Teddy is a different beast

It's been awhile since I reported on the doings of dear Teddy, who first incorporated himself into our lives in October of 2009. He's quite the little family member, always entertaining, always companionable, always up to something. In so many ways he's just like his predecessor, Winston (RIP), but in one major way, Teddy is most definitely his own guy. Winston loved, adored, sought out physical contact with us. If it wasn't forthcoming to his liking, he would shove his head under the nearest available human hand in the hope of a good scratch on the chin or a back-rub, in response to which he would purrrrrrr happily. If I brought his brush out and ran my fingers over the bristles he would awaken from the deepest sleep anywhere in the house and come running for a good grooming, so happy to endure it as long as we were willing to keep it up. When he was a baby, he would sleep lying on my chest, over my heart, and later, as a big cat, glued to my side all night.

Teddy, however, isn't so interested in physical affection or even much in contact, and in fact instead of doing what most cats do and arching his back when a hand comes down to pat him, sometimes he ducks and moves away, with an irritated little "mew!!" (translation: you know I'm not into that, so STOP IT!). All of this is a shame, because he's a particularly yummy cat to hug, with soft, soft fur, and a buttery little squeezable body.
As he "matures" (relatively speaking) he has come to tolerate brushing for a few minutes at a time, and now, if he's in the mood, lets me pick him up and cradle him like a baby while scratching his neck and behind his ears, closing his eyes contentedly while I work on squeezing a bit of purring out of him.This makes me at least as happy as it makes him.

But what Teddy really responds to and thrives on (besides anything that resembles play) is being told he's a GOOD CAT!! A gooooood boy, a sweet, pretty little pooddy-tat, mommy's favorite kitty, and that he's the best love-kitty ever... He flops over on the floor or the bed and looks me in the eyes, rolls over, squirms, rolls over back again so he can look at my face, stretches, balls himself up, stretches, all the while doing the "milk tread" (kneading) until purrs start to pour out of him.

Teddy was yelled at a lot in his growing up years (well, OK, we still yell now and again,  intent on interrupting whatever little trouble he's making at the moment).  Now sometimes if I yell at him (TEDDY!!! STOP DESTROYING THE MINI-BLINDS!!!!) he'll let out a hurt, pathetic MEEEWWWW in response.

Isn't funny that this feline so adores being told he's a Good Cat, and is so sensitive to the tone of my voice that he cries when assaulted by harsh words? 

Why would anyone ever need to YELL at Teddy?

It's Teddy Time again

Ah, sweetest, funniest Teddy, you've probably just about marked your second birthday (you were about 3 months old when I found you--rather, when you found me--in early October, 2009) but I'm not sure you've left your kittenhood all that far behind. It's for moments like this this morning that I keep a camera out and at the ready. I really wish I knew what goes on in that little cat head of yours!
Teddy is only my second very-own cat (though long, long ago my college room-mate had cats, and I once had a prolonged cat-sitting gig for a neighbor's kitten); with my first very-own cat Winston, I had the foresight to have him declawed (front only) when he was very tiny and the knuckle bones weren't fully fused. By the time Teddy appeared in my life 21 years later, I had been sufficiently influenced, or enlightened, by anti-declawing movements that I couldn't bring myself to declaw him. (While Winston never developed Teddy's muscularity, speed and coordination, I don't know if that was the effect of declawing or just the way Winston was constituted. In fact he otherwise never seemed to miss his claws.) After all, I told myself, people say you can guide a cat to use appropriate scratching devices--sisal posts, whatever. I don't know who those "people" are but they've not met Teddy. Note the nice cardboard scratcher (he disdains the very attractive, expensive sisal post, designated as the "ultimate scratcher" and rated 5 stars--by people, not by cats--we acquired for him) on top of the bench...but he sure finds the furniture to be the most suitable scratching posts ever!

Note how he's totally destroyed the near corner of the bench, and has now moved on to the far corner. The background noise is the air conditioner (which has been going non-stop for weeks now); Teddy's clawing is so satisfyingly robust that you can easily hear it over the noisy A/C. Anyway, it's a good thing that was an inexpensive piece, though I did rather like it better before the stuffing started to pop out of it...

Out of cell range

Life's been pretty busy, not to mention tumultuous, these last six weeks or so, but much was also healing and glorious.  In the midst of all of this—four days after I found Teddy, to be exact—KLK and I flew off to the Great Northwest for a restorative 10-day sojourn.  During this time Teddy continued to enjoy life as a charming boarder at the vet clinic where the staff and doctors doted on him. Teddy has made himself at home with us now (detailed updates to follow, of course) and his fat, joyful presence fills house and hearts amply.

I've been focusing, to the extent Teddy lets me, on going through the 542 (you heard that right) pictures taken in what I thought were hopeless conditions. The Great Northwest autumnal gloom and rains were well underway for most of our trip. It turns out most of the photos are worthy of attention (e.g., horizon-straightening, and, given the clouds and rain, a fair bit of brightening, thank you PhotoShop). Once I make it through I'll post some reports of one of the most interesting and beautiful journeys in recent memory. 

My sanity is coming back, too...

(Photo taken at the Hoh Rain Forest of Olympic National Park, at the Hall of Mosses trail head.)
 

Funny how things happen

Very early Tuesday morning, while taking my constitutional along Lake Michigan, my friend Karen and I heard an odd sound in the dark...I said, "hmm, sounds like some kind of bird" and she said, "no, I'm sure it's a cat!" So I looked around, and about 30 feet to our right, there, at the base of a skinny little tree just another 30 feet from cars speeding northbound along Lake Shore Drive, was a little kitty. I leaned over and called to it, and it came running to my arms. I nearly started crying, "I don't want this now!" But as Karen has three grown cats, and I have none, Teddy is now mine. Isn't he spectacular? He's perfectly healthy, except for some scrapes on his chin, the vet says he's about 3 months old (no grown-up kitty teeth just yet), and quite fat compared to Winston at that age.

What a wonderful balm for the nagging pain of Winston's death.