Back when Alfie was a wee thing. Still a terror but a wee terror. They still do this, btw.
Major announcement here on planet virgotex: it seems that yes, the mermaids are singing to me, yes I do dare to eat that peach, spring has sprung again and love is in the air. And oh yeah, I’m hanging up that lesbian thing and tryin’ on a little May-December number. Well, maybe April-November is more appropriate.
He gets me. He really gets me. What more can I say?
UPDATED: Just in case, for the foolish-impaired, and to protect the innocent: yes, this is an April Fool’s joke. I remain one of Dorothy’s best friends and the splendid man in the photo remains an eligible bachelor.
I have recently come to believe that Alfie is likely part Turkish Van cat.
Firstly, I am in no way, shape, or form a supporter of pedigreed or purebred animals as a hobby. I got him from a shelter and very likely the next cat I get (if and when that happens) will be of similar origin. Whatever his genetic makeup, I love him because he’s a splendid, beautiful, sweet loving little guy.
That said, I think knowing a pet’s breed is interesting, and can often be helpful in explaining their behavior, health, and other characteristics.
Secondly, though it’s unlikely by now that any members of the cat fancy eager to set me straight are lurking near, let me assure them anyway. I know he’s not a “real” Van. At best he’s a lowly “Van-Alike.” I get it and as noted above, I don’t give a crap.
I found out about the breed because I started looking for info about Alfie’s coat. I’ve never had, or for that matter, seen a cat with such a coat. It’s like a cashmere baby blanket, or the softest fur on the tiniest bunny you ever saw. Turns out Vans do not have the awn and guard hairs most cats do, just the silky downy stuff.
The other giveaway is his markings. The characteristic Van pattern is a brilliant while body with a colored tail and matching head, or as I call it, his toupee. As merely a VanAlike, Alfie doesn’t have stripes on his very plushy tail and as seen in pix, he’s got some big Holstein-like dark spots mixed up on his otherwise white body.
Lastly, water. I have become more aware as he gets bigger that he’s obsessed with water. He hasn’t actually jumped in any (that I’ve seen) but he loves being wet and playing with water. He like to rub against my legs when I get out of the tub, he likes to sit on the still damp door of the dishwasher, he likes to snake around in the damp tall grass outside. He hates being tagged by my water sprayer full stream but he does enjoy a nice misting. How did I find this out? I give the parrot frequent warm mistings and I discovered Alfie would sit on the floor underneath in order to get in on the act.
Which brings us to the best known fact about Turkish Vans: Often as not, they really enjoy water. They swim. On purpose.
So, some backstory on Alfie. Good to know, though he doesn’t appear that interested in any of it. He’s currently snoozed out on the floor.
Okay, so we’ve had a couple of undocumented sessions! Tonight was Alfie’s fourth adventure in the ‘real’ outside.
All went well.
He’s an old hand now. This outside stuff? No big whoop.
Napping in the dishwasher, apres outside walkabout numero quatro. Yeah, so? Special recuperative powers, donchya know?
Alfie’s been chomping at the bit to go all the way outside, not just onto the deck and yesterday evening, I allowed him a bit of an “expotition” into the great wild beyond of my chaotic backyard.
I’m proceeding with caution before he goes solo. Yeah, I know he’s a cat and has loads of natural instinct. But so do the coyotes and the hawks and owls and snakes out there, not to mention the neighbors’ cats and dogs.
Kitty and bodyguard, with the camera crew bringing up the rear.
After about three minutes, he went straight up a tree, as in almost to the very top. He was stalking about, doing that huffing Flehmen response thing, and in this shot, seriously contemplating a leap UP into an adjacent tree. He decided instead to jump the 15 feet to the ground from here, instead of climbing down. He plummeted like a little sack of dirt, not so graceful.
“Hay guise!! I was up a tree! Do I smell different? Am I a tiger now?”
Okay, Alfie had a growth spurt. I think it was Tuesday.
I’m not kidding. It was overnight, and Bam! he was suddenly fundamentally different and larger than he’d previously been.
He moved in on May 12 I think he was between 6-8 weeks old then. That would make him around 11-12 weeks now.
“I dunno. I kinda like that new Olympics logo. It’s shiny and jittery—what’s the problem?”
A hind leg for a hind leg… that’s like, in the Bible, right?
Appearances aside, Possum is the gentlest of playmates so far, much less lethal than Alfie, aka the Feline Can Opener.