I was going to begin this post, “I like big cats and I cannot lie.”
But even I have more dignity than that. Or, at least, the cats do.
But when it comes to things about which I cannot lie, here are several:
- Meat Loaf should win this season of Celebrity Apprentice. And many other awards and prizes, too.
- We should name a Tabby’s Place cat “Meat Loaf.”
- If ever a Tabby’s Place cat deserved the name “Meat Loaf,” it might be Oscar…
- …or possibly Astor.
Hmmm…make that “Entire Side Of Beef.” Or maybe “900-Head Herd Of Steer” is more like it.
These be some big cats. (And I like them. And I cannot lie.)
It wasn’t always this way. There was a time when Astor and Oscar were more like single-patty sliders. The boys first came to Tabby’s Place c. 2005, at which time their size was unremarkable. (Bigger than a breadbox, smaller than Jupiter.) Due to other, more remarkable qualities, they were adopted together. Years went by. Many hundreds of Whoppers apparently were consumed. Then, this spring, the boys came back.
The details on the boys’ in-between years are only about as clear as beef broth (clearer than Donald Trump’s thought process, less clear than Gilbert Gottfried’s schedule). Famiglia Oscar/Astor (Ostor? Ascar? OsAsTorCar?) fell on some sort of hard times. Those hard times made them return the boys (they didn’t want to do it).
One thing is evident; Oscar and Astor’s fam loved them enough to provide for their dietary needs. (Am I the only one who suspects the family may have been literally eaten out of house and home?) We’re going to put the lads on a D-I-E-T, but for the moment we’re letting them settle in…while also setting a good example.
As notable as their meat loafitude may be, the most exceptional thing about OsAsTorCar is their shared sweetness. Make no mistake: this is colossal, epic sweetness. Think Attack of the 50-Foot Sweetness. Think lollipop-the-size-of-Saturn sweetness. Think almost-Webster-level sweetness…well, no, maybe not that sweet.
When you first enter Suite A, you’ll be greeted by a wuuuuurrrrp?, then a thump thud mighty cosmic crash. That’s Astor heaving his heft down the ramp to greet you, with a bitty chirp better suited to a cat half one-sixteenth his size. Pet him – please – and you’ll have the happiest hunk of cat on the planet purring for you.
About that time, the snoozier member of the pair, tabby-and-white Oscar, will stir to consciousness, poking his basketball-esque head up and blinking your way. If you hesitate, he won’t, and soon you’ll have two Sumo cats doing happy, huge figure-eights around your legs.
Much more than their size, these boys have the affection of twelve cats. Which is fortunate, because although there are around twelve cats in their suite, Oscar and Astor are the only ones you can touch (well, assuming you would like to keep all of your digits; if you have an extra finger or two that you’d like to have cheaply removed, that’s another story).
Yes, Oscar and Astor live Casa Dobro.
Will the meat loaves make their mark on Dobro and his wonderful yet touch-me-not friends? Will they encourage Dobro and his posse to trust human beans…or perhaps to triple in size? (Imagine a 30-pound Dobro. Good glory. We are all in trouble.)
Let’s hope the Suite A society will apprentice themselves to our big, big-hearted boys.