And Murrie is her name-o.
First, let me reassure you that she’s fine and well, not sick, dead, or dy(e)ing.
This is our gorgeous girl, Murrie. She’s 4 – almost 5 – years old, and still shy around people. We got her as a kitten in San Diego, from the SD humane society. We really didn’t go out that day with the intention of getting a second cat, but we had been talking about getting another cat to keep Stefano company. He would wander around the house in the middle of the night and call “Murrrrr-eeee”.
He liked to (and likes to) talk to the kitchen, but we thought it was cute that he was calling for “Murray”. We’d yell back “Murray doesn’t live here!”, and he’d run into the bedroom, jump on the bed, and lay down with us. He’d also do that if he was wandering around the kitchen yelling at the cabinets and we yelled “We’re in here, Steffie!” He’s an easy cat to please.
We decided one day that the next cat we got was going to be named Murray, because obviously Stefano thought that’s who was supposed to be hanging out with him. We’d go to the pet store, look at the cats for adoption, ask each one if they were Murray, and laugh.
We weren’t supposed to get a cat that day. We were looking for a vegetable scrubber, as a Christmas present for Ben’s mom. This was the second Christmas we were together, and the second year we were in the house in Escondido. We found a kitchen shop that we thought would carry the vegetable scrubbers that Ben’s mom used to use all the time (she was a vegetarian). It was in a tiny little strip mall with wooden shingles, and two doors down was a pet store, with the Humane Society in front of it that Saturday morning, adopting dogs and cats. We looked at the cage of kittens, and I told Ben he couldn’t have one, and he said he liked the little grey and tan one.
So we went into the kitchen shop, still not intending to get a cat, still only intending to get vegetable brushes. We found the brushes rather easily, and browsed around the kitchen store, as we like to do anyway, then decided to leave.
The only problem was we had to walk past the kitties again. The lady from the humane society told us that the grey and tan cat we liked so much — not so much a cat as a tiny bundle of fur that fit in ONE HAND — was a calico, and asked if we knew what that meant. I told her that meant she was a girl, and we talked for a while, and the tiny furball snuggled up against me and purred. LOUDLY. I swear her purr is bigger than she is, and always has been.
Long story short, we ended up adopting her, the creepy humane society lady took out the stitches from her spay, and we brought her home. Steffie was … well, he hissed at her. And then they watched each other. And then they started playing with his favorite toy (polarfleece on a stick), and that was it. Now she sits on him, and they play chase around the house when the dog’s not in, and Murrie plays chase with the dog sometimes.
We named her Murrie, because Murray’s a boy’s name. Luckily we didn’t follow the same trend, or Nulla would be “Ermeow”. Murrie didn’t meow for the longest time, and when she finally did, it was hesitantly, like she was not sure what noise she was supposed to make. “Er … um… how does this go again? Oh, Meow!”
She’s a freak, though. She likes to lick elbows. She loves to be under the covers. She will follow you around the house until you turn around, and she hides. She likes to attack people going down the stairs. She’s a weirdo cat. And we love her.
So, this is the post about a cat. I usually post about the dog, but there are two cats in our house, too. This is just the one I could get a good picture of the other night.