As I was flipping through many a spring-taunting photo for this week's blog, I came across this shot of a still kitten-ish Molly. Since I haven't posted about her specifically yet, I figured I would post about her tonight.
Molly is the third cat Andrew and I have shared since we have been married. We got her June 2nd, 2007 after realizing that Tweeker was desperately lonely. Andrew wanted a tortoiseshell. I don't know why, he's never had one before and he kept saying "I want a tortie kitten and I want to name her Molly." So we trundled to the Union County Humane Society and they only had two kittens, a tiger and a tortie. So Andrew asked for them to bring the tortie out and here came this tiny 8 week old kitten who had been thrown out of a passing truck.
The lady said her name was Molly (coincidence right?) And as soon as she was placed in Andrew's hand she snuggled up against his shirt, like her back to the wall, warily eying the world.
So we brought her home crying all the way and introduced her to Tweek. We put her on the ground, and she immediately shot, tail shaking like a skinny flag, under the entertainment center. This induced completely unfounded panic, and not trusting that she would come out on her own, we enticed her with canned food.
For about two weeks we kept her in the guest room. She was only 8 weeks old when we got her, and brought her out morning and night for play dates with Tweeker on our bed. Molly immediately laid out who was boss, swatting at Tweek, and demanding to be groomed.
Molly has grown more affectionate with age, partially I think because after Tweek passed away she became the dominant cat and partially because she just became more loving. She sleeps with us most every night, and demands loves to be cuddled on a sleep in morning. She is the most predatory of our cats so far, the most entranced by bugs in the house, the most alert to birds outside. She likes toys, but seems to be a bit bored by them, like she knows they aren't the real thing. And has always retained some wild spirit.
She greets me at the door now, and stands up on her hind legs, stretching her body long to be petted. She loves to run around the house with or without Maxwell and she chirps more than meows.
A favorite spot is over the cabinets above the refrigerator where she will cry for Andrew to reach up and pet her, letting out a little meow as she yawns.
When she's really cranked up she likes to run halfway up the stairs, point her butt towards the front door, and put her head on the stair, peeking at us like she's about to do a headstand.
They say torties have their own personality and that's true of our little mo mo. She's not affectionate the strangers and she's no dope. But she's our little treasure.
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