Ageless impitude

Ageless impitude

babyimpy1I’d place Baby New Year somewhere between The Burger King and Mayor McCheese on the Creep-o-Meter.

Whoever came up with the idea of representing the year with a naked, top-hatted baby…who gradually becomes a sad old Father Time carrying a sharp implement? Fortunately, Tabby’s Place has got you covered with a decidedly uncreepy Baby New Year all our own.

The Creep-o-Meter goes from The Burger King through Baby New Year to Mayor McCheese. It's a wonder my computer didn't explode from such a high concentration of creepitude.
The Creep-o-Meter goes from The Burger King through Baby New Year to Mayor McCheese. It’s a wonder my computer didn’t explode from such a high concentration of creepitude.

I should have known, when I obliquely referred to a new cat named Impy, that I’d be flooded by e-mails along these lines:

You have a cat named Impy? I must see Impy. Impy must be cute. Impy cute. Impy good. Impy heap strong. SHOW ME THE IMPY NOW or I will give you a cold, molded mustard sandwich.

Today I appease your Impy angst. The cherub-headed fluff pictured in this post is none other than…Impy.

Impz (as she goes among her closest friends, of whom I intend to be one) is a good 3 1/2 years old. Typically vets say kittenhood ends c. 1 year of age. But Impy is anything but typical. (See: name “Impy.”)

Impy Impy Impy!
Impy Impy Impy!

With a bashfulness that approaches Greta Garbo territory, Impy will fidget around you when you visit her. First she’ll bob and weave in her comfort zone, the cat tree in Adoption Room #2. Just when you think Impz may be surgically attached to the tree post, that pumpkin-round head will dart out, and she’ll start rubbing her fluffy self around the front of it. At this point, resistance is futile. You will pet the Imp. But be prepared: she will act like you’re pouring green slime on her, or perhaps offering her a cold, molded mustard sandwich. You can pet her, sure, and she’ll put up with it…all the while trying to be crouching cat, hidden Impy. Every fiber of Impy’s body language now shouts: what are you doing to me and why? Why, why, why does it always happen to meeeeee?

But here’s the thing: she always remembers, just a moment before you give up, that she does love love. Or, at least, she wants to love love. Mark my words: she’s on the road to being lovely.

One more word to Impy’s would-be adorers: you will get spit and sputtered at if you pet the Imp. Not by Impy. No, the Sounds Of Extreme Wrath are coming from Impy’s guardian angel – and by “guardian angel” I don’t mean the gentle winged ladies you see in Pre-Raphaelite paintings of seraphs. I mean the tough guys defending justice in red berets in New York City. Those Guardian Angels.

Jennifer Ann is not amused.
Jennifer Ann is not amused.

Impy’s concrete angel is none other than Jennifer Ann. Don’t take this personally, but…well, Jennifer Ann hates you. Yes, you. Me too. (Qualification for earning Jennifer Ann’s hate: human DNA.) We’re working on this, and I think her hatred’s days are numbered. But in the meantime, Jennifer Ann lives in the cubby under Impy’s perch. She’s sweet on Impy and doesn’t take kindly to people touching Baby New Year. So…she’ll spit. Hiss. Growl. Even scream. As long as you keep all fingers and toes away from the cubby entrance, she won’t maim you. And as long as you stay focused on Impy – irresistible, irrepressible Impy – your courage should be up to the task. Just think of all that spitting as a sort of music. We don’t blame J.A. for her wrath. Along with Impy and their six adopted siblings, JenAnn just lost her beloved papa, and she has yet to take much comfort from the fact that he provided for them all through the Guardian Angel Program. She’s missing Dad, she’s a senior, and she’s not so sure about us. It’s all okay. Meantime, Jennifer Ann, you may have a future as the official one-feline tribute band to Pantera.

BABY IMPY. Good heavens.
BABY IMPY. Good heavens.

But this post is really about Impy, the eternal Baby New Year. I conclude with some photos from Impy’s oldest friends. This is about to get complicated, so stay with me: Impy and her brother Romeo were found, as infants, by Impy & JenAnn’s papa and a friend we’ll call FabAlli. Shortly after, they also found the kittens’ mother, one Monica. FabAlli adopted Romeo, while Monica and Impy went with their new Dad. That’s the superpapa who just passed, sending Impy and Monica (and Jennifer Ann and all the others) on to Tabby’s Place. Phew. Anyway, FabAlli visited again last week, and was kind enough to share these photos of Impy, taken the day she was rescued.

Baby Impy.


So, happy, purry, utterly uncreepy new year to you, Felis Catus fam. 2012 is going to be awesome…and a tad impish.

Thanks to VolunteerJess for the adult-Impy photo, and FabAlli for the baby-Impy photos. I don’t know if we should thank or discipline whoever’s responsible for the photos of The Burger King, Baby New Year & Mayor McCheese.

Impin' it up, 2008-style.
Impin’ it up, 2008-style.

6 thoughts on “Ageless impitude

  1. I can’t wait to meet the Impster! I was in her room on Monday when I was talking with Max but I wasn’t sure how she would react to people. Now that I know she will be fine, I will spend some quality time with her!

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