Well, it’s October. That means it’s time to winterize stuff. The motorcycle, the lawn mower, my parents. Mom and Dad will be heading to Florida for the impending doom…I mean winter. Sadly, that means that they will have to find another home for one of their cats, Dandelion. Don’t be fooled by the name. He’s no flower. If you’re a sissy then he’s not the cat for you. However, if you can bench more than 70 pounds and wear a lot of leather, then you’ve met your match. Dandelion, albeit a tad rough around the edges, is friendly and enjoys the company of humans. He loves to be pet and will always greet you at the door with a hello and a hefty shove to the knee area which is his version of a welcome home rub.
To be fair, I have to give the kitty a lot of credit. He is mellowing rather nicely in his middle years despite a rather tough upbringing. As a kitten Dandelion lived with two other cats, Mozart and Chopin, who it is fair to say lived up to their stuffy aristocratic names. They were Persian, so it’s no surprise. Anyways, Dandelion must have decided young not to be like that when he grew up, and so he set out to display his black-sheep-of-the-family-syndrome in every way he could. While the other cats sat daintily on the puffy couch cushion, he ran crazed laps around the house, dragging toys and string, and racing along the back of the couch to ruffle their feathers. As the other two perched peacefully on the kitty jungle gym by the window to bird-watch, Dandelion batted at their tails and pounced on them from behind plants. The taunting was endless and he loved it. But as happens so often in cases like this, childhood antics which were so cute when he was small soon turned into real issues as he entered adolescence.
It was at this point, due to circumstances completely outside of his control, that he came to live with my parents when he was a little over one year old. This is about 15 in cat years, precisely the age when life upheaval is the most traumatic. In an effort to cope, he set out to prove his masculinity to the world by conquering the territory around us for a dozen houses in every direction. Other neighborhood cats were turning up with horror stories and black eyes. Even we humans were becoming wary of his growing confidence and swagger. It became customary to brace ourselves against the nearest solid object whenever Dandelion approached because his “hello” consisted of nothing less than a solid thrashing of his entire body weight (which was considerable) against the leg. He usually got a running start and launched himself at us from a good foot or two away. The force was enough to unsteady a grown man twelve times his weight. Dandelion was a beast. We knew it and the other neighborhood cats knew it. No one messed with the one we had come to call Dan-the-Lion.
But look, we all have a past right? And with age comes wisdom. Dan-the-Lion is now about six years old, 42 in cat years, and entering the stage of life where you begin to accept who you are, feel less the need to prove yourself to all the other neighborhood cats and start valuing the more important things in life, like naps. His leg thrashing has been toned down to a mere leg thumping, although the genuine enthusiasm over greeting you is still there. Dandelion is now enjoying the best of all worlds. His dominance having been well-established, he enjoys the full and unquestioning abdication of his peers and increased affection of humans who have now happily deemed him safe for a nuzzle every now and then. He likes to take walks outside (but not in the rain), enjoys lazy afternoons napping in the sun, and is still a great mouse-er. He is in the prime of his life and enjoying every minute.
In my opinion, Dan would make a great pet for anyone looking for an independent yet friendly companion. He would prefer to be in a one-cat home at this point in his life. He also needs to be able to go outside. (He’s neutered…shhh.) Oh, and you’re probably still wondering how with all this brawn he got his benevolent name. That was my Gramma’s doing. She named him after her old cat who passed away, a skittish orange Scottish Fold who spent all her time hiding under the bed. So I suppose you can’t really blame Dan-the-Lion for being the way he is. He was named after a girl.
October 9th, 2009 at 8:09 am
That’s a terrific character study. I’ve lived with this cat for a long time and I can say that you’ve nailed him. Once again, beautifully written and photographed.
I hope somebody wants him. I wonder if the FBI ever considered a role for cats in sniffing out drugs or bombs.
October 16th, 2009 at 10:55 am
Clearly the FBI would be better off using him as a guard cat.