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Archive for February 9th, 2009

Little Mo

In the September that my youngest daughter started Grade 9, our household had been catless for a few months. It was decided that the time had come to adopt a new kitten. I checked out the local pet store one afternoon, and found that they had two kittens arriving from a nearby neighbour later that day. I picked up Fiddlegirl after school and we headed to the pet store together. Fiddlegirl marched ahead of me with great purpose, past the store proprietor and over to the kitten cage. When we opened the cage door, the male kitten hung back nervously, cowering in the back of the cage. The tiny female, however, had no such reservations. She happily emerged and began checking us out. The kittens were of mixed heritage, with one tabby parent and one Siamese. While the male favoured his Siamese ancestor, the female looked like a mocha-coloured tabby, with a white bib and white tippytoes. Both kittens had bright blue eyes. It was decided within a matter of minutes that the pair would come home with us.
moeyseated

So it was that Moey joined our family. The pair were originally named Tonka and Tai, but while Tonka stuck, Tai somehow morphed into Moey, aka, with great affection, Little Girl. For reasons none of us could fathom, Moey became the devoted companion of our middle daughter, Ponygirl, who dressed her in dolls’ clothes and otherwise fussed over her in a way few cats would tolerate. When Ponygirl left for university, we wondered how Moey would manage. But Moey quickly transferred her allegiance to Fiddlegirl and life went on.

Moey enjoying the sun on her favorite shelf.

Moey enjoying the sun on her favorite shelf.

Once all the kids had fledged, I became the default object of Moey’s affection. Not one to hobnob with her male kin, she is very independent all day. While the boys eschew strangers, Moey is more likely to put in an appearance when visitors arrive, thus seeming to be our only cat. She isn’t afraid to speak her mind, either, with her expressive Siamese vocabulary of talky little mews. When the evening arrives, I can count on Moey keeping me company on the chesterfield or in bed where I sometimes read, curled as close as she can manage to my chin. Our tiny, perfect cat is now 10 years old and is greatly loved.

Moey enjoying Sylvester and Tweety cartoons.

Moey enjoying Sylvester and Tweety cartoons.

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