G-Dog and Muppet


You know who doesn’t get enough credit around here?  The cats, that’s who.

I have two, Grace and Martha, although they go by many, many other names as well.  Grace, Gracie, Greg, The Amazing Grace, G-Dog, Gigi, Gracer, Speed Gracer, Grakus…Martha, Muffin, Muff, Muffy, Muppet, Marph, Imperator.  The cool things about cats is that really, you can call them whatever you want, because they don’t come when you call anyway.  Bahdump BUMP.

They’re barn cats from Marmora.  We’ve never been sure if they are sisters, or half-sisters and first cousins.  There was two litters born at the same time, to sisters, and one male cat around.  Anyway you slice it, they’re related somehow, like a lot of folks out that way.

Grace is…unique.  Affectionate to the point of being annoying, Grace will lick your face right off your skull.  She’s not fond of baseball hats, and will knock that hat off your silly head, Mister.  She’s the softest thing ever, and is very empathetic.  Grace knows who needs extra love.  Grace is the one who runs up to your room in the middle of the night when you have a bad dream.  Grace follows you around like a little dog. She’s loyal and squawky and hungry and cuddly.  She’s not really fat, she’s fluffy.  That’s her story and she’s sticking with it.  She has a sassy, loveable little attitude and a heart a mile wide.  She’s the Dolly Parton of cats.

Muff is a beautiful calico, and is well aware of it.  She mumbles to herself.  She never really “meows”, per se, but is constantly giving her opinion on – what?  We don’t know.  She has double-jointed hips and assumes really odd positions at times.  She’s not as cuddly as Grace, more the Dorothy Parker than the Dolly Parton type.  She likes to be in the same room as us, but not on our laps, just close by.  Her favourite game is Let’s Knock All the Shit Off the Bookshelf at 3 A.M., and then talk about what’s just happened.

They are both very fond of everyone except each other.  For some reason, they just don’t get along.  They’re getting on, now – we figure they’re 15 or 16 now, but they’re in good health and still occasionally have little crazy-attacks, tilting at windmills and chasing imaginary prey.  They have really been the best of cats.  They helped raise my kids, and sometimes, really, no one else will listen. 

What? What?

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