King of all cats – scared of little children, cars, garage doors, and people of unscrupulous character! My bestest buddy.
He likes me so much he drinks my bathwater and sticks his whole face into my shoes to get nothing but the pure essence of me.
As for my cat, his name is Bailey, and while I was most heartbroken, I was apparently given him in lieu of a wife. My holiday cards are even sent to us both as if I’m already well into my 80’s or something. I got him from a shelter. I’m pretty sure he was named after the character in Party of Five. I’m pretty awful at naming stuff, so I kept it. It’s if I ever have a son I sort of want to call him Press, it’s my mother’s maiden name and was Pete Maravich’s father’s name. Me and Pete’s Grandmother are probably the only ones who have ever thought it was a good name.
Bailey’s a pretty big cat and he has these three oddly matching characteristics:
1. He’s just lovely to adults
2. Children scare the hell out of him
3. He fears no cat alive and all cats must be made to bow down before him.
I’d let him outside for about 15 minutes at a time in Los Angeles and if another cat yielded, Bailey was cool, but if someone stood up to him, it was on! The only cat in my little complex that would stand up to Bailey was my friend Rich’s cat, Samuel. He’s named for Samuel L. Jackson so he has to have a little courage. Every once in a while the two would tussle. The most memorable time started with a stare down between the two. It lasted about a minute and a half, when Samuel backed off and started to walk away. Bailey, having won, of course took this as a sign of weakness and attacked. “Bailey, you’re a dick!”
Anyway, my mother ruined him for me. I had never fed him wet food before and since he never really knew it was an option never bugged me about food. Then my mother visits and the cat starts acting like Charlie Parker after his first fix. Now our relationship is all about food, and me the enabler, hell, I can’t keep him from something he so obviously loves.
Somewhere along the line he wound up with diabetes, which means that I, despite barely being able to take care of myself have to inject him with insulin twice a day. My friend had once told me that his wife was still really depressed about a dead cat after about four months and I was sort of amazed by that. Then 8 years or so later Bailey’s sugar gets all out of whack, and I’m running into a vets office crying my eyes out as if my entire family had just perished in a plane crash. That’s another one of my top manly moments on the planet if you’ve been keeping track.