My name is Wilhelmina. I didn’t pick the name — my new caretaker did. She said to her father, “Meet your new grandchild! I named her after your mom.” Do I look amused?
A couple of years ago, I was rescued from a horrible place where I had been starved down to 3.5 pounds. A vet put me in a cage in his office foyer. Months passed. I gained up to 7 pounds. I lived with a very handsome orange tabby for a few months when a cranky woman showed up on winter morning. Standing in front of the cage, she shook off rain and bits of leaves stuck to her body before making strange stuttering sounds. Of course, Marmalade, my name for the tabby, went right over and mewed, playing up shamefully. I stayed huddled in the back of the cage.
I didn’t think much about it until that night when the cranky woman returned with a fluffy towel. Thank goodness–the December weather was atrocious. She needed to dry off. Next thing I knew, we were hurtling along. Confined by the towel, I sang my displeasure vociferously. Once inside, she deposited me in the middle of the floor of an unpretentious townhouse, smelling vaguely of another … cat. I gave her some side-eye. She left me alone. Good call. The non-carpet floor, I love carpet, was a strange design but I could blend. So I camouflaged myself by staying still.
On the third day, I decided it was safe to explore my new home. All the essential things were there – soft bed with blankets for napping, a big poopy pit, a sock to shred, shoes to eat, and lots of food. My new caretaker likes to feed me, especially shrimp and scallops. Quite possibly, I have gained some weight because she renamed me–LoveChunks.
I must chew on some wires to show my disapproval, especially the ones attached to the talking box. It’s a tight squeeze under the furniture.
My caretaker throws bags of catnip at me for fun. I scratch her ankles as she walks by, for fun! There’s also a place under the sofa I like to scratch, for fun and annoyance.
At present, piles of paper spew from a black machine. I love to snag the sheets with my nails. My caretaker must think this is a game because she chases me around the room. I wait her out then slink back to attack the noisy, spitting monster again. Can’t she see I’m protecting her?