And now, the other one.

Professor Stormfury (aka Stormy cat), nearly age 6, was named for the 1960s weather experiment, Project Stormfury. Go look it up, it’s amazing. And it was a name that has not gone to waste.

Shortly before getting married, Randy and I decided to get a second cat. We had toted Hades over to our condo, and Randy started hankering for a kitty of his own. By “decided to get a second cat” I really mean we decided to check out a fabulous Valentine’s Day sale at the local Humane Society ($14 for a cat including all shots, neuter, and fees!).

But you do not simply walk into the Humane Society and walk out empty-handed. I had my eye on this pair of exceedingly affectionate, exceedingly fat, exceedingly old black cats who had been spoiled rotten by the old woman who owned them before her death. But we weren’t prepared to take two more cats, and anyway it was Randy’s choice.

He fell in love with a massive gray tabby. By massive I don’t mean fat. This cat is LONG. Hades is a respectable 9 pounds, and this boy is 17. He was two years old at the time, a big goofy baby who did not realize how big he was and therefore frequently failed to stick his landings when he attempted to jump on or off various surfaces. Seriously he is the worst at being a cat, he just slides off the side of things.

The poor thing contracted a sinus infection at the shelter, so we had to quarantine him for weeks in our bathroom, force-feeding him medicine and water because he was too stressed/lacking-sense-of-smell to want to eat or drink. We thought he was going to hate us.

But no, he has turned into the biggest, most lovable goofball of all. The folks at the shelter warned us he might be shy. HAH! Hades will grumble and hide when people he isn’t familiar with come to visit (literally he grumbles, I can hear him bitching when he walks away), but Stormy will run up to ANYONE for pets, and get himself so wound up he’ll pass out in the middle of the room trying to stay in the center of attention.

And if you don’t quite fathom how big he is, let me illustrate the difference between a 9 pound cat (considered on the “large cat” scale of cat measurement) and a 17 pound cat:

Keep me away from the Humane Society or I will go home with all of them.

It’s time I formally introduce our boys. Our silly, silly boys. First up, Hades.

Hades (aka Bad Boy), ruler of the Underworld, is about 13 years old. When I was in high school my dad found a pair of kittens wandering on their own, could not find a mommy cat, and finally took them home. Hades and Athena:

This is how we acquired a lot of our cats. In this case, Hades and Athena were so teeny they still had to be fed via kitty bottle every couple of hours. The deal to keep them was: Mom would take care of them while we were in school, and the kids had to take care of them the rest of the time. The result: my brother and sister sleeping through every alarm, and me waking up every two or three hours to bottle feed crying kittens. -____- (Never forget!!)

Athena bonded with my older sister, but Hades is my boy. I left him home while I was away for college, and then he lived with my older sister for an additional year while I lived with an allergic boyfriend, but as soon as I was able to take him he was once again MINE. Following me around the apartment, sleeping with me, sitting on my lap at every opportunity. It was so nice to have a cat again!

He had been an indoor-outdoor cat for a few years, but his outdoor days ended around age nine when he got in a fight that scarred his eye and cut up his chest. Opossum perhaps? The evil red-eyed monsters had invaded our neighborhood at the time.

SIDE STORY: Haha that one winter we dug out our Christmas wreaths from the shed and discovered that a opossum had curled into one of them, died, and mummified. If I ever find that photo I will post it. With minimal context probably.

Anyway, Hades is now a pirate. It kind of fits the black cat aesthetic.

He has taken to indoor life exceedingly well. Every year he is slightly tubbier, and slightly less dignified. He stands up for treats. He grooms my head when I’m trying to sleep. He has to have food in his bowl by 9 p.m. OR SO HELP ME HE WILL SHRED EVERY WALL IN THIS HOUSE. His days of hunting hummingbirds and bringing our neighbor’s baby bunny through the second story bedroom window are over, but retirement is nice.

I can’t imagine ever not having cats again. Next up I’ll introduce…. THE OTHER ONE.