Shaken & Stirred: It's a Boy!

February 27, 2006

It's a Boy!

Our household has taken in a new citizen, Hemingway Bond&Rowe the Cat, Polydactyl, LLC, aka Fists of Fury, aka Bigfoot. (Who joins, of course, George Rowe the Dog, Poster Boy for American Values, My Attorney.) I found him online at Petfinder, where these pictures come from and you can see more about him. I should say right now that the Scott County Humane Society does an awesome job (holla, Julia!) at describing the cats' personalities and taking pictures that capture some of their spirit. (Unlike many of these poor cats, seemingly posed for that Hang In There poster; good organization, but nobody deserves to be snapped at such an unflattering angle.) Hemingway's had a storied life so far, in just a year and a few months, and we're his fourth home.

He's really quite amazing and odd so far, just as his foster family told us he was. He's apparently been hard to place, due to bad luck and freaky, evil people having adopted him previously (one of his adopters PUT LOTION ON HIS FUR TO MAKE IT SOFTER, then brought him back and said he was "mean"). He's a total sweetie so far, if a little shy. Purrs, purrs, purrs; plays with toys; wants to be petted. He decided to come out from his various hiding places and explore about 2 a.m. last night, and I gamely got up and petted him. Now I am the awake-coma.

The thing about Hemingway is that he's a true polydactyl. He has very prominent extra toes and he uses his paws like hands. He was opening cupboards and doors and such all night, checking out the joint. A cat with opposable thumbs (more or less): this could mean the end of civilization as we know it. (Definitely the end of any kitchen mousecapades, I'm betting.) Anyway, I'm left happily asking myself how I ended up in a house with three boys.

I'd never heard of Hemingway cats before, but they take their name from Papa, who had a pride of polydactyls and other cats. (This little article talks all about that and the 60 or so cats that still live in the Ernest Hemingway Museum and Home.) It's a genetic trait, and apparently only a polydact can pass it on.

The impact of all this for you, dear readers, is that Shaken & Stirred will now bow to the grand tradition of Friday Cat Blogging.

*Sorry, Gavin! You were the only thing in the "con" column on the whole getting-a-cat front! And I saw a mouse! And plus, look at that face! How could we say no?

Posted at 06:52 AM in Nattering | Permalink

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You forgot to mention his penchant for self-narration, something I totally empathize with. Using a pretty impressive vocabulary, he managed to keep us appraised last night: "Hey! Hey! Hey? Hey, I'm coming out from under the guest bed now! What's this? Is this the kitchen? Hey! I'm in the kitchen! There's a dog! Hey! Hey dog, wake up! What's this, is this a cabinet? Can I go in here? Hey! Hey I'm coming in your room now! What's that, is that a closet door? Can I open it? I CAN open it!"

Posted by:Christopher | February 27, 2006 at 11:11 AM

That's a pretty damn good impression.

Posted by:Gwenda | February 27, 2006 at 11:15 AM

Oh yeah, there's another thing we apparently have in common: he can't keep redshift and blueshift straight. He seems to think that George will get smaller if he _approaches_ at a very high speed rather than the other way around.

Posted by:Christopher | February 27, 2006 at 11:15 AM

And George's reaction is?

Posted by:Gwenda | February 27, 2006 at 11:22 AM

Congratulations! He looks like a sweetie!!

Posted by:Bridget | February 27, 2006 at 11:42 AM

I think it's a scientific fact that black and white cats are the smartest. I'm a little afraid of his polydactyls, though ... make sure to hide the car keys.

Posted by:eek | February 27, 2006 at 11:53 AM

Aww! Lovely kitty.

We have been to see Hemingway's polydactyl cats in Key West. I think it was a mistake to let the cats know they own the joint, but my husband was delighted with the concept.

Our cats are not polydactyl, but one of them is quite good at opening cabinets and such. After a few times finding a cat curled up in a pot I wanted to cook in, I was less than amused. We now have child locks on the cabinets, as much for the cats as for the toddler.

