Name: Bonham
Origin of Name: Rock drumming legend John Bonham
Breed: Hungry
Age: 3
Hobbies and Interests: Eating, Jumping, Climbing Doorways, Stealing Porkchops, Making out with Daphne, Stealing BBQ, Making out with Scratch, Tormenting Daphne, Stealing Chicken, Napping on dark clothes.
Background: Bonham was the cat that I brought to our relationship. I'd had him for almost two years when I moved to Michigan. I got Bonham while I was still living in South Carolina. I had just gotten my first place completely by myself. Before then, I'd either lived at home or with a roommate. The one thing that struck me about living alone was the abject emptiness of the place. I was pretty busy with graduate school at the time and would often come in after the sun had down but I was used to a roommate or other animal greeting me at the door. My previous roommate had had two cats of her own. Even if she herself were not home at the time, there were at least a couple of cats to look up and disregard me immediately. You know, a little something that felt like home. Once I was on my own all I had was my milk crate loveseat (no couch yet) and the dustbunny in the corn that I had named Floppo. It soon became apparent that I needed a pet, a real pet. Some friends told me about a no kill shelter in Columbia so I checked it out.
I want to be clear on one thing. When it comes to animals, I like them. People piss me right off, but animals I like. So it was difficult not to be moved when I visited the shelter the first time and, upon entering the cat room, was immediately covered over by kitties of all ages and personality. I was primarily interested in a kitten. They had tons of kittens and the most boisterous of the kittens were the first ones to climb all over me. There were some who were obviously too rambunctious for what I wanted. Others were a little more mild mannered and I eventually found one that I thought would make a good match. It was a little girl kitty who - instead of climbing into my lap or up my shirt, heedless of the skin underneath - actively sought out my empty hands and forcibly pushed her head into them to make certain that I pet her just in case my attentions were elsewhere. Even if that meant standing up on her hind legs to reach up a bit higher to reach my hands. She really was a cutie. I had already been at the shelter for almost two hours and they were set to be closing soon so I decided I should head out.
As I was leaving the cat room (itself, an unbearably difficult act) I stopped to talk to a few of the staff members about the process of adoption. In the main lobby the staff allowed a couple of the more docile and tolerant cats and dogs to roam freely and sort act as greeters. While I was standing around talking to the staff this fairly-young-but-not-quite-a-kitten of a cat strolled up next to me along a table top. He looked like he was about a year old. I idlely reached down to give the little guy a pet to which he responded fairly naturally. I continued talking without really looking and soon I felt a pair of paws pressed insistently on my shoulder. This cat was looking up at me with his paws extended like an infant asking to be picked up. Well this was a gesture I found I was well and truly powerless against. So I reached down a bit to lift him up, as soon as he saw I was complying he gripped my shoulder firmly with his claws and helped himself up into my arms. He seemed perfectly content to be held "baby-style" perched up and looking back over my shoulder as I petted him and continued talking to the staff. At several intervals I tried to put the little fella down and he would have non of it. He'd dig his claws in and just hang on such that I couldn't. It was strange how much like an actual child he acted. He even buried his face into the hollow of my neck while I was holding him (he still does this from time to time). His story wasn't a necessarily tragic one (especially when compared to some of the rescues) the last family that had had him had to give him because of a rivalry on the other cat's part. Eventually I managed to detach him from my shoulder and get out the door and drive home. At the time I had been listening to a lot of Zeppelin, I was particularly interested in their mixed meter stuff and the way their drummer navigated the uneven waters of Jimmy Paige's oddball guitar riffs. So as soon as I got into my car something like When the Levee Breaks came on.
I considered about which cat I actually wanted and had decided on getting two cats so they could keep each other company while I wasn't around. I still had it in my mind that I would get two kittens. As soon as I came in the door, Bonham (who they were calling Rori, which I think is a terrible name for this cat) hopped right up from where he was lounging and came over to me. He seemed to remember that I was the putz that was easily taken in by his wiles. It turned out that the little girl kitten I liked had just been fixed and was unavailable for adoption for a day or two while they made sure she came through everything ok. I essentially was forced to take Bonham that day. One, to save him from the atrocious name they had given him. Two, because I would have required surgery to remove him from my shoulder a second time. I could see it in his eyes, he hated the name. He would look at me as if to say, "Have you heard what they're calling me? Rori? Do they think I'm a personal trainer or something." It really became a decision I had very little to do with. They just handed me the paperwork and told me how much he was going to cost me and I took him home and rechristened Bonham (much to his relief, I'm sure).At first he was very co-dependent. He didn't like being alone one bit. I didn't have a very large apartment but if he lost his way between the litter box and the living room he would just stand there and cry until I came and found him. He would launch himself into my arms and refuse to be put down. If I was watching a movie or playing a game he would sit in my lap or beside me on the couch (by then I had one) with his back to me. I think it's these slightly human characteristics that fostered a kind of paternal instinct in me. He's like a child who's ass I've never had to wipe.
Soon after I brought him home I discovered that I had actually chosen a cat who was also an accomplished food critic. Not of cat food, mind you, but of people food. Whenever I cooked something or brought it in he would perch himself nearby and stare at me impatiently. This continues to this day. This cat will eat anything, anything, at least once. I once gave him a leaf of raw lettuce from a salad I was making, thinking surely he would want nothing to do with it. To my great surprise, he gulped it down and stared up at me waiting for seconds. Raw fucking lettuce. Rebecca and I come up with amusing pitches that we figure he must use on us to convince us to part with our... whatever we're eating at the time. "Oooh, you're having french fries? I looove french fries. My family way back on my gandpappy's side is French. It's in my blood you see."
The pictures are deceiving because they generally show him at rest. That's because he's only active when there are cheetos at stake, or perhaps pop tarts, chocolate chip cookies, Dutch apple crisp, sloppy joes, chilli, spaghetti, bean curry, or corn on the cob (one of his favorites). The only time he's ever acts the least bit aggressive is in defense of his hard won spoils and table scraps. Since we have introduced him to life with other cats he's become less co-dependent but is still pretty affectionate and likes nothing more than to sit down beside one of us, bury his face into our leg, and purr happily until someone makes a move for the kitchen.
-Kroy has gone offline
We come from the land of the ice and snow
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