Yesterday marked one year to the day that Steve and I went out for coffee, and he convinced me to go to the vet office/cat shelter across the street to just visit this kitty he’d become smitten with. I walked in trying to be hard-hearted, at least as hard-hearted as I can be around a mammal, and we walked out with this guy. And he was carried out with a new name–WHY WOULD A PERSON NAME A GREY CAT OREO?? Steve and I had already agreed on a name, although I’m pretty sure he only went with Ignatius so we could also call him Iggy. I did give him his middle name pretty unilaterally, though (which, for the record, is Cecil.)
Ignatius is a handful sometimes; he’s broken probably three picture frames and at least one wine glass, and I’ve occasionally walked into the kitchen to see him licking a block of tofu I’m pressing. He also has this habit of using me as a launchpad. Also, he sleeps on my back, which is annoying in and of itself, but then stretches out so his paws are on my head.
That being said, this little guy is the most important man alive in my life right now. Sorry, Dad. Sorry, David Bowie. It took me about three days of being a single lady again before I completely turned into a Cat Lady. I guess it was there all along.
PS: I took this picture of Iggy last night. I love his douchey facial expression, like if he could he’d be making duck lips and throwing up fake gang signs like a total frat boy.