Like all other cat lovers, my husband and I are fully entertained by our own cat’s crazy antics and adorable looks. We often find ourselves playing a game of Name That Cat, where we come up with new nicknames based on what the little guy is up to which, sadly, is not much more than sleeping or being nosy in some way.
One of my all time favorite nicknames is Doctor Poo. A nickname he first got when he joined us on the sofa for a Doctor Who episode and unknowingly brought along a little “tootsie roll” stuck to his butt-fur.
Yeah, totally gross, and just part of pet parenting woes, but nonetheless something to laugh at later and certainly deserving of the Doctor Poo name.
Add to the “incident” that the cat has impeccable timing for using the litter box when I am crafting in the same room as the box. Yep, nothing like cat poo to inspire one’s creativity!
So, Doctor Poo stuck (figuratively, not literally) for a while.
And Doctor Poo is constantly stuck on me (literally, not figuratively). He likes to keep one paw on me at all times, no matter how uncomfortable he looks (or how uncomfortable he makes me feel).
At night, he sleeps on his own pillow above my head, but more often than not he manages to stretch himself across both of our pillows, his and mine. I regularly wake up to cat tail in my face, an outstretched paw tangled up in my hair, or his claws gently kneading my face.
Yes, he’s mommy’s little Purrmeister.
But Docotor Poo wasn’t always this lovey. I wasn’t his mommy, and he was more like the Clawmeister back in the day.
It all started when my sister and I were at the mall for some last minute holiday shopping. She stopped into the pet shop, and you guessed it, fell in love with this one fluffy little kitten that she just HAD TO HAVE.
Of course she coaxed me over to meet him and I was totally wooed by his irresistible “take me home” eyes, too. So it didn’t take much for her to swindle me into getting him as her Christmas present that year.
Once home, we quickly realized he was not the same docile little love bug from the pet shop, but rather a rambunctious little maniac that terrorized everything and everyone who came in contact with him!
He was energetic, feisty, and downright terrifying! But, he was adorable, too.
Whenever my mom cat-sat for Doctor Poo, she inevitably ended up hiding out in the bathroom until my sister came home. Doctor Poo loved to sneak up behind her, then nibble (bite) and paw (claw) at her hair (and head). He’d also chase her around the apartment, swatting and hissing at her until he forced her to seek refuge elsewhere away from him.
It wasn’t just mom either.
Sometimes I’d take him to my place while my sister was away for longer periods of time. At night, I was torn between locking him in or out of the room. Outside the room meant he had access to destroy all but the bedroom contents. Inside the room meant I was just a sitting duck in the darkness.
So, I settled on giving him free reign of the house, but slept with my legs secured in a pillow case to prevent him from sneaking under the covers and attacking them.
That didn’t stop him though. I’d doze off and he’d creep up to the top of my wooden canopy bed and pounce on me from above. I’d jolt awake only to catch blurred glimpses of his gigantic cat eyes darting around the room like something out of a bad Scooby Doo episode.
Things further escalated when my sister moved into her first house, too. Doctor Poo would perch at the top of the stairs and wait for innocent passerbys to attempt passage. He was like a little troll guarding his bridge, foiling all attempts to trespass.
Most of his cat-sitters had the same experiences as we did. He started out harmless enough, lured them in for a small dose of affection, and then BAM! Crazy cat unleashed; claws out, asserting his feline authority to rule the roost.
My dad swore Doctor Poo had velcro paws because he would zoom in from nowhere and suddenly be clinging to dad’s pant legs in one fell swoop!
Neighbors and friends were terrified of him, too, and pretty much everyone learned to just drop the food and run.
Then one day, things changed. My sister moved across the country and Doctor Poo couldn’t travel the distance. As a kitten, he had survived losing part of his intestines (when he ingested a spool of ribbon during a bout of separation anxiety), but he was deemed unfit to fly or move so far away.
So, being the good aunt (and pushover) that I am (and the friend or relative least afraid of him) I adopted him.
And like magic, his personality changed! Suddenly, I had this exceptionally loyal and cuddly little shadow, the Purrmeister he is today.
My sister insists he intended to go home with me all along, and just rebelled when he didn’t.
Whatever the case, there was very little scratching, biting or bullying of our guests, and eventually, he really came around to tolerate the rest of the human race, especially with my husband ranking as a not-so-distant second to me (nine years later).
And at eighteen years old, it’s hard to imagine how Doctor Poo ever had a darker side in his youth!
Does your cat have a darker side? Tell me about some of you cat’s wildest antics or goofy nicknames over the years!
Nickle in a Pickle 