Thanks to the magic of TimeHop, I know that today is the 2nd anniversary of Paco’s death. This sad occasion coincides nicely with my desire to be the kind of spinster who only tells stories about her cats. All the time with the stories. Stories upon stories upon stories.

The way I see it, you’ve had two years mostly free of cat content, so now this is your penance.

At some point in every day, usually in the mid-morning, Charles and Memphis play a weird game of chase/hide & seek. It’s pretty adorable because Memph is a tiny cat and Charles looks large because he’s so furry. The game goes on until, inevitably, Wendell wanders downstairs to join in on the fun. That’s when Chuck and Memph freeze and don’t make eye contact like, “what, weren’t playing. We’d never do something so déclassé. They super hate Wendell.

Memphis who is the eldest and tiniest also happens to be the neediest. He literally spends 90% of his day either next to my leg or between my legs, depending how I’m sitting. It’s very endearing.

Wendell only wants attention when he’s good and ready, which always reminds me of Madison. Remember Madison? And like Madison he doesn’t make petting him easy. He walks all over you and rubs his face against your hands. He’s not a light cat and sometimes giving him affection is painful.

Wendell also likes to bolt up the stairs when I’m on my way up to bed. He then hides under my bed so I can’t shut the door, all Fred Flintstone like. He’s one of those cats who loses his fucking mind at 4 a.m. every morning and terrorizes all the creatures in the house. Yesterday, I came down to all the lower kitchen cupboards opened and one plant knocked on its side. He’s such a fucker.

Charles still doesn’t want much to do with me, which kind of hurts my feelings, because all I want to do is love him. However, whenever he has a chance, he’ll sleep on the pillow right next to mine and purr his head off. That makes me feel like maybe we have a chance.

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It’s been nearly two years since Paco died, leaving me mostly petless. Mostly, because I had every-other-weekend and all of February custody of Walter. However, that’s all changing.

My sister and brother-in-law are selling their Minnesota house and he’s moving back to Portland with Walter. I have been, for the most part, devastated by this recent development. I was really hoping it’d go the other way, my sister and Sully would move back to Minnesota.

Alas, despite my deepest desires people continually to refuse to live their lives in a manner that makes me happiest. Fuckers.

Because my sister has a small apartment in Portland they can’t really cram two adult humans, two dogs, and three cats into the place.

And thus, I have three new feline overlords. They are Wendell, an orange tabby; Memphis, a pretty but stupid uh, not orange tabby?; and Charles, a very fancy and sophisticated long-haired tuxedo cat.

The CatPack have been here for three day and it’s been a trial by fire since they arrived. I forgot how in your business cats are. There’s bad blood, jealousies, cliques.

Memphis and Charles hate Wendell, mostly because Wendell is a kittenish dick still (I think he’ll be two sometime this summer). Charles is too fancy to really deal with either of them, unless provoked. Memphis is territorial and will give Wendell the stink-eye whenever he’s in the room. Last night the two ding dongs had a fight at like four in the morning, a fight that involved launching themselves off my once-sleeping body at each other.

Wendell can also open the cupboards, which isn’t at all annoying. Memphis is addicted to water from the faucet and will race me to the bathroom every time I stand up on the off chance he gets some of that sweet, sweet elixir from the faucet.

Every morning since they’ve been here all three of them have gathered in my room just as I open my eyes. I’m convinced they are planning a ritual sacrifice.

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