Tuesday, September 16, 2008
3 1/2 years and 7 pounds of love
On September 7, my cat Little Man turned 3 1/2 years old. (I've always been one for half-birthday celebrations. I blame my summer birthday.) Those of you who have met Little Man know that his is not just a clever name - I actually think I may have stunted his growth by naming him that, but, frankly, nothing else took.
Regardless of the cause, Little Man is a total runt: fully grown, he weighs 7 pounds on a tubby day. My sister's cats Bubba and Leroy (and cousin Lily Wolbe) are about twice his size.
In addition to being a runt, he is slightly cross-eyed.
Also, his front right pinky toe (if cats have pinkies, or toes) doesn't really retract, so he can't sneak up on anybody when hardwood floors are involved. Sometimes I call him Pegleg.
Little Man came into my life in May 2005, just over two months old, as an early graduation present from my parents. Most anyone who has recently finished college or experienced the early- to mid-twenties time of life will agree that these are not the easiest of years. I feel lucky that my steadfast kitty-friend has been with me through it all - and he doesn't even seem to resent me for moving him to Syracuse for a year.