Flashback Friday-The Cat Called Bob

I know the animal thing has been SO done before, but thinking of the post for Flashback Friday(originated by the always lovely CableGirl), I got to thinking about this cat I had named Bob. My then-husband has pissed me off somehow (by breathing, maybe?)and to make up for it, found and brought home this enormous, scroungy, many thing called a cat. I am not the most warm-hearted, lovey person in the world, and if I lived in another country, I would have no problems raising cats for meat (even though I have two now), so why he thought this would be a good idea, I am not sure. But there he was, this huge, ugly tomcat weighing in at 27 (yes, I weighed him, on the scales the ex used to use to measure out his drugs, so it may have been off just a bit), and for some reason the beast fell in love with me. Like, to the point where I felt like I was being stalked, and was almost afraid to go to sleep at night because old Bob would kind of lurk over me and drool, rubbing his little tiny cat penis on the blanket. Eeeew...

So I thought I would get him fixed, thinking that at least then I would have to worry about any gross cat ejaculate on my blanket. Took him in, got him fixed, all was well until about two months LATER when one of his testicles grew back. Sure, sure, maybe the vet who had been practicing for 20 years made a mistake, but I am convinced that the fucker was just that special. For some reason, the fact that this guy loved me so much that he stubbornly grew back at least one testicle, well, it made me fall in love with him as well.

And then there was the fact that he hated my ex-husband; he (Bob) would do all of these very endearing things like jump up on the ex's lap and act like he was settling in, then dig his claws into his leg as deep as possible before leaping off and smirking. I never failed to laugh at this one, because the ex fell for it every time. "Oh, look," he would say, "Bob is deciding to like me!" Another great trick was to go sit down about four feet from the ex, lift his leg, and very nonchalantly lift his leg and lick-loudly-his one remaining testicle while starting at the ex. For some reason, C. hated this, so the more he would yell at the poor dear, the louder he would lick. you gotta love an animal with that kind of sadistic behavior, really.

We moved one time, and since I had the car full of kids, I told C. that he would be in charge of transporting Bob (Bob did not travel well, and my intentions were pure-I did not want him to scratch one of the kids in his angst). We got about halfway to the new house when I saw C. coming up behind me flashing his lights furiously. Pulled over, but could figure out why he was just sitting in the truck instead of getting out to tell me what was so urgent. Grumbling the whole while, I got out and walked over to his truck to find him with both hands gripped on the steering wheel and the cat on his shoulder-I could see Bob's claws gripping C. tightly, and could also smell the unmistakable stench of cat shit, where Bob had let loose all down C's back. God help me, but all I could do was laugh. I don't think C. spoke to me for the rest of the week, as if it were somehow my fault that the cat was afraid and did some nervous clawing and shitting.

And then there was the time the ex had knee surgery; he was on crutches, and we lived in this single wide trailer with a very narrow hallway, so if he was hobbling in to the bathroom, no one else could be in the hallway because there simply wasn't room. So one morning, early, I heard a resounding crash and rushed in to find C. blocking the hallway, on his face, with a huge bite mark on one of his ankles. He was screaming, "I am going to kill that fucking cat!" Apparently (and I am still sorry I missed this one), Bob had been laying in wait for him, and just as C. got past him, Bob bit his ankle (he even drew blood), then scurried just out of hitting distance before turning around to stare and lick his ball. God, I loved that cat.

We kept Bob for three more years, until I actually had to be a responsible parent and get rid of him due to Sam's allergies. I found a good home for him, and all of us except for C. cried when it was time to take him to his new place. He did give me one more great laugh, though, by puking all over the back seat of the car on the way to the new house. The ironic part about that was that at the last minute, we decided to take C.'s car instead of mine. Yep, good times, good times....