Charlie Chaplin, the one and only

Chaplin, high on catnip

If you know anything about my family, my dad's side to be exact, you know they are infatuated with cats. All six sisters and both of his brothers become this other person when they talk about cats--it's like they are in character as a cat, purring and personifying cats, telling stories from their perspective, and basically getting all sentimental about their cats. It is not uncommon to visit Pa (my dad's dad) or see one of our relatives from Missouri and Arkansas and be posed with the question, "So, how's your kitty cat?" In fact, I am often relating to my relatives the details of my dad's cat Debbie's health saga of late, and trust me, I didn't bring it up. Everyone knows everyone's cat's name(s), and yes, believe it or not, seven of the nine have a cat or cats,  and the other two have extenuating circumstances preventing them from owning one. If I ever receive a Christmas card from Pa with anything other than a cat on the front, I think I would keel over. My dad has all these pet names for Debbie (pet name for your pet? Isn't that redundant?) and phrases I grew up hearing in reference to the cat, such as, "Don't badger the badger!" I could go on, but I think you get the picture.

That said, my uncle Tuna (Dan) specifically requested a blog post on Charlie Chaplin, so bear with me.

Just a couple of weeks before Chris and I got married in June of 2006, this scrawny black-and-white tomcat started hanging around my parents' house. He was obviously starving, and surprisingly, Mom let us give him a little food. We were amazed when, as he hungrily scarfed the food, he would stop and come over to us, purring and rubbing his head on our legs. He was starving for affection as much as for food! Dad couldn't keep another cat, but he told me to ask Chris if we wanted him. If so, Dad would get him fixed and vaccinated for us. Sure enough, fate would have it that we said yes! That night, I let the cat inside and bathed him (yep, sure did) and put him at the foot of my bed to go to sleep. As soon as I lay down, he crept up the bed and laid his scraggly, giant head down on my shoulder, purring loudly. It was meant to be!

our new apartment, 2006

The vet had some bad news: the cat had FIV, which I understand to be the cat equivalent of HIV (F standing for feline, of course). The good news is that his disease doesn't really mean much except that he can't be around other cats and needs to be an inside cat. Over the years there have been weird things, like a random ear infection, a toenail that had to be removed because of infection, and really stinky breath from the plaque build-up on his teeth, but otherwise he is a really healthy cat. One thing about FIV is that it makes the teeth age faster, so there's really no way to know how old he is. 

Anyway, I named him Charlie Chaplin because I wanted a name of a black-and-white character and that one seemed to fit. He answers to "Chap," "Chappy," "Chuck," and the more formal "Charles," as well. He moved into our first apartment with Chris before our wedding, and proceeded to pop the air mattress with his impressive kneading action. We neglected to report that we had a pet to our apartment complex, but Chap was not one to hide his presence: he would wait patiently in the front window every day until I got home from work, and then would run and greet me at the door. One day, I left a big bag of cat food on the kitchen table and got home to find that Chaplin had torn into the bag and helped himself to as much cat food as he could gorge on. This may have contributed to his body size catching up to the size of his head and paws. 

Note the drool on his chin.

Needless to say, he soon was using an automatic feeder my dad got us--it would turn twice a day, revealing that meal's portion. Chap would sit and wait for it, staring intently, at the same time each day. On the off chance that it turned while he was elsewhere, he would hear the buzzing sound and take off, heading straight for his food. In his older years, we gave up on the automatic feeder and decided he could just be fat and happy, so he has a bowl of food waiting at any hour of the day. Some of the developments in his life include welcoming two dogs into his home, training the two dogs to understand that The Cat is in Charge, being forced to sleep in the laundry room at night once Noah was born (for fear he would suffocate the baby with his powers of snuggling), and enduring the replacement of his favorite scratching material (our carpet) with the hard floors. Oh, and he is still adjusting to Audrey's VERY loud cries and screams... when she really gets going, Chaplin starts yowling and meowing as loud as she does.

Anyway, I'm starting to think the length of this post about my CAT is a bit indicative of my lineage, so I'll leave you with a picture.

Chaplin in Daisy's bed, so Daisy is banished to the floor.