“Snowball” was brought to our home as a kitten by one of our daughter’s friends, as she arrived for a sleepover at our house. Apparently, she couldn’t keep him, and who was I to say no to a pre-teen who so desperately had already fallen in love? (Thanks a lot, Jenna’s Mom).
He was named by Katie, in a nod to “The Simpsons” Snowball and Snowball II.
He spent most of his first days with us looking out windows and not negotiating the litter box. Did I mention that we had just moved into our brand new house … with brand new carpets … the month before?
Snowball soon had us trained to let him out with a “Meeout!” at the front door, and to be let back in with a few plucks with sharpened claws on the outside living room window screens. Often within 10 minutes. He is also known to open doors by himself.
Snowball is also a gourmet and expects only the finest cheeses and meats from his perch on the edge of the threshold to the kitchen as The Husband prepares sandwiches. He knows not to move any closer, or the deal’s off.
He is an avid supervisor when the kids had to get themselves ready for school and would alternately sit on the counter, assessing toothbrushing, or in the sink, so as to prolong their activities, making more time for cuddles, and giggles. And for me to yell at them to stop playing with the cat and get ready for school.
I often say that this cat is plotting my death, as he has zoomed from behind me on the stairs, in order to beat me, in his own imaginary race. I’m pretty sure if he could, he would say “First!” The swish of his tail says it all, as he rounds the corner in front of me.
Snowball is 9 years old in human years, but 52 in cat years. He’s now enjoying taking it easy. The kids are his favorite people in the house, as they spoil him with treats, leftovers from dinner, beds to sleep on and scratches behind the ears.
Such is the life of a cat, and Snowball’s got it made.
– Kelly Sinon, classifieds
