Pooter

My cat’s name is Pooter. We got Pooter from the SPCA. I can’t really remember what lead us to conclude that we needed a pet, but clearly the need was there, and it seems to have turned out alright. 

It was a rainy day in December 2009. We walked from cage to cage, inspecting the general look of the cats available to take home. The volunteer today seemed more or less knowledgable. She asked us if we had an idea of what we were looking for. “A 2 or 3 year old female cat if you have one,” said James, who’d had some unfortunate experiences with male cats, and as I’d never ever ever had a pet before, we figured that maybe one that had fewer beans would be appropriate. “This little lady is exactly what you’re looking for – Her name is Pooter and she’s only been here a day.” I fell in love. Pooter was so sweet and so friendly I insisted we adopt.

At home, after Pooter’d had a chance to scope the place out, we noticed something that lead us to believe that we’d been duped: balls. “Now, I’m no vet, but I’m pretty sure girl cats don’t have those,” I said. “Maybe when I call the previous SPCA he was lodged at, I might find out more about Pooter.”

Sure enough, Pooter is boy. A healthy just turned 1 year-old boy... with more beans than either of us had expected.

I’ll tell you one thing: we totally lucked out. This guy is so easy going and torture tolerant, you have no idea. He’s treated well, but sometimes we make him dance the ChaCha... you know.