two weeks ago, Robyn went to Maine to visit with her family. We discussed taking Maryann — whom I had started calling “Stinky”, “Stinker”, and “Little Miss Stinkybutt” (no, she didn’t) by then — to the pet store, but ultimately decided she wasn’t ready yet. So, Robyn went to Maine and left the Faire Stinkum with me and the other cats.
Boy, did she grow on me. Always running around with her ass on fire; playing with the other cats; loving on Tom Cullen and Mister Boogers, both of whom liked to hold her down and lick on her head. She had this cute little flirty way about her, where she’d run from you, but just until she reached a rug. Then she’d flop down and roll over to be rubbed.
Just not on the belly. She didn’t like that.
Miss Stinky made herself right at home until Robyn got back from Maine last week. She started laying behind me in the chair when I was at my computer, and laying curled up in my lap when I was watching TV at night. From watching her, you’d never guess she started out so wild, except for the occasional bout of skittishness.
But then Robyn got home, and it was time for Stinkypoo to go to the store. Robyn took her on Friday morning, and put her in one of the cages there.
This was her response:
I missed my little Stinky.
Yesterday, while I was taking a rest break from shed building, Robyn told me that Maryann’s cage looked like she’d spent Sunday night trying to dig her way through the metal.
It nearly broke my heart.
I started making noises about how it might be okay to have a seventh cat since we lived in the country now (no, Mama and Newt are NOT ours, and it therefore would not make nine). I talked about it, and talked some more, then for good measure I talked about it more.
I had just about decided to stop pushing it — after all, Maryann is a blue-eyed Siamese-mix and would probably get adopted quickly, according to Robyn — when I read this story.
It’s about a man who rescued a little Siamese kitten from traffic, got applauded by other motorists, and decided to keep the kitten.
That little rescued Siamese kitten would be their seventh cat.
It was sort of like Kismet, you know?
When I got to the store this afternoon, she was hiding in her litter box. I opened the door to her cage. I could see her peeking at me through the litter box vent.
“Hey, little Stinky,” I said in my effeminate cat voice.
She let out a yowl, bolted out of the litter box, and climbed into my arms.
Like I said. Kismet.
Ahem.
So, um, say hello to my little friend:
Thirsty after the drive.
Reunited with her boyfriend
Looking retarded after sniffing a little too vigorously at Tom’s ear.
Now, all we need to do is come up with a suitable name for her.
I finished the base of the shed yesterday. Here’s what it looks like now:
I grew up hearing a lot of country music, courtesy of my dad. Here’s one for you that was an oldie when I was born.
But, damn, is it pretty.
Fred you are one sweetheart of a guy!!!! I am so glad you kept her!
What’s wrong with “Stinky”? My first cat was named that, and since my current cat seems to have become “Booger,” it’s more kismet.
Name her “Kismet”.
You could name her Stinky Puddn’, after the little kitten in the Mutts comic strip.
Kismet aka Kissy perhaps? I think it may be safer not to foster any more kitties, you guys are just too soft. lol
Made me cry with both the story and the song.
In honor of George Costanza, Seven would be a fun name. And it’s a lucky number. (Nine is also a good number, but it doesn’t work as well as a name. I’m not saying anything; I’m just saying is all.) Hmmm… 79 is the number for Gold in the periodic table. Of course, Maryann and Stinky work just fine, too.
I think it important to note that this was ALL Fred’s decision; I was trying to get him to at least wait ’til Monday in case someone wanted to adopt her.
Also, we’re totally not going to stop fostering. 7 is an uneven number, and I’m not sure it’s safe to have an uneven number of cats in the house.
I knew that cat weren’t going no where. ~snicker~
Pickle is “Pickle stinky man” most of the time. I can’t explain why.
AHAHA @ you. That’s all I’ll say about that.
Also, that is not a shed. I’m pretty sure that qualifies as a “building”.
I had a feeling she wouldn’t be leaving your abode permanently.
So glad you brought her back home. Seven (or nine) kitties is not too much at all.
I agree, ‘Kismet’ seems an appropriate name. Also, I like the name “Stella”.
Awww, you ol’ softy!
I think she should remain “MaryAnn”. It suits her!
I vote for Kismet, too, but only b/c that’s the name of one of my cats already. We spell it Kizmet and call her Kizzy (along with 42 other nicknames, you know how it goes). Congrats on the new addition. Was she pissed at you for making her spend that time in the cage?
Thanks for the song, Fred, it’s very beautiful!
I see you got your posts all perfectly straight
Will it take Maryanne long to learn her new name?
Hah! I didn’t think she was going anywhere either! All I want to add to that is “yay”! And I think Kismet is a perfect name…
Awwwww!!
Congratulations on the new family member! That kitten really fell into it, finding the best cat-home in the world! I’m so happy for her (and you and Robyn as well!)… she’s adorable!
Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! I had a feelin’ you were a big soft marshmallow for the purty girlz. “Stella” can be her “official” S name for the vet records and Kismet can be her “lurve” name. Kizzy is the Shizzy! WTG, y’all. You and your 9 cat lovin’ selves.
