Brother Raven’s Checkered Past

Believe it or not, I actually have two cats.

Let me start over.

Of the many cats residing in our home, two of them seem to have formed a special relationship with me over all other humans in the household.

Fans of li’l pinknose should already be aware that Diblet is Panda’s kitteh (even though he’s currently at the age where he’s his own cat and doesn’t need anybody, nosiree!). So, then, what is the name of this anonymous and uncelebrated figure? Who is this dark and distant feline?

Oh, that? That’s just Raven. You can also call him ”tubbins” or “tons-o-fun”. He responds to those, as well. Oh, and “chunkers”.

Raven quite enjoys his naps and isn’t the extroverted attention-whore DG is. Well, not anymore.

Long ago, when he was still just a kitten, Raven was quite the little hellion. I’ve mentioned him before (briefly, several years ago) but the only real evidence of his reprobate character was the accompanying photo and a surreptitious addition to my post that betrayed his prejudice against non-polydactyl cats. We were luckily able to keep his more shameful habits concealed from public view.

Back before that picture was taken, things were very different in the CimC household. Dioji was our only dog (Tosh and Marley wouldn’t be born for almost a year). Karin and I were both on the bottom of our respective professional totem poles and were struggling to make ends meet. Both the kids were still in school. There was no such thing as American Idol.

Most importantly to this story, our cat Lucky was still young and slutty and continually finding new ways to slip outside in the night and sex up every horny tomcat in the Greater Seattle Area. When she suddenly appeared at the back slider with a litter of kittens announcing she was moving into the closet in Karin’s office because the cabinet under the sink in the laundry room was too cold, we simply stepped aside and let her through. We let her have the closet because we loved her and her babies, but mainly it was because we knew that even with four kittens dangling from her maw, Lucky could lay us open like so many bulging sacks of beauty bark before we could say “come in”.

Of course, we decided keeping one of the kittens was just the thing we needed to renew our passion for life and living. Indeed, what better way is there to jump start those most beautiful and beneficial aspects of ourselves than to hold a purring kitten against our cheek, taking in all the peace and happiness and warmth that it represents?

We chose the only all-black kitten, who also happened have been gifted with Lucky’s extra toes. I named him Raven, in honor of one of my favorite authors. Interestingly, he eventually grew a small white tuft of hair on his chest, though I’m happy to report that it has yet to take the shape of a noose.

Anyway, as Raven started to mature, he began to act… strangely. Most male cats will begin to pick fights with other cats or mark what they’ve decided is their property by spraying it with concentrated urine. I suspect the latter has all but halted their societal evolution, but I digress.

Raven responded to the demands of puberty differently. Perhaps working through a very complicated and confusing Oedipus complex, he found himself aroused by any breathing mammal with a happy place that appeared to be within reach.

In other words, it was not uncommon to look up from your corned beef and Havarti on toast just in time to see a cat attempting to mount a dog…

…which is really nothing compared to the spectacle of a dog trying to stop the sexual advances of a cat without injuring the horny little bastard.

I took Raven in to have his harbls removed at the next possible opportunity, but not before he had acquired the lovely moniker: Rapin’ Raven. His theme song had a melody similar to, you guessed it, Rockin’ Robin.

The happy ending is that after he recuperated from the surgery, Raven took up the same hobbies as other cats. His life is now one part napping, one part nom’n teh nip, one part sleeping, two parts eating, and five parts getting some shut-eye. He has no time for showboating.

He likes it like that.

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About kirkstarr

I draw pictures for a living.
This entry was posted in Can I Say Something? and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

8 Responses to Brother Raven’s Checkered Past

  1. Toe-Knee says:

    Like all posh sophisticates he has a wild past that he'd rather not share with anyone. You've just ruined his chances of renewing his membership to the country club you know…

  2. Lauri says:

    Oh my! Rapin' Raven! Heelarious!

  3. Lurkertype says:

    Sowing the wild… oats. Yeah, oats, that's it.

  4. Kzinti says:

    We had this little pomeranian one time, female, who would hump her toys like a little boy dog. Not sure why, but hey… Who am I to judge…

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