Wednesday, Sept. 21, 2005
Dear Diary:

The cat chosen with great care? A tiny little jewel. The cat chosen on the spur of the moment? Trouble with a "T" and that rhymes with "B" for Binky.

When the adult cats Enid and Zubby are outside I shut the door to the downstairs, open my office door and let Binky and Savannah have the run of the upstairs.

Run would be the operative word here since they spend huge amounts of time just chasing each other back and forth the length of the house, running from our bed through to the end of my office, punctuating every second or third run with a quick bout of Wrestlemania.

Now you might think that two semi-grown cats, neither of whom weighs more than two pounds, would trip lightly across the floor.

You would be so very, very wrong.

Somehow two tiny cats manage to thunder across the floor, making it seem as if someone is leading cavalry charges across the upstairs of my home.

Around 10 a.m. I noticed that the Charge of the Light Brigade had stopped. I put that down to the cats logging some of that badly needed 22 � hours of daily sleep. Around 10:30 I walked out of my office to get a snack and was promptly greeted by Savannah, begging for an ear scritch.

But no Binky. That was very, very odd because he's even more insistent for affection than she is. Two weeks from now the cats won't bother to lift their heads when I walk by but right now we're in the honeymoon, fresh from the shelter stage. They see me and they run right up, purring, bunting and mewing, "You are the most wonderful person in the world. No, scratch that, YOU ARE A GODDESS AND I LOVE YOU WITH ALL MY HEART."

They're delirious with relief over being out of the shelter. In two weeks their real natures will win out and they'll be making snide remarks about my fashion sense and total lack thereof. Just wait. But that's in the future. Right now they're fuzzy balls o' pure love.

A little concerned that I hadn't gotten the Omigawd But I Love You greeting from the Binkster, I started looking for him in the usual places. Under the sofa. Nope. Under the dresser. Nope. Under the spousal unit's desk. Nope. I pulled everything out of the closet. No Binky. Up I went into the little loft where the spousal unit meditates. No Binky.

Savannah padded around beside me, making soft purring sounds and the occasional chirping sound. Otherwise, the house was way, way too quiet.

Oh but he wants to go out.I went into my office and tore it apart. Found the missing ear foam for my headphones, but still no Binky. Triple checked all the windows and they were all shut. Binky haunts the windows. He desperately wants to go outside. Soon it was two hours since I had last seen Binky. I was sure he had hurt himself somehow. My eyes were welling with tears.

I heard the spousal unit's key in the door. Unexpectedly, he had decided to come home for lunch. I padded downstairs to greet him and woefully confessed that I thought I had lost Binky. Very, very faintly we heard a soft mewing sound. It came from upstairs, but neither of us could pinpoint exactly where.

I still can't figure out how he did it.After about another 20 minutes of looking everywhere it was the spousal unit who finally spotted him. Somehow Binky had crawled into the tiny six inch gap between two built in bookcases that you see in this picture (the gap we have now plugged with paperbacks), and managed to wriggle himself under the bookcase on the left until all that was showing of him was a tiny bit of his tail. How he accomplished this feat, which requires Cirque du Soleil flexibility, still puzzles me.

There were two ways to get him out. Empty every book out of the bookcase and detach it from the wall or haul him out somehow. The spousal unit, working on the theory that if the cat could wriggle in, the cat could be wriggled out, gently grabbed Binky's haunches and managed to ease him out by pulling him backwards and lifting him up from under the bookcase.

I was insanely relieved to see the little cat. The little cat was quite miffed that it had taken us so long to free him and stalked away for a little sulky licking. Fortunately, his good nature and total lack of short term memory won out and about fifteen minutes latter we had Hurricane Binky back on our hands, swirling around our feet, begging for play time.

I have been debating whether or not I want to live with such a high octane cat. I know that Binky is going to get himself into a buttload of trouble when we try to integrate him with Enid and Zubby. Savannah knows enough to be tentative. Binky is going to get all up into Zubby's grill, I just know it, and in a contest between 12 pounds of cat and 2 pounds of cat, I'm thinking that the 12 pound crusher could put a world of hurt on the smaller cat.

I spent a lot of yesterday thinking quite hard about whether or not I want to spend the energy it's going to take to be a peacekeeper. Enid and Zubby have worked out a begrudging truce. Savannah and Binky adore each other. I'm not sure, but I think Enid could come to accept the new cats. She's young enough to be playful and she might join into their games. But Zubby, well Zubby is 10 now and set in his ways.

Oh, man, Zubby. There's the 12 pound question.

This morning when I opened my office door two streaks of cat rocketed out of my room and began racing around the upstairs. The contrast between Binky at the shelter�timid, ears permanently flat, shaking�and Binky here, two pounds of pure, confident feline joy is unbelievable.

The cat is a pain in the butt, but it's clear he and Savannah have formed a mutual admiration society and it wouldn't be a bad thing for her to have someone to catch her back. Hopefully she'll return the favour to Binky if he needs it and I'm not around.

This morning I called our vet and booked an appointment for tomorrow. I have another week to make up my mind about Binky, another week that I could still send him back to the shelter, but who am I kidding? The cat cracks me up. So tomorrow the two newcomers get their shots and a thorough going over from our vet and become official members of our family.

Please, please don't let this be a mistake.

--Marn

Today's newest Bazonga Boosters (or Bustiers to their friends) are:

Emily
Laura
Elsworthy in honour of a friend who's fought this illness three times
Larrielou in honour of Lynne Neiht
Bev of Funny the World
Mel of Diary of a Mod Housewife

Mileage on the Marnometer: 971.6 miles. 10 per cent rubber duck10 per cent rubber duck10 per cent rubber duck10 per cent rubber duckhalf way smooch10 per cent rubber duck Over half way there. Oh, man, please let this be over

Goal for 2005: 1,250 miles - 2000 kilometers


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