Posted by:Darice | February 27, 2006 at 11:58 AM

Huh! Neil Gaiman also has a polydactyl (Fred the Unlucky Black Cat) who talks to himself. Maybe it's part of the whole syndrome, and they are really planning the world-takeover? Fred needs to get better at it though, since all I hear about him is trips to the vet and heavy doses of antibiotics.

Congratulations on the new addition, and he looks splendid.

Posted by:marrije | February 27, 2006 at 12:10 PM

I can see how that would be annoying, Darice! Luckily, we keep most of our frequently used cooking pots on top of the refridgerator, so hopefully he'll stay off there.

Thanks, Marrije, Erin and Bridget!

Posted by:Gwenda | February 27, 2006 at 12:10 PM

kawaii!

Posted by:Chris Barzak | February 27, 2006 at 09:49 PM

What an awesome cat! Congratulations to all. How is George taking the new arrival?

Posted by:Steph Burgis | February 28, 2006 at 04:07 AM

OMG cute!!!

With those freaky paws, I think Chris should get him a cat-sized bicycle.

Posted by:Alan | February 28, 2006 at 01:43 PM

Read Read

E. Lockhart: Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks, The
You might think the world doesn't need any more boarding school novels, but if you haven't read this one then you're wrong, wrong, wrong. E. Lockhart has surpassed herself with this fable of a girl coming into her own and challenging the boy's club at her prep school -- while falling in love with its members at the same time. Lockhart never simplifies or skirts gender issues and power dynamics, and lets Frankie be realistic instead of a treatise disguised as a character. The sly omniscient narrator tells the story perfectly, and leaves hope that maybe one girl can change the world. More novels as funny and true and perfect as this one, please.
Kathi Appelt: The Underneath
Appelt's first novel is a beautiful, magical fantasy for younger readers that will instantly become a classic. Seriously. I can imagine this book being in classrooms right alongside Charlotte's Web in a hundred years. The writing is poetic in the good way, and there's a lamia. Children are going to absolutely fall in love with Appelt's equally kind and brutal universe, where love conquers most, and it can take millenia to come to your senses.
Jincy Willett: The Writing Class
With her second novel, Willett matches the perfect pitch and execution of her brilliant short stories. Every writer will want to read this novel--very little wincing is involved, but expect a great deal of laughter. C and I found ourselves reading pieces aloud, after howling provoked the "what's so funny?" question. As with any good writing workshop or class, the characters become more appealing as you get to know them, and ultimately what she has pulled off is a satisfying mystery, and a satisfying exploration of humanity. Amy Gallup is a character to remember.
Karen Joy Fowler: Wit's End
A new novel by Karen Fowler really is something to be excited about, unlike many of the writers for whom such praise gets bandied about. (If you're smirking because you think you know something about her work from the title--not the book--The Jane Austen Book Club, please go sit in the corner and read any of her novels. You're welcome.) This is an unmystery-like mystery, concerned not so much with dead bodies--though there are plenty--as with the mysteries of healing and the heart, politics and people. How is it that a writer gets a lens on the present that's as revealing as the one she employs in historical fiction? Now that's a mystery. Highly recommended.
Steve Erickson: Zeroville
Steve Erickson novels are often like dreams, or revelations, or discovered artifacts, or written just for you. Zeroville's no different, although it is perhaps the most readily graspable example of his work to date. The Rosetta Stone is there; the secret decoder ring is a film projector. The dizzying Hollywood confidential stylings will make your inner film geek happy, but the uncovering of a truly mythic cinematic story--since cinema has existed forever--of sacrifice and redemption is even more memorable. See also: this review.
Ursula Dubosarsky: The Red Shoe (Neal Porter Books)
Set in Sydney during WWII, this wonderful novel travels between the view from inside each of three sisters. Dubosarsky perfectly captures the differences that come from being the younger, older, or middle child. Perfectly conjuring the period, and yet creating a completely accessible story, the narrative contrasts chapters focusing on the family with interstitials from the Sydney newspapers of the time, stories of polio, the H-bomb, and a defecting Russian spy (who happens to be in hiding next door). Nothing here is heavy-handed. Everything is perfectly balanced. It's a beautiful, beautiful novel. See my full take here.

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