MAJOR UPDATE: As of the morning of May 9. Newbuck, as he will now be called, has decided to make an honest woman out of Honeycat by proposing marriage. I will of course continue to keep you informed though I will say I'm a little perturbed he has not so much as let me scratch his ears, let alone asked for my blessing.
There's a new buck in town looking for a little tail...cat tail, to be specific. For those of you just joining us, I have a 9 year old feline named Honeycat. HC, as she’s more commonly known (Twitter characters. You know how it is.), is friendly to the point of getting herself in trouble. I get calls regularly from strangers passing by, assuming she is lost for the way she desperately rubs against their legs and rolls over for belly rubs in front of our house. This includes kids. HC loves our neighbors.
You might remember an actual dark time exactly a year ago. I'm not writing this to celebrate the anniversary formally. We don’t need to discuss it past saying I’d rather get calls when she’s not missing than ever go through the grief and silence of her actually going missing again. And thank you again...you were awesome throughout.
Honeycat's love threshold very much extends to her own breed. Specifically the mencats of the Northwest side. HC is fixed but every single Spring and Fall there is a line-up of male cats who come a-courting (loudly), waiting in the yard for her affections.
Last year there was even a love triangle (below). The intrigue!
What she does under the picnic table or front stairs is her business. She's a single lady practicing responsible sex and I'm happy for her. Okay, I do remain just a little disturbed but I've yet to determine whether that's maternal concern, jealousy or worry for my own mental health that I document this so carefully.
My point is that it's Spring and we've got a new player (as of 5:30 AM). HC bolted from bed, out to the yard and halfway up a tree in 4 seconds. I ran to the window to ensure she wouldn't come back with another bird in her mouth but no, just another set of bright eyes barely visible at the base of her evergreen tree. Once I established that they did not belong to a raccoon, I trudged back to my blankets, eyes rolling.
About 10 minutes later she was back, mewing and kneading for her breakfast. Work up an appetite, did we? Fine. That was when the serenade started. I looked at the patio and made eye contact with this smitten kitten.
He's a good-looking cat. I get it. A tawny gray, large build, a full tail and stripes around his paws. If I were to say she had a type, long, gray and stray would be it.
As Wicked Park's resident Samantha, she's a lot of flash and sex but she also understands the importance of girl time. For all her shenanigans, HC has a green claw in the garden and would never think to leave a lap cold. Even the most inconvenient angle of lap. God forbid you be typing with cold wrists and forearms...friends don't let friends prioritize mobility over mutual warmth.
All this to say that she is loved by more than just me and it’s nice to be that kind of pet owner. Particularly because as that kind of pet owner, I have been allowed to dress a cat up as the cougar she is. Kills me every time.
So I might have understated something above. I have been thinking a lot about when HC was gone last year and made a donation to Paws Chicago this week. Partly to celebrate a miraculous reunion and partly to commemorate a fellow pet lover who lost her Dexter recently. Paws is a tremendous organization. If you find yourself seeing some savings from smaller heating bills or increased bicycle use entering these warmer months, it's a beautiful place to support with your efficiencies. A Spring awakening of another sort entirely.