My nicknames for Hobbes, which I continue to call him, despite a pet psychic informing me that he prefers his real name: Hobber Bobber, HobBob, B-man, Handsome Man, Pooper Do Bear, Pooper Bear Boy, Pooh Bear, Mr. Bear Boy, Bearkins, Scooby-Doo Boy, Hobbesy Bobbsey, Fuzz Butt, Honey Bee, and Man of My Life.
He is a tabby - black, grey and biscuit colored. Favorite positions are: 1) the cookie jar (upright and compact, like you could take off his head and reach inside for a cookie), 2) the loaf of bread (front paws tucked neatly under chest, tail curled under very compact body, he’d fit in bread box perfectly), 3) the Sphinx (laying down with head uprightly dignified with eyes slightly open and paws stretched out front, sometimes crossed – usually in a sunbeam), 4) the druggie (laying on side, belly exposed to all and sundry, catnip sack cradled in one paw so he can “wash” his face with it, big glary eyes, and wacked-out tail), and 5) the crouch (only used when going to attack his buddy/my ankle or bird watching – tail is straight out, tip twitches, nose low to the ground, eyes huge and dilated, ears forward, legs tucked up under him, and he engages in the occasional butt wiggle).
Hobbes is what I consider “a good host”, meaning he will take a bunch of shit and rarely retaliate. And boy, have I given him a lot of shit over the years. He is not the dominant type at all. Loveable, adorable, handsome, persnickety, and smart, but not “top cat” by any means. He waits until I am ready before asking to be fed and this could be up to 3 hours late sometimes. He rarely meows and never at the top of his lungs unless something really bad has happened. He will let me push him around, pull his tail, tweak his whiskers, hug him, maul him, pet his fur backwards, squeeze his paws, open his mouth, give him medicine, clip his claws, chase him around the house, shove him in the cat carrier, blow on him, stick Q-tips in his ears, check his eyes, brush his teeth, turn him upside down when I pick him up, ruffle his belly fur, take his toys away for safety purposes, and he quickly forgives me when I step on him or bang him in the nose with an object because I didn’t see him sniffing it.
Things he doesn’t tolerate, meaning he runs like a yellow-bellied coward and hides in my closet, are the hairdryer, vacuum, doorbell, electric kitchen appliances (like the Cuisinart and mixer), big scary things carried around the house like several of my projects, craft table, and the Christmas tree (when it is first brought into the house), power tools, and men (except for my dad). Things he loves are: 1) eating plastic, anything and everything plastic – bags (Ziploc and shopping), cellophane, tape (packing and scotch), book covers, the plastic on the Kleenex box that ensures tissues come out one by one, cheap thin plastic tabs/toys, the tags on cushions/pillows – I have had to catproof my entire house so he doesn’t have access to any of this, 2) tulle, fake flowers, and ribbons – he will chew on these by the hour and ingest them, 3) to give me deep intense “nose kisses” in the morning after my shower – he raises his head while I lower mine and proceeds to jam his nose up my nostril and rub his forehead up the bridge of my nose, and 4) cleaning his buddy’s ears.
He is a tabby - black, grey and biscuit colored. Favorite positions are: 1) the cookie jar (upright and compact, like you could take off his head and reach inside for a cookie), 2) the loaf of bread (front paws tucked neatly under chest, tail curled under very compact body, he’d fit in bread box perfectly), 3) the Sphinx (laying down with head uprightly dignified with eyes slightly open and paws stretched out front, sometimes crossed – usually in a sunbeam), 4) the druggie (laying on side, belly exposed to all and sundry, catnip sack cradled in one paw so he can “wash” his face with it, big glary eyes, and wacked-out tail), and 5) the crouch (only used when going to attack his buddy/my ankle or bird watching – tail is straight out, tip twitches, nose low to the ground, eyes huge and dilated, ears forward, legs tucked up under him, and he engages in the occasional butt wiggle).
Hobbes is what I consider “a good host”, meaning he will take a bunch of shit and rarely retaliate. And boy, have I given him a lot of shit over the years. He is not the dominant type at all. Loveable, adorable, handsome, persnickety, and smart, but not “top cat” by any means. He waits until I am ready before asking to be fed and this could be up to 3 hours late sometimes. He rarely meows and never at the top of his lungs unless something really bad has happened. He will let me push him around, pull his tail, tweak his whiskers, hug him, maul him, pet his fur backwards, squeeze his paws, open his mouth, give him medicine, clip his claws, chase him around the house, shove him in the cat carrier, blow on him, stick Q-tips in his ears, check his eyes, brush his teeth, turn him upside down when I pick him up, ruffle his belly fur, take his toys away for safety purposes, and he quickly forgives me when I step on him or bang him in the nose with an object because I didn’t see him sniffing it.
Things he doesn’t tolerate, meaning he runs like a yellow-bellied coward and hides in my closet, are the hairdryer, vacuum, doorbell, electric kitchen appliances (like the Cuisinart and mixer), big scary things carried around the house like several of my projects, craft table, and the Christmas tree (when it is first brought into the house), power tools, and men (except for my dad). Things he loves are: 1) eating plastic, anything and everything plastic – bags (Ziploc and shopping), cellophane, tape (packing and scotch), book covers, the plastic on the Kleenex box that ensures tissues come out one by one, cheap thin plastic tabs/toys, the tags on cushions/pillows – I have had to catproof my entire house so he doesn’t have access to any of this, 2) tulle, fake flowers, and ribbons – he will chew on these by the hour and ingest them, 3) to give me deep intense “nose kisses” in the morning after my shower – he raises his head while I lower mine and proceeds to jam his nose up my nostril and rub his forehead up the bridge of my nose, and 4) cleaning his buddy’s ears.
When I leave the house, his two jobs are to keep things cheerful and to keep his nap places cozy. He is a good boy and well-loved. Most definitely the major kitty man.
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