Building a Home with Meow Meows

Welp, it’s official. I finalized my adoption of Meow Meows* yesterday, so I guess I’m a cat-dad now. Cripes, I hate that term!

I think there’s something about pet ownership that immediately makes you talk like you’ve never had a meaningful relationship with any living creature that wasn’t embroidered on a sweater. Like, I don’t know if you can actually read what’s in that one-page description of my cat in that photo up there, but it actually uses the line “Holier than Meow” as shorthand for the cat’s personality… and it expects me to accept that, like, “Oh, yeah, that’s a thing normal people say.”

I don’t get all the cutesy-wutesy nonsense that surrounds cat ownership. There’s not one aspect of my cat’s behavior that makes me want to dress him in a fluffy sweater and call him “Snookums” through pouted lips. When I see Meow Meows, I immediately start to wonder which corner of my house he decided to throw up in this time. Cats are disgusting.

Plus, I know my cat has zero regard for my well-being. Meow Meows is always there, at three in the morning, right when I’m in the middle of my most restful sleep. He comes traipsing into my room and slaps me right in the face. “Wake up!” he shouts. “I need my Meow Mix!”

Actually, it’s worse than that, cuz Meow Meows isn’t declawed. So that slap in the face is more like a shank… or a… shiv. Yeah. Every morning, at three A.M., I get stabbed in the eyeball because my little meowster is out of num nums. What a jerk!

Don’t ask me how I got to be so fond of the little monster, but here we are. Most meaningful commitment I’ve ever made to another living being. My life is dysfunctional.
*Yeah, I’m keeping the name. It’s not like I ever actually call him that, anyway.

Braddy’s Foster Kitty

So I’ve got a friend who works for the Humane Society, and she told me about this little guy, who’s been in the shelter for seven months and is in danger of being put down. She knew I was looking for a cat and asked if I’d be willing to adopt. So, yeah, here’s my new roommate.

His name is Meow Meows.

I never met his previous owners, but judging from how they named him, I have no choice but to assume they are terrible people.

Ironically, Meow Meows doesn’t really even meow much. He’s just got this weak little voice, barely a hiccup of a meow. I bet he was, like, a monk in a previous life. Or maybe Teller.

I’m only fostering Meow Meows for now. If he likes the place, I’ll go ahead and adopt him. And when I do, I’m changing his name, cuz that name is the worst.

Some names I’m considering:

  • Mjolnir
  • Ernest Hemingway
  • Trogdor
  • Stormaggedon
  • Jelly Beans
  • Nyarlothep
  • The Dashing Captain Whiskers
  • Lucky, the Pizza Dog
  • Kevin

Whatever his name winds up being is largely irrelevant, cuz I’m just gonna call him “kitty” most of the time. However, if I ever use the term “fur baby,” feel free to slap me in the face.