Oh Poop

Awhile back I told Woody not to feel so proud of himself for thinking he could get Louise to poop on cue in her box. After our one week absence she let him know she was not amused to be left at home. She pooped on him.

Our Miss Brooks

Okay. Let me preface all of this with a statement that anyone close to me knows to be a fact; I do no care for cats. I am not anti-cat. I simply just don't care for cats. They're not in my ken. (Byron can back me up on this, as we were just discussing the whole cat vs dog thing the other day.) I am a dog person.

Woods and I came back from the Hinterlands the other evening with a cat. I now am in the possesion of a certain Louise, who has stolen my heart and captured my adoration. I will begin ab ovo:

My sister and her family live in a lovely home out in the country, within the Hinterlands. It's quite remote. Last week my sister discovered a stray black kitty on Halloween visiting her back door and brought it in to tend to it. The cat was a mess and my sister bathed it, de-flead it and gave it something to eat of course. I first heard about this cat via Woody, who had given to teasing my sister on the phone about her lost and wayward "pussy."

Friday morning as Woody and I were standing on my sister's back deck, who should suddenly appear out of nowhere but Louise, (said cat) looking waifish yet absolutely stunning in her black coat and mesmerizing green eyes. I immediately thought of Théophile Steinlen & Le Chat Noir, the famous 19th century cabaret in the Montmartre district of Paris where artists gathered and Steinlen gained many of his commercial commisions:


I knew I had to have this cat.

Louise has a history, but of course none of us will ever know the story. My sister did her best checking ads and making phone calls hoping to locate Louise's owner(s). Our guess is that Louise did come from a nice home; she is declawed, spayed, and has immaculate manners. I think that somebody, for whatever reason, drove out to the country and dumped Louise. What was certain was that if I didn't take Louise, her future was in question. So. Saturday morning Woods and I gently packed her in the back seat of the Mercedes (in which she promptly threw up from nerves) and brought her home to Chicago.

I am not going to be one of those people that tell you my cat is just like a dog, or my cat is the coolest cat ever because she doesn't act like any other cat. I don't need to justify Louise. She's my cat. And I love her. I also have to say this has been a bartered life experience as well. This is the first time in my adult life that I am responsible for another living thing aside from Woody. That alone is quite captivating amigachos!