Add 2 more cool cats to Bonz’s list of feline friends


This week I made a coupla new FEE-line frens. Well, full disclosure, more like one anna HAFF.

When me an my assistant arrived at their home, a Nice Man greeted us an ushered us into the sunny living room, then went to fetch the inner-viewees, Dexter and Blackstone Corbiciero.

He was callin’ Kitty, Kitty, Kitty (which preddy much all humans who have cats call them when they’re lookin’ for ’em, which I always thought is kinda, well, ODD). Anyway, following a few “Mee-owws” from behind the bathroom door, the man retrieved a very BUE-dee-ful cat an carried him in to meet us. I noticed this cat hadda long tail with short fur except for a big pompom at the end, like a lion.

I was relieved that I already knew both cats were guys, cuz I wudda DEFF-in-nutly thought this large, bright-eyed fee-line with amazin’ long, soft-lookin’ white-and-gold fur was a grrrl, an probably made a huge Fox Paw. (Don’t tell him, OK?)

“May I assume you are the NOOS-payper COLL-um-nest Bonzo?” he said from the Nice Man’s lap, continuing before I could reply. “I am Dexter Corbiciero. THIS is my Daddy, Mario. My Mom Lisa’s in The Other Room. She works At Home, an we’re not s’pose to bother her so we mostly don’t.”

“It’s an honor, Dexter. Umm, I understand there is another feel-line here? Blackstone, is it?” I queried paw-lightly.

“Indeed. Blackstone. He’s a liddle shy an egg-CEN-trick. Even a liddle miss-TEARY-us.

That’s him!”

Dexter pointed toward the top of the fridge. “We all call him Blackie for OB-vee-us reasons.”

I glanced up an was startled to see a pair of golden eyes staring down at me. The rest of him was pitch black and looked more like shadow than ackshull fur, a blurry background for those eyes.

“Er, good morning, Mr. Blackstone,” I managed. He didn’t move. Or blink. I gulped. He looked like an owl, I thought.

“We got him from a lady who foss-ters cats. That means takin’ um in till they can find a Furever Home. She had OODLES of ’em.

“Anyhow, I’m goin’ on 11. Mom an Dad adopted ME in North Caro-LINE-uh when I was a kitten. Apparently I was an adorable fluffball, so they nicknamed me an still offen call me – Fluffy.”

I could clearly see why, but prudently chose not to mention it: He had said the word like he had just bitten down onna lemon.

“Therefore,” he continued, “DON’T call me that. Ever. I am the Boss of the House. The first time I set my liddle kitten paws on the floor I said to myself, ‘This is MY place now!’ Of course, I’ll let the humans stay. Back when I was a kitten, I LOVED door stops. I can’t even remember how many I duh-MOLL-ished. (Maybe cuz they sorta resemble mice.) Also, I Don’t Like To Be Brushed. Don’t even TRY. I am perfectly capable of grooming myself.”

He sat up straight, sapphire eyes wide, looking aloof an regal. I didn’t doubt him for a New York second. “What’s your breed,” I ventured. “You look sorta like one of those Ragdoll Cats.”

“Mom an Dad’s frens think maybe I’m a Maine Coon Cat, or purr-haps a Norwegian Forest Cat. To tell the truth, I like bein’ a Cat-of-MISS-tree.”

“I’m impressed an in-TREE-ged,” I said. “So, whadda you guys like to eat?”

I glanced up at Blacky, who, far as I could tell, hadn’t moved or blinked.

“We get Science Diet. We have our own bowls, of course. We also love chiggen an toona.

An, when Daddy’s fixin’ chiggen tenders for Deuce an Bugsy, Blackie jumps up on the counter to get some, too.”

“Err, Deuce an Bugsy?”

“Oh, yeah, they’re our DOGS. But that’s not their fault. We can’t all be cats. Anyhow, they’re our brothers, we preddy much get along. We’re used to each other now, ya know?

One time, I hadda remind Deuce that, Even tho I’m an Old Man, I can kick his caboose.

Now we’ll often all 4 hang out on the back of the couch an watch ‘Animal Planet.’ But I digress.

“What was I talkin’ about? Ooh, foodstuffs,” he recalled. “I espeshully enjoy sweets. Spuh-SIFF-ickly Pop Tarts. Daddy takes the crust off for me. I also REALLY love Vanilla Ice Cream. When Daddy has some in the evening, I get to lick the bowl.”

“Waddya do for fun?” I asked.

“Me an Blackie love playin’ with the dogs’ tennis balls. An chasin’ lizards, an TREE frogs, but NOT catchin’ ’em cuz we’re Inside an they’re OUTside. However,” he added with a tiny smile, “if they get In-side – LIZARDS BEWARE!”

“Where do you sleep?” I wondered.

“Pretty much wherever we want. Blackie (cuz he’s still young) starts on Mom an Daddy’s bed, then sometimes comes out here an sleeps some more on the chair or the window sill, like me.”

A pensive expression crossed Dexter’s face. “I guess, all in all, I’m a Daddy’s Boy, probly ever since I hurt my ear and he helped me. He’s ackshully the only one who I don’t mind callin’ me Fluffy.”

“That is So Cool, um, Catnip,” I replied, feeling a liddle reflective, an realizin’ he probly didn’t share that with most pet frens. “Isn’t it The Best when you an your meant-to-be humans find each other?”

“Indeed it is,” he replied.

Headin’ home, I was thinkin’ about all the fee-lines I had innerviewed in all the years since my First Cat. Back then, I was app-ree-HEN-sive becuz I thought of cats as Mysterious an a liddle (well, to be honest, a lot) in-TIM-uh-dating.

Now, they still do seem mysterious, but in a Cool Catnip way, not scary. I think I’ve grown, as a Dog.

I was also thinkin’ of Chiggin Tenders.

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