**bigolefunnygrin**
Howdy… delurking here…
What about naming her “Daddy’s little Miss blue eyed stinky pooper pudding spoiled rotten puddycat” ? Just teasing.. Good to know what a loving home she has! Purty “shed” too..Gosh, seeing all the pics makes me want to live in Alabama again!
Congrats on your newest family member.
And since you’re a bit of a code monkey, I thought you might appreciate this one if you haven’t seen it already: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v4Wy7gRGgeA
My (code monkey) husband and I think it is hilarious.
She’s beautiful, thank you for keeping her. I think The Faire Stimkums is a fine name. I have one named Ella but I call her Smella, she answers to that more often than the real name. Really and truly relieved that you went and got her…
Oops, typo (must read before posting), The Faire Stinkums is what I meant
Fred–
I was clapping my hands and squealing by the end of this entry. Man, did you warm my heart (and my heart needed some warmin’!). You’re a good good man, Fred.
Aw, Fred…weren’t you the one who told Robyn that you couldn’t keep fosters?
Y’ole softie, you.
My faves for her name are MaryAnn, Kismet, Seven and Stripes (because she has the stripes on the top of her head.)
But y’all know she’s going to be called Stinky anyway.
Awww Fred. Does it really matter what you name her? You know you’re going to call her all different variations of Stinky, Miss Stinky, Faire Stimkums, etc. After all, it’s not what you call cats, it’s all in the tone of voice you use. (This from the keeper of Emma, or Emmaline, or Miss Emmakins, or “the best kitty in the whole world, or Shitheel!)
Nice looking shed you’ve got going up!
congrats on your newest putter tat!
I LOVE IT, i LOVE IT, CAN’T GET ENOUGH OF IT! Congrats to you Fred for not being able to resist. Gotta love you for it!
Oh my God. It’s never going to stop is it?
(I don’t blame you. I wouldn’t be able to resist either.)
Are you going to keep fostering?
Aww,I’m so happy for ya!
A new addition to the family, yay!!!
(now you remember this when Robyn wants a new kitty,lol!)
OK- if you guys can have 7 (9) I can have 2! I am going to get me another cat! My Jo-Jo kitty is all alone all day. Yup- thank you Fred!
I am so glad that you kept her, she was growing on me too. I like Maryann,but I’m sure that you will call her stinky. Looks like a really nice shed you got going up.
I’m a fan of the name Stella, too. My next-door neighbor has a dog named Stella, and it amuses me no end to see him wandering around his yard in his undershirt bellowing “Stella!” My new name for him now is Mr. Kowalski, of course.
May I add my congrats and my snickers for keeping the kitty. I knew it!!! And, my vote is for Faire Stinkums - since I agree that she will forever by Stinky anyway!
And, you can say 7 all you want - but really it’s 9 cats for the Alabama crazy cat people!!
You old softie!
Sad to say, that song was not yet an oldie when I was young! Thanks for the memory. Your story about Mary Ann made me cry. I’m so happy she’s back with Tommy. You’re the sweetest guy in the world!
Aww! That’s such a sweet story. I have a little cat who was extremely skittish when we got her (and still is, with anyone except us). I’m a bit of a cat whisperer too, and I charmed her and made her feel at home, and now she loves me like no one else. She’s a long haired black cat named Hallie, but we call her Stinky sometimes too. She doesn’t seem to mind.
I talk lots of trash about my ex-h, and he truly deserves it every bit, but he once screeched the car over to the side of the freeway, jumped out, and ran into traffic (in front of an oncoming semi I might add) to scoop up and rescue a kitten that we’d thought was dead in the road - it had lifted its head up just as we drove over it (straddling it so as not to get goo on the wheels). He’s still an asshat, but for that day he was, and for that act always he will remain, a hero. (We called her Pizza, because she almost had been road pizza.)
If you’ve been calling her MaryAnne, I say stick with that, or the Faire Stinkums, depending how used she’s gotten to it. Or you could still go with my original way-back suggestion and call her Gorby, short for Gorbachev (sp) for her forehead marking. In any event congrats on the new family member.
I LOVE that song; it’s one of my favorites and I hadn’t heard it in so long. Thanks for posting that. I’ve always said that it’s weird for being such an (almost) atheist, but if I ever got stranded on a desert island, it’s that old timey country gospel church-in-the-valley type of music that I’d want to take with me.
Also: Second picture of MaryAnne in the carrier, there appear to be some ghostly and frankly disturbing critters sitting on her tummy. No wonder she was unhappy.
Though it’s not set in stone yet, we’re leaning heavily towards naming her “Stinkerbelle”.
Congrats on the new little darlin’. She sure does look happy to be with Tommy again.
And for the record I like Kizmet but love Stinkerbelle as names.
Another happy ending! Ya’ll are both tops in my book.
Ya big softie!
Welcome, cat number 9
Yeah - my foster never made it out of my house. But I only have 4 to your 9! If you feed’um and vet’um, you own’um.
You is da crazy!
Oh, good! I was hoping you’d keep Maryann; she is sooo pretty. And I vote for keeping her name; it really suits her.
this made me cry. How did I get so attached to a cat I’ve never even met?? I am glad you love her like she needs to be loved. Even if it’s not me doing the loving.