Fox in the henhouse

Fox in the henhouse

13219976774_44c4be277f_bJustin Timberlake is not going to drop a ragtime-opera fusion album.*
Beyonce is not going to play our 37th president in Nixon: The Musical!
And Sneakers will never embrace his inner James Bond. Smart celebrities stick to what they do best.

Tuxedo male, old but free of mold, single and ready to do whatever the opposite of "mingle" might be. Unless you're human, in which case...XXOOXOXOXOXOOOOO
Tuxedo male, old but free of mold, single and ready to do whatever the opposite of "mingle" might be. Unless you're human, in which case...XXOOXOXOXOXOOOOO

You can’t blame us. Much. We couldn’t help but expect a certain debonair side to emerge from Sneakers this spring. Sure, he’d always been more Norm than Frasier, more Funyuns than Cristal…but now things were different.

By “things,” I mean Sneakers’ abode. When our elderly tuxedo left Suite C, he wasn’t headed for the sleepy realm of Adoption Room #2 or the crazy quilt of the Community Room. Sneakers was going where no male cat had dared to go in 4+ years.

He was going to the Little Old Ladies’ Suite.

If you’ve been keeping track, this would make Adoption Room #3 the home of six ladies and one gentleman. Like the silver star in the nursing home who regularly finds notes under his door scrawled “You’re the cat’s pajamas, hottie. XO – Gladys in 4A”, Sneakers was the fox in the henhouse. Six of the sweetest girls in Tabby’s Place history were about to become his own sweet Adelines, and all he had to do was arrive.

But, unlike most celebrities, Sneakers doesn’t do “arrivals.” Sheepish and platter-eyed as usual, our senior simply shuffled into the life of Adoption Room #3, keeping his eyes and paws and thoughts to himself…and keeping several feet away from the nearest cats.

Perhaps Sylvia could have become the Anne Bancroft to Sneakers’ Mel Brooks. Perhaps Anneke could play Miss Piggy to his Kermit. And, most assuredly, Lady Grey could have been the Edith to his Archie. (Each of her tuneful AAOWOWWWWWMEEOOOMOWWWWWWWWs translates to something like: “Congress is a joke! There’s too much high fructose corn syrup in everything! They shouldn’t have stopped making Oldsmobiles! Those were the days!”)

"Do I dare to eat a peach?"
"Do I dare to eat a peach?"

But Sneakers is not into hasty hookups. On tenterhooks, he’s pensive and Prufrock-like.** His wide eyes proclaim, Girls are scary. Even James Bond turned into a raging alcoholic from all that gallivanting. Ever count up all those martinis?

He had a point. This is a cat who had no intention of letting himself get shaken or stirred.

And who can blame a fella for wanting to settle in sloooooowly? Let other cats hastily pair up and consciously uncouple. I think Sneakers is onto something sane and sacred in biding his time for love that will last.

Then again, maybe he’s just not that into cats.

There is one form of love that Sneakers can’t resist, and that’s the human flavor. When something on two legs walks into Adoption Room #3, Sneaks will clamber right over other cats to get to the object of his affection.

We’ll take it. But mark my words: Sneakers cannot resist love’s charms forever. So if you should hear ragtime-opera fusion emanating from Adoption Room #3…

*That would, however, be not a bad thing. I am sorry.

**And if you, too, have great affection for Justin Timberlake, Frasier Crane and T.S. Eliot, I love you and we should most definitely be best friends. And possibly be institutionalized. (Together. XO.)

Photo credits: All Jess B, all the time. Winning.

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