Mad Zoo House

It occurred to me that since my first post I have left my readers (all two of you) hanging by mentioning that two of our pets are of the psycho variety, and then like a bad tv-series, I only described one of them before apparently taking a brief summer hiatus.

Let me introduce you to Psycho Kitty Moe. Moe is short for Molasses. Molasses got his name because he was adopted at the same time as Gus, short for Asparagus. Asparagus was named after a cat The Fyd had as a child. And since my pet names have to "match" (my first three cats were Hamlet, Medea and Pandora, for the record) I knew we needed another food-ish name for Moe. So Molasses he became. Even though, as my mother kindly pointed out, molasses is actually brown, not black like Psycho Kitty.

Moe is one of those cats that can open doors. He can open kitchen cabinets. He has mastered opening the kitchen cabinet that has a child-proof (aha, but not Moe-proof) lock on it. He opens drawers. But not just any doors or cabinets or drawers! Oh, no. He only opens the door to the closet in the den where we keep his feather-and-bell-on-a-stick toy. He also only opens the kitchen cabinet which was the former home of the aforementioned toy. He only opens drawers that house the rubberbands (that I occasionally find all over the house when I wake up in the morning) - even when I move the rubberbands to another drawer. Unless, of course, he opens other drawers as well but then is kind enough to close them after realizing the rubberbands are not in there.

Moe is the feline version of Boris. It's rare to see such intensity in a cat, I think. He will sit in front of the closet door or kitchen cabinet where he knows his toy once was and stare intently at it for hours. Like Boris, his body almost hums from the unspent energy. I've decided that his talents are wasted with us. He should be sold to the Circus. Or perhaps the Red Cross - with his dexterity he could likely learn to take blood pressure or maybe even draw blood. At the very least, maybe he could earn his living with us by being a sort of helper monkey for someone bound to a wheelchair or whatnot. If, of course, the wheelchair-bound only needed cat toys and rubberbands.

Also like Boris, when Moe does decide to sleep, he does so with the same level of intensity. Just yesterday I went upstairs and found Moe and Gus asleep on our bed - they were each on their sides, fat bellies facing each other, all 8 paws tangled up in the middle and heads tucked down. The two of them made the form of a heart. *swoon* Massive cuteness. All is forgiven, little Psycho Moe.