Tsi-Tsu

calico

when we were little we played in the remains of my great-grandfather's Model T, a shell of a car that served as a haven for all manner of brood and brooding.

in 1996, i returned with alex and prated on and on (seriously, sit down with me and i will WASTE YOUR TIME with stories lacking any point, meaning or underlying bone structure) about playing in that old Ford.

we heard mewling underneath the hood, and it was no surprise when i crawled underneath to find a litter of kittens. the surprise came when i snatched the calico and presented it to my wife, 'A gift.' i had been drinking (DO YOU SEE A THEME HERE PEOPLE).

Tsi-Tsu (a challenge to say, she also responds to Pete-Sue, almost as if she weren't one, lone cat, but two adult singing siblings from the 50s, former mouseketeers, perhaps) lived with us from the Fall of 1996 until March 18, 2000, when touched by my aggrieved parents, we decided to leave our cat with them. 'A gift.' ditto the drinking.

NO CAT HAS EVER BEEN MORE GENTLE OR DELICATE IN THE HISTORY OF THE CAT RACE. i once showed some scars along my arms to a friend of mine, Kat (no relation), but these were inflicted by our childhood Tortoiseshell, the appropriately named Scourge (though she answered to Scrounge, as well as to calls for mercy killing).

on select weekends, I attend to my parents' animals, chicks and ducks and geese, though it's blurry, when i find myself in a hurry, when i find myself in a hurry, and i booze non-stop.

and i spend an hour or so with Tsi-Tsu, this spoiled, spoiled child. she's more harbor seal than cat now. a shell of the feline she once was when she lived with us. a great big giant shell of an animal filled with years of too many memories and too much meow mix. ditto, the drinking.