Benjamin Franklin and How I Got Him

Hello!

As you can probably tell, I'm in a much better mood than I was last time. In a good enough mood, in fact, to bore you all silly with the story of how I got my cat, Benjamin Franklin.

Hey, I am fully aware that his name might sound a bit... pretentious, but he's still my cat, so back off. No, this does not mean I idolize Ben F. I mean, I reckon that any guy who's got his face on a hundred dollar bill HAS to be pretty cool, but my world revolves around smaller things.

In fact, I probably idolize the maker of Maltesers more than I do old Ben.

So.... Let's once again copy the idea of Dr. Who and go back in time. Only this time, it's only about 2, 3 years back....

My previous cat Lois (Yes, there was a Clark too) had died a few weeks ago, and I missed having a cat around the house, missed hearing a rumbling purr, missed feeling the warm weight of a cat next to your feet at night.

I missed her so much, I actually conveniently forgot that Lois actually hated me and my guts. She scratched us if we touched her, hissed if we approached her food bowl and glared at me if I so much as glanced at her.

Grief can do strange things to a person.

So can chocolate.

I should really stop dropping little chocolate hints throughout my posts.

So this time, I was determined to get a nice cat.

We drove over to PAWS (Protection for Animals blahblah) and looked at the kittens, despite the fact that the cats were cheaper. There were so many.

There was a gray one, a black one, a white one.

There were these really cute black-and-white brothers, all snuggled up together. I figured we were getting them.

But then I saw.... him.

A small, scrawny ginger kitten with a dirty nose, poking his paw through the wire mesh.

Despite the fact that I was sick of ginger cats (orange was the ruling colour for the strays around our neighbourhood, it seemed) I fell in love with him at once.

So we got him, and another silver tom which we named Lance.

(Lance, sadly, doesn't come into this story. He died not long after we brought him home. A moment of silence, please.)

So anyway, we originally wanted to name him THE MOST PRETENTIOUS, POSH NAME IN THE WORLD.....

Orlando.

But then we took one look at him, decided Orlando wasn't right for him. So we landed him with an even MORE pretentious name. Benjamin Franklin.

A good wash later, and a scrubbing on his nose, his fur was soft and shiny, and his nose was surprisingly pink. Of course, we had to feed him up a little; his ribs were poking through his pelt, and his face wasn't chubby like kittens' should be.

Now, 2, 3 years later, he's overweight.

He's not like Lois at all; in fact, he's really warm and affectionate (I would go so far as to call him needy) and sleeps on my bed, licks my toes and curls up on my lap, which is actually kinda irritating. When you're a 30 kilo girl needing to go to the toilet with a 5, 6 kilo cat on your lap, well, it's a bit hard. You know, considering the fact that that same 30 kilo girl has no muscles WHATSOEVER.

Ah, the joys of owning a cat.

At night, he either sleeps on my feet (thereby cutting off all blood ciculation) or on my chest (thereby crushing my ribs).

I know it might sound like Ben is a savage killing machine, but I love him.

The reason?

He's the only one I can talk to. My parents are constantly busy. My best friend has moved away, and my other best friend has left the school, which is almost as bad. My new friends at school aren't close enough (sorry, guys, but it's true.)

And, well, my sisters aren't people. I'm pretty sure my friend (let's call him Mir A) will relate.

So anything, from whether I should buy Twix or Mars bars, to what the hell is a chlamydomonas (turns out it's a multicellular organism... I think.. or is it unicellular?), to a sarcastic comment on American Idol, to rants on how Dobby from Harry Potter should never have died, I tell Ben.

It's a sad life, but it's mine.

And that's the story of how I got Benjamin Franklin, and our relationship.

Well, that's all for now, guys. I hope you haven't fallen asleep, or even DIED on me.

'Death by Boring Blog' would sound lame in your obituaries.

And I really don't need the paperwork.

Later!
Random Awesome