My cats are funny. Sure, I may be a little biased, but for the most part, Trey and I live with a small collection of the world’s most distinctly individual feline personalities…and they’re all pretty hilarious.
I was still living with my parents after college, but having independence issues, when I got my first cat, Tempe. I bought her at the little pet store that used to be in the Hillcrest Shopping Center. When my parents realized I had gotten a kitten without their permission, they were pretty peaved. So, what was my logical next move? Obviously, it was to get another cat. I went back to that pet store honestly only looking to get some fun cat supplies for Tempe, and that’s when I fell in love with Roger. He was a tiny poof of furry tiger stripes with bright white lines around each of his eyes. He was terrifed and stared up at me with a look that I was certain meant “are you my mommy?” OF COURSE I AM! The pet store owner told me that he had been brought in earlier that day with his sister: a woman was driving to Greenville from Charlotte and heard a strange squealing noise coming from the hood of her car. When she finally pulled over to check it out, she found 2 little long hair black tabbys curled up next to her window washing fluid. It’s a miracle they were safe! Roger’s sister had gotten adopted immediately, which meant that poor Roger was all alone in his kitty cage just waiting for me to come by and rescue him. Yes, I am a complete and total sucker for baby animals.
I named him Roger after Roger Clyne and the Peacemakers (formerly The Refreshments). For that matter, I’d named Tempe after Tempe, Arizona: the Peacemakers’ hometown. I was a little obsessed in the early 2000s.
As Roger grew up, it became glaringly obvious that he loved me with all his heart, and was utterly terrifed of every other human being who ever lived. He’s my sweet man, my love, my cuddler and my bathroom buddy. Let me explain: Roger has an allergy to regular cat food (in short, one of the main ingredients gives him kidney stones), which meant that, while the other cats could eat their dinner in the kitchen, Roger had to take his meals alone in the bathroom. Once he started howling, I’d go in there and wash my face, or use the potty, or anything, and he’d purr and happily chow down on his horribly expensive cat food.
A few notable Rogerisms:
Roger loves feet. A lot. Fetish isn’t a strong enough word.
Roger is scared of you. Unless you’re me. Or Trey.
Roger is gay. He fell in love with a sweet yellow tabby boy cat named Milo years ago and hasn’t looked at a woman since.
Roger is prettier than you, and he knows it.
Roger is a mama’s boy. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Roger hates reading…well, he hates it when I read. Any time I pick up a book, he’ll curl up right on top of the pages so that I can’t see any of the words.
Roger likes to be held like a toddler, and will literally hug me around the neck.