Cats Khaki & Marley

Khaki (The Khakinator, Khakalack, Khakattack, Khakilene, Khak-khak, Khakilenus, Khakilicious, Khakalacka Hi Khaka Hiney Ho) S. got Khaki in the fall of 2001 from a lady at work, and she spent her first few days with him hiding behind curtains and the stove. She already had her name and knew it at the age of around two so we didn't change it. She eventually came around and made approximately 5,000 biscuits on each of our chests over the next few months. We decided that she was the prettiest cat we'd ever seen and the most perfect. She was utterly composed, graceful, and dignified, but not in that snobby way that some cats have. She was simply a little queen, and she knew it. She was definitely the queen around there. She would sit on S.'s lap as he played on the computer and chase the little mouse arrow with her paw. Marley (Marlene, Marlenus, Marlenius, Marlicious, Spy Kitty, Tub Tub, Tubby Too Too, Tubilicious) A few months later, S. and I went to the local animal welfare society because he wanted another cat. He had it in his head that he wanted some Fancy Pants Cat with Long Hair. Not a fan of those kinds of cats am I, but it was his choice, obviously. We walked from cage to cage and examined the cats and kittens, and I said, "Don't you dare take a cat out of a cage that you aren't going to want, because you know the minute you open the door, that's the one you're taking." He selected a four-month-old gray and white kitten. She was stunning. She had some of the most interesting markings we'd ever seen on a cat. The swirls on her sides look like cinnamon buns. Her name was Ginger, and she'd been raised in a foster home with her siblings for the first part of her life, and she was really healthy. We decided there was no room for a cat named Ginger in our world, so he named her Marley (as in Bob). When Khaki met Marley, it was hate at first sight. Khaki hissed and spit and puffed, but Marley was oblivious. She had no fear whatsoever of the bigger cat. Marley immediately made herself at home crawling all over us and sleeping in our hair. Marley is as spastic as Khaki is composed. She liked to carry S.'s tie around her neck and in her mouth. She liked to wear my bra on her head. Every day when S. got home from work, she leapt onto the counter to be closer to him and sometimes she didn't leap high enough to get a good grip and slipped right off onto the floor and then walked off trying to act like nothing happened. When he would pee, she jumped into the adjacent sink and stared at him. When he closed the door, she lay right outside. She sprawls her body out in whatever position she happens to land in when she heaves herself down on top of me. She will hang from the bottom of kitchen chairs by all four paws like it's a jungle gym. She will straddle the toilet bowl and fall in and come out sputtering but nonplussed. When Marley simultaneously got spayed and a respiratory infection, she lay around in a stupor coughing like her little lungs were going to fall right out. It was possibly the most pathetic sight I have ever encountered, and every hack broke my heart. And Khaki did not know what in the fuck was going on. She was used to being the one who got chased and harassed by the little one, and suddenly, her plaything wasn't interested in playing with her anymore. And she was distraught. She would walk up to Marley and then sprint away and then look behind her and realize she wasn't being chased, and she would look so defeated. When Marley got back to her normal self (after managing to spew pink antibiotics from floor to ceiling as we tried to drop them down her throat), Khaki resumed her position as the noble goddess and pretended to be aloof again. I think I used to love the cats the most when they would lie on S.'s chest at the same time. (Khaki would wisely jump off in disgust whenever he lit a cigarette.) When one of the cats starts licking the other's fur, I seriously want to sob out loud. I love them like they have always been my own. I love them differently from the way I love my dogs, but I think I love them just as much. I never knew cats could have such distinct personalities and make me laugh every single day. I thought dogs were the only pets who could fill me with actual mirth. But I was wrong. Cats see everything in the world as a toy. You can actually see what they're thinking when they stare you down like you're an idiot. I don't know. I just love them. I realize how retarded I sound, waxing on endless about the Cuteness That Is Cats. Trust me. I know this. I still keep the cats sequestered from the dogs because it's just too cacophonous and terrifying when they're all loose at the same time. So I take turns playing and hanging out with either set of animal and so far it's worked out well. Marley sleeps on top of my feet or curled up on my legs every night, and Khaki would sit by S.'s head all night long, watching him snore, but now she sleeps by me. I give Marley the little plastic ring around cap of the milk bottle, and somehow it always ends up in the toilet. Khaki sits in the front window and watches over us all. Khaki now lies on my chest every night and stretches out her paws when I hold her up. She was afraid of being brushed at first but now she and Marley shove each other out of the way and fight for the brush's attention. They both hork up hairballs on the carpet and I don't even care. They play together in the bathtub when there's no water in it. The cats that were once his and then ours are now mine. There was a time when I thought I might lose them, and it nearly drove me out of my mind with despair. Because clearly I didn't already have enough to be upset about, I lived in a daily state of terror that the call would come that he wanted to take them. But it never did. And because I believe there's a statute of limitations on claiming animals you leave behind, I'm now confident that they're mine for good, and I'm so glad. I take good care of them, and they're happy and healthy and well, and I don't know what I would do without them. © Copyright 2003 elb

Because they were his cats, their story is inextricably tied to ours. I wish I could talk about the cats without mentioning S., but then the story wouldn't be true. last updated 7.29.03