Our daughter, Cressy, age 7, has been wanting a cat for months.  She's been priming that Santa pump for at least six months.  She would pick up a gone-to-seed-dandelion in the summer and blow all the seeds away and wish loudly, "I wish for a cat."  Of course, that was interspersed with, "I wish to fly."  (If only she'd asked for a flying cat.  Or possibly to fly with the cat.)  Being parents with great, gooey marshmallows where our hearts were supposed to be, we folded like cheap suits.  She didn't get the cat on Christmas day but she got the letter from Santa.  "Dear Cressy, you can have the cat but I can't take the poor little thing on the sleigh because it's too cold.  You can go with mommy and daddy in two days to pick it up.  Sincerely, Santa."  ("Oh my gosh, Mommy and Daddy, SANTA wrote ME a letter!  Oh my gosh!  You didn't get one, Mommy!  It's because you say potty words in the car when you're driving!")  (Whoops.)

You can tell Megaroy's fitting right into the Bevill/Fun 'O' Rama
Mansion household.  He's got a beer and is cuddled up to a warm
human.  How much better is that for a cat?
(Upon reflection, which usually gets me into trouble,
Megaroy is a good name for a redneck cat, and hey as
this family has roots in Georgia, Louisiana, Alabama, and Oklahoma
he fits right the heck in.
That's right.  We're all 100% rednecks here.)I thought I was being smooth.  HIM, the man to whom I'm married, took Cressy to get the cat, and here he is, already prenamed.

Megaroy.  I know.  I've mentioned it before.  My daughter named the cat, Megaroy.  (Megaroy.  It sounds really weird if you keep repeating it.  Try it.  Like ten times.  See.  Weird.  Megaroy.  Megaroy.  Megaroy.  Megaroy.  Megaroy.  Oops.  My brain broke.)  I asked her what that meant and she said she made it up.  Then she changed it a few times.  Megaroy became Riki-tiki for about ten hours.  (Thanks to my husband's predilection to Rudyard Kipling, although Cressy certainly didn't appreciate that the cat does NOT look anything like a cobra munching mongoose.)  (My suggestion that the cat be called Dorkus-malorkus was disregarded as offensive to all cats everywhere.)  (Whisper from the side of Cressy's mouth, "You'll hurt his feelings, Mommy.")

So the cat's household occupation (I used the word 'occupation' because I'm reminded of how the Nazi's marched into France in the last century, not that I see myself as French but I do see the cat as vaguely dictatorial.) started innocuously enough.  He sniffed around.  He hid in Cressy's room.  She got upset because he wouldn't sit in her lap.  Poor cat was frightened.  He thought about peeing on the rug.  He saw we had a litter box and food.  THEN.  THEN.  THEN.  The light came out and dawned upon the poor forlorn animal so sadly rescued from the shelter.  Then he realized that he was in cat heaven and we're all his bitches.  (Seriously.  I saw the moment when the little wheels in his tiny furry brain clicked with the knowledge.)

I love the red eyes here.  It makes my daughter
look very demonic.
I did not intercept a secret feline communique from my sister's cat, Mellow, but I think there had to be one.  (Back story: Once upon a time I pissed off my sister's cat, Mellow.  See The Dissing of My Sister's Cat OR How It Sounded Like a Challenge and I Have NOT Yet Finished With My Sister's Cat OR How I Continue To Taunt a Hapless (Hah!) Animal.


How could I not add words?
And btw, the neck feathers reference is
to a Daffy Duck/Bugs Bunny cartoon.
Then I have felt compelled to randomly insert various tauntings of the cat until this day, which I find vastly amusing and my sister to a lesser degree.  There should be a new blog entitled, How I Wore Out the Taunting of My Sister's Cat OR How it Got Very Boring.  But hey, I'm not there yet.)  Anyway, I'm pretty sure there was an encoded message in the kitty litter from my sister's cat.  I can't read cat poop/peepee lumps but I think it went like this:

Dear Recent Feline Addition to the Bevill Family,

Good to have another kitty to subvert and antagonize the hapless human slaves.  Welcome.  Learn from my felis catus wisdom.
Humans aren't merely servants but put on this earth to placate our every whim.  Never forget they are to be stomped under our fuzzy little paws.The beds the humans sleep on are ours by right, so don't put up with their crap if they try to sleep on it.  Kick them the eff out.  It doesn't matter if it's king sized.  There isn't room for you and them, so it's yours by default.Kibble, schmibble.  Just meow loudly until they give you the good stuff.  Sometimes they'll even cook chicken for you.  (They call it take out from KFC.  That colonel was really a cat in a human's disguise.)Don't worry about slicing or drawing blood on your human.  They heal.  They have boo-boo stickers, too.  They love the boo-boo stickers.  (The boo-boo stickers come in all shapes and sizes including Hello Kitty, which means humans are basically big pansies.)So what if the humans like to sleep the night through.  We don't.  And it's our house now.  So cats rule and humans drool.  Don't forget that toes wiggling at night under the covers are legitimate targets for bouncing upon.It's your job to spread fur over everything.  If a human isn't picking fur off his best suit just before going to work, then you're not doing your job correctly.  Remember cats have standards.  Also as a gray furred animal, you have a special duty to spread the fur over articles of clothing that accentuate your fur.  Gray goes better on black clothing.  Just sayin'. Learn the kitchen zone.  I suggest memorizing the sound of the refrigerator opening.  This sound represents all good-food opportunities.  If a human is in the kitchen it means food is available.  Also humans can be herded toward the kitchen in a handy pinch.Humans are hot water bottles in a skin suit.  Wherever they're sitting, is a lap ready to perch upon.  If they try to get up, dissuade them with the judicious use of claws in the thigh.  (I personally try not to aim for the major arteries because they get all upset if they bleed too much, but hey, see the one about the boo-boo stickers above.)Cats rule the world.  It's a fact.  Dogs slobber and fetch, but cats are much more selective.  So don't fetch the wadded up paper ball for the humans or they'll think you're whipped.  Learn to toss your head back in feline disdain.  It's a fine art.Oh, humans do this funny thing in the little room with the round white seat.  It makes them very uncomfortable for you to follow them in and just stare at them.  You should do it often.  It's funny as hell.Remember the secret cat motto: No matter what you've done, make it look like the dog did it, or in your case, the kid.Power to the cat, brother!  Remember the good fight!  What's mine is mine; what's yours is mine, also!  Nothing good ever comes out of a squirt bottle!

I tried for the Che Guevara poster look, but it just looks kind
of pseudo communist to me.  Well, that works, too.