Unusually Bad For His Size

Unusually Bad For His Size

Loki was getting walked regularly, I had one part-time job working at Hastings and was also doing adjunct History teaching at MSU-B and life was in something of a routine, when, for my birthday in 2001, Laurel gave me the worst present that could have happened to Mallory.

We went to the pound.  In deference to Mallory actually, I was looking for a male kitten, labouring under the false belief that he would be the most likely to get along well with her.  I don't think she ever believed me when I tried to explain that.  His first attempt to befriend her ended up with his head bleeding slightly, but that was almost the only time she was able to establish that she was in charge.  Everyone else in the house accepted that she was the alpha,[1] he, did not.

But before that, there came the actual picking out.  There was only one cage with male kittens innit.  I’d always wanted another Siamese and in this cage were three kittens.  A matched pair of Siamese curled up together, not feeling like they needed to pay any attention to me and gray and black striped one who reached up to the doors to get my attention.  He was more interested me than they were, plus, I thought they had a fairly good chance of getting adopted as a pair and I couldn’t stand the idea of leaving him alone in the cage.

So he came home with me.  In retrospect, I shouldn’t have tried to cuddle him so much at the start, but I had forgotten about very new kittens who get shocked into a new environment.  I blame this for the fact that to this day he feels being picked up or cuddled to be an assault on his person and some of the worst torture he’s ever undergone. [2]

Because of the other denizens of the rented duplex we lived in in Billings, I took him into my room before I let him out of the box the pound gave me.  I was trying to get him used to me and find a name.  I’ve always wanted to name a cat Sherlock, but as anyone who’s ever tried to impose a name on a cat knows, this is pointless. I finally gave up and lay still on the floor to stop scaring him.             `

I dozed off, as I am wont to do pretty much any time I hold still for more than a few minutes and had a dream I can’t remember about Sleepy Hollow[3].  Thus, my future scaredy-cat got the name Ichabod, which, much to my original chagrin, I’d forgotten had been the designation of a couple of cats who’d belonged to my aunt, uncle and cousins[4] but I overcame my lack of originality and the name has proved quite appropriate.

While he was confined to my room for the night for the first month he lived with us, after a day or so, I let him out into the house.  This lead to both the first altercation with Mallory and unremitting (and mostly unrequited) affection for Loki. 

One of Ichabod’s very early actions was to crawl up onto the couch where Loki was curled up asleep, not bothering anyone and snuggle.[5] His preferred position was up against her stomach, just below her ribcage.  Being Loki and having a strong sense of pack responsibility, she put up with this.   She didn’t entirely care for it, but she put up with it and even made use of the time.  For quite some time, when I’d take him to the vet, I’d get complimented on how clean his ears were.

Except when he tried to nurse.  You could always tell when that was happening, after the first time.  They’d be lying there, Ichabod blissfully, Loki resigned.  Then he’d start a furious kitten purr, she’d yelp and he’d go flying off the couch.  This never deterred him for long. Even the time when I was writing a lecture with Loki’s head pressed up against my thigh and Ichabod in his favourite position, and she suddenly snarled and chased him up into lap only kept him away for a minute or two.  He lives in the perfect faith that she will never hurt him.

Which seems to be proved out, as his relationship with Mallory took a similar line.  Well, sort of.

He wanted to be friends with her and tried to snuggle and play and she, by virtue of the age difference and a much less social personality when it comes to animals, didn’t.  Or if she did, he’d rapidly get too rough.  Loki would inevitably rush in to intervene.  And inevitably chase Mallory away as if she were the offending party. There is some evidence that when left alone without witnesses, they were able to play with each other without it resulting in bloodshed, but Mallory refuses to admit to this and we have no actual proof.

The fact that he outweighed her in short order didn’t especially help Mallory’s situation. 

This is not to imply that he is 100% awful.  Just about 75%.  I judge it to be more a clash of personalities. He is very social with other animals, befriending cats in both areas where we have lived and other dogs that have come into our home.  Mallory loves people, but not so much other beings with fur and four legs.  I even have photos of him stealth cuddling with her.

Stealth cuddling is positioning himself next to Mallory or Loki or Molly and slowly, veeerrry slowly reaching out one a paw until he’s touching them without being noticed.  Sometimes he’ll even manage full body contact.  This usually happens when they’re asleep and lasts until someone wakes up and hijinks ensue.

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[1] Several years later, our mother was making disparaging comments on the level of training the dogs had and asked, “Who’s in charge in this house?”  Spontaneously and simultaneously, Laurel and I both said, “Mallory.”  More on this later.

[2] After 12 years I’ve Stockholmed him into believing that this is actually acceptable behaviour on my part and he will actually purr and cuddle for up to a minute.  Sometimes he will even purr and cuddle while trying to get away. 

[3] Apropos of nothing, my friend Brian Jay Jones (not the Rolling Stone) wrote a very excellent book on Washington Irving, which has a little bit, about this tale in.

[4] Another writer friend of mine, the underappreciated Jerry Oltion, recalled having my cousin Jerry Jolley(an underappreciated some-time radio DJ) “have to get home and feed Ichabod before he pees on the stove.”

[5] This is to be distinguished from cuddling in that A) he initiates it in typical cat fashion, i.e. total disregard for what anyone else might want B) he is no way, shape or form, confined.