Naughtius Maximus

At about six months of age, our newest cat, the "red" tabby (I'm told that's the correct appellation) is probably in the full throes of kitty teenagerhood. It seems that I lost out in the naming competition. He is being called Thomas or some variation of it. The girls say his official name is Thomas Victor Dobby Sperlunker IV.

Everyone in the family fawns over him (except Ruby, who ignores him as much as possible.) He still has (but, has almost grown out of) the annoying habit of reaching peak alertness at 5:30 in the morning and coming in search of Human love and affection. He will nudge you on the face or forehead with his face (this is a very intimate gesture for cats.) Prominent in this show of affection is his wet nose. All the time his purr will be going like a Pratt & Whitney jet engine...on take off. One night I tried to remove him from such proximity and earshot several times by placing him ever so gently on the floor. Finally, he got the message. But, he tried to reinitiate relations by bumping my dangling hand several times. It is not uncommon for him to jump up on the bed, start his purring (In Italian they call this "facendo le fusa" which literally means making the spindles, and must refer to the rhythmic sound a spindle makes when it is turning fast) and paw at the covers or whomever he can get a perch on, all the while bearing a look on his face that asks, "are you my mommy?"

Last night He ran out the front door when Bob Kirk came to visit. He loves to do this. We don't mind so much if Ruby goes outside. She is more mature and has proven that she knows which house is ours and that she ought not run off to Tooele or Santaquin and when she's had enough she will wait patiently at the door to be let in. We aren't quite ready to entrust Tommy with that level of responsibility yet. Besides, when he goes outside Laney screams that he is going to be hit by a car or attacked by marauding owls or some other nocturnal raptors. So, last night in the dark I was outside trying to corral the felonious feline. Laney was trying to help me as well. She had just finished a bath and was only "wearing" a towel. I have neglected some of my fatherly duties and have not properly trained Laney in advanced stalking techniques. Whenever Tommy would stop somewhere, she would just run at him. Of course he's going to run away from a shrieking, streaking (almost naked, almost dry) five year old. Eventually she got smart and left the catching to me. He ran to the Herndons. He ran to the Petersons. He ran across the street to the Suzukis. I was about to give up and tell the others to do it (I had just gotten home from a much longer than necessary meeting and was in the middle of something on the computer) when he came out of Norma Noyes' rose bushes and let me grab him.

We must not be feeding Tommy enough because the other day he insisted on climbing on the kitchen counter and licking the electric can opener for whatever remnants of food or flavor there might have been there. I must have shooed him away five times. Just for fun, we are going to give that can opener to the second hand store without washing it first.

Another one of his favorite things is to climb the canopy on our bed. I have my "trek" cowboy hat (see below) hanging on one of the finials. He claws his way up the canopy curtains, always on the only corner where the hat is hanging. He likes to balance across that corner partially covered by the hat, his belly hanging between the right sides of the corner. Occasionally he will carefully walk along the inch wide cross members with his tail flailing and spinning like a propeller for balance. He stops in the middle to watch the ceiling fan. We half expect him to jump at it.