Where we last left our Show Me staters, something was foul in Denmark the Special Needs Suite.
But, Kendall and Hawkeye to the contrary, most of the Missouri delegation have melted in just fine with their roommates. The best example of this may be Icelus.
Our creamsicle guy came from St. Louis with that name, and naturally we couldn’t change such an elegantly weird moniker. Thanks to the empire of Google, we quickly learned that Icelus was the “god” of nightmares in Greek mythology (that’s Phobetor if you’re nasty).
Yeah. That makes sense. And I am, in fact, the Queen of Spain.
Clearly the Missouri shelter folk have a rollicking sense of irony, because naming this cat for nightmare-guy is like nicknaming a bald 80-year-old Marine “Princess Prettypants.” Icelus…is a moosh.
He wants you to moosh his face. He wants you to moosh his shoulders. He wants you to moosh his belly.
And he may well want you to moosh his tail, but that, you cannot do. When God was handing out tails, Icelus must have been hiding behind the door. Or, more likely, getting mooshed.
Rivaling Icelus for the role of mooshmaster is Monkey. Like his namesake simian, this boy wants to climb all over you. A little dude, all knees and elbows, Monkey is barely more than a teenager – and he has the energy and goofiness to match.
When he first arrived at Tabby’s Place, he also had a heck of a lot of ookiness going on with his skin. What were those bald, red, angry patches about? Had Monkey been rolling around in acid, or toxic waste, or the contents of Charlie Sheen’s soul?
Even worse: it was ringworm. Every time I mention ringworm, I feel like sad strains from a tragic opera should begin to play, because ringworm is the cause of many laments at Tabby’s Place. For humans, it means having to do Really Mean Things to cats we love – namely, dip them in stinky, cold, wet lime sulfur solution for three weeks. For felines, it means having to be dipped in said elixir, just when they’ve already been rattled by the relocation to Tabby’s Place. “Hi, nice to meetcha! Can I dunk you in the Pit of Stench?” is not generally the best way to start a beautiful friendship. Ringworm treatment does, alas, set back new cats’ socialization journey at times.
But not Monkey. Apparently this Show Me Stater didn’t need any further proof of our love than the fact that we each had a pulse. Even through the ringworm regimen, he was as goofy and happy as…well, a monkey. Now that he’s knocked out that evil fungus (cue the triumphant opera here), adoption would seem to be the next stop on his swinging journey.
Braving the Pit of Stench along with Monkey were two other lovies: Captain and Andre.
The good people at the Missouri shelter must have seen something magical and sparkly in Captain, because they named him…um…you can’t tell him I’m telling you this, but…Tinkerbell.
Tinkerbell. Him. Yes. Indignity abounds.
“Icelus” could work. Tinkerbell for a rowdy orange boy? Not so much. And so he became Captain, as in Hook…but the only thing with which el Capitan will hook you is his personality. Mooshing abounds even more.
Finally, there is the wonder of Andre. What’s black and white and “love” all over? You guessed it. No 900-mile drive or Pit of Stench could muffle this cow-colored cutie’s love.
So now that I’ve seen ’em with my own eyes and loved ’em with my own heart, I can say with confidence: Missouri is growing some pretty stellar felines.
Next time we’re having a cat shortage, you just might want to meet me in St. Louis.