We have two cats one is named Fido because my daughter wanted a dog. She was about 8 years old when we got the cat and I spent the whole next year trying to convince her that since his name was Fido he had to be a dog.
A couple years later a "friend" who works for DreamCatchers a local animal rescue bunch "saved" a poor dehydrated and nearly starved kitten. She named it Milo and somehow he ended up here. For the first six months all this cat did was rip open the trash bag under the sink. He even figured out how to open the door. Didn't mater how much food we put down, or where. He just preferred the trash. Finally I bought a trash can he couldn't open. (Okay, I'm slow)
Late one night I heard Fido scratching at the back door. There on the patio was Milo blood rushing from his nose and mouth. Tire marks on his left front paw. At midnight in the snow I took him to the local Pet Hospital. They had to wire his jaw back together and he was in a cast for six months. He managed to make it but he lost control of his left paw and now it's all curled up. So now I just call him Gimpy. Sometimes he thinks he wants to go out in the yard but that only lasts until the first loud car goes by then it is a mad dash for the door. Trucks are the worst.
The other day my wife left a big bag of cat food in the kitchen. Gimpy resorted to his old tricks and tore open the corner. When I walked into the kitchen my wife said "Look Milo invented the dispenser." Cat's a genius.
He likes to sleep on his back. Which inspires quips like "Oh look the cats dead." He does this all the time in places like the bottom of the stairs so either he gets stepped on or people trip over him. My wife thinks he is "special" because of the "accident." I just think he's delusional. Like the day I found him lying in the middle of the Boston Fern in the front window. Or how about the day he pushed the glass off the kitchen counter so he could get a drink. He is pretty good at ping pong but nobody really likes playing with him.
Ergo Sum
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