The Assassin Next Door

To those of you who know me, you know my cat. The assassin. I would say that he has not always been this way ... but that would be a lie.

He is the son of my friend's housekeeper's cat, and last fall, after my previous cat had disappeared (fisher cat, we think), a new kitten seemed like the perfect addition to our family. So I went to get my pick of the two little kittens. A black one and a spotted brown one. My famous last words? “I want the spunky one!”

Boy, was I regretting that a month later. This kitten, which we had named ShowLow, after the town in Arizona, was an absolute terror. A complete nightmare. And of course, he was my responsibility. He attacked my curtains, my chair, my carpet. Never his toys, no, that would be too easy. My dust ruffle has never quite recovered. To say that he was an active kitten would be a huge understatement. We named him El Diablo, soon shortened to LD, because the name ShowLow would have been better suited to a normal, nicer cat. Not whatever this kitten was turning into.   

However, to our surprise and horror, little LD grew, and grew, and GREW. By six months old he was horribly overweight, but thankfully, not as mean. We think, because he was too fat to bother. He couldn’t even fit through the cat-door anymore. Therefore, we revoked his previous title and started calling him Cafaticus. This name, developed by my father as he was watching "Spartacus," stuck.

Desperate to reduce our fat black blob of a cat's weight, we started sending him outside to chase the birds and mice and whatever other unsuspecting animals were around. Immediately, there were changes. He would come inside panting like he had just run a marathon, and flop down and promptly go to sleep. And sleep. And sleep. 

So this solved our problem. We were elated. However, as time went by, Cafaticus got skinnier, and skinnier and skinnier. He became much more efficient at killing.  Within minutes of getting let outside, he would be killing something in no time. He did, and still does, line up as many as five rodents, chipmunks, moles and mice on our patio daily. Our neighbors were ecstatic, because not only was he killing mice in our garage, he was killing mice in theirs. I really should be renting him out.

But, I haven’t gotten to the best part. Cafaticus has turned into the best cat, ever.  He is certainly still vicious, but comes sprinting over whenever I call him, purring and begging to be pet. He acts around people like a dog, super friendly and charming. He loves to be floppily picked up, and sleep with you at night. 

The terrorizing kitten named ShowLow has turned into Cafaticus, the expert mouser and man’s best friend.    

This is how it was for me in the early ShowLow days:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w0ffwDYo00Q

The naming of cats is a difficult matter. It isn't just one of your holiday games. You may think at first I'm mad as a hatter. When I tell you a cat must have three different names ... - T.S. Eliot

Until next week,

Rach