Follow me on Twitter @oldmannelson
I didn’t get much writing done last week. Sara and I spent a few days in Ohio to visit her mother. So, y’all get to read about my cats.
Vanta is nine years old. I adopted her when I was living in Ohio last year. Her original name was Boogus, and when we first met she hid inside a cat house in the corner of the shelter. She wasn’t the kind of cat I was looking for, but I saw children crowding around the kittens and realized that many of the older and injured cats may never find a home. I probably visited the shelter three times before adopting Vanta. A little research revealed that black cats are rarely adopted, and seeing how shy Vanta was added to my pity for her. The fact we were both black sealed the deal for me. I named her after Vantablack, the darkest artificial substance ever made.
Vanta’s very lazy, and not too people friendly. She hides when strangers come to the house or even approach our door. She doesn’t play with toys, but she’ll chase crumpled paper receipts around the house. She also has a weight problem; despite my best efforts, there’s not much I can do about it.
Muta’s our newest addition to the apartment. My friend Tom had a coworker that was giving away stray cats, so my uncle volunteered to go to Long Island to pick Muta up. Sara and I spent the first week listening to him cry all night. He’s fast and skittish, and if you can catch him he’s rather friendly. Getting any work with him around is impossible. He loves walking on keyboards.
Vanta hates Muta as far as I can tell. Sara and I have done all the stuff Jackson Galaxy and the rest of the internet recommends for introducing cats. The apartment is very big, so the cats inevitably bump into each other. Vanta hisses, and Muta gets closer until she swats at him and he runs. I assume they’ll eventually get along. If not, whatever. I’ll be on the next episode of My Cat from Hell.