My Nige

Both Oliver and Nigel came to me by way of the backyard. Their mother was a sweet, little red tabby who was extremely shy. I called her Emily. When she first began to live under my oleandar bush, she would not even make eye contact with me when I would go outside to give her some friskies. In the beginning, she did not stay in my yard all of the time. She would only stay long enough to deposit one of her young children. When it came time for her to give up a child and go on about her feral way in the great big world, she had decided that I would make a great adoptive mom for her kids. The first one she ever left with me was Oliver. That is another story for another day. Today, I am talking about "the Nige" or Nigel. The reason I am talking about him first is because he is truly unique. Sometimes I do not even think he is a full blood cat. I think he is a mix between a cat and some other wild creature maybe like a sabre-toothed tiger. He looks like a little baby hippopotamus running around here. He is very big and muscular in the hind quarters and only has a stump of a tail. Truthfully, I think he may be part Manx. At any rate, he is very pretty but oh no, he is not sweet. The young lad is like a bull in a china closet. The only time he is still is when he is asleep. He can tear up more in one day than I can earn $ to buy in a week. Destructive is not a strong enough term for the damage he can inflict on my house and material possessions. He does not mean to be wild or evil or even a pain in the bootey. He just does it naturally because that is who he is. He cannot even walk by a book without immediately launching his body at it then passionately shredding and ripping all of the pages from it. Plus, he is a thief. He has stolen my watch on several occassions but so far, I have always managed to locate it. Once, he stole my watch and I found it in my shoe. Also, did I tell you that he hates me? He does. He gives me the 'evil eye' at the rare times when he is being quiet and thoughtful. I will catch him looking at me with this look on his face like "If only that lady would go away and leave us this house all to ourselves, we could really PAR-TAY!" The only time the little cuss will let me hold him is at supper time. Then, I can pick him up and hold him and cuddle him and he gets his little purring motor running like a generator. At those times, I can catch glimpses of the possibility that he 'might' have some degree of affection for me in there somewhere but it is definately linked to food. It is probably only the food, in fact. But, I do love him so.~Cindy