Cats

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Meet Ishmael and Moritz.  They are my life.

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This is Miss Ishmael Chicken Lord.  She is 2 years old, and she is the definition of a princess.  She is a dilute tortoiseshell kitty, meaning she’s full of attitude (“tortitude”), and she’s wildly independent.  When I picked her out from a litter of kittens in my Connecticut hometown two years ago, I chose her because she was the runt.  She was smaller than the others, and she was very lackadaisical.  I didn’t want a rambunctious mew for my first pet, so I chose her.  I was wrong about her on so many levels.

First of all, “he” turned out to be a “she.”  As a little baby, she was all grey with only a small white patch on her chest.  Her tortie colors, which only female cats have, did not show up for several weeks.  Additionally, she proved to be full of spitfire and spunk.  She is definitely a one-person kitty, and luckily, she tolerates me as her one approved human.  My boyfriend, with whom I live, does not have much luck with her.

Ishmael enjoys Greenies treats, rubs on the butt, and toys with feathers.  She does not like to be held, when her brother Moritz loves her too much, or being shut out of a room that she wishes to enter.

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Meet Mister Moritz Monkey Lord.  He is about as opposite of Ishmael as a cat can get.  He is also two years old, and he is the underdog in my household.  He is the sweetest little man, but he is deathly afraid of everything from his own shadow to thunder storms.  I adopted him when I saw his adorable little face on Petfinder, and I established a relationship with the rescue group that saved him from the mean streets of Queens, Anjellicle Cats Rescue in New York City.  He was a feral kitty surviving alongside his mother (also a mini black panther), and although he established regular contact with human beings beginning at the age of 4 months, he has never grown comfortable with being touched.

Moritz is very chatty, especially in the morning.  He rubs against his humans’ legs as they undergo their early day ablutions, and he sings opera at night.  I call him my “Queen of the Night” because of his piercing soprano.  He always looks as if he is stunned, and he runs and hides from all strangers.  Only recently has he allowed some minor petting behind his ears.

Moritz loves to eat and he has a pot belly.  He also loves his sister Ishmael (a little too much for her tastes), hiding in (yes, literally inside the box spring) the guest bed, and his Turbo Scratcher toy.  He dislikes loud noises, human touch, and the living room.

 

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