Sometimes I can't help it, but I have to let a little bit more of the crazy out.
On his eighth birthday, we took our son to the pound and he selected two free, flea-bitten felines. The cats really selected us, looking us over good from behind metal cage bars.
A nosy black and white female flirted with Husband; while I spied a shy gray male hovering in a corner.
On that day at the pound in 1998, Son named the cats -- the female was Sisy -- after the eldest child on the sixties sitcom Family Affair. The gray one was named Fala, after Roosevelt's dog. A friend, the owner of two highly bred Applehead Siamese, dubbed these furry beasts "hybrids."
And this is where all the trouble started.
Imagine your identity problems if your parents/owners clearly give you a name that doesn't fit you.
You are clearly not a dog.
What if Roosevelt dog had been named Fluffy?
We also had the odd habit of changing our cats names frequently. Whatever struck me is what I called him. He might be Renaldo one day -- Esteban the next. Recently my husband has been calling him Esteban deLaurentis.
The poor thing (cat not husband) is very confused. When he hears his own name, his ears perk up and you can see that he is engaged. But call him "Esteban" using a Spanish accent, and you get nothing. Nada. No response.
The housekeeper is also plotting against him. Every two weeks when she cleans our house, she moves his Kitty Steps away from the bed and next to the window.
What is the message here? Does she want Esteban to jump out the window?
On those alternate Fridays when I arrive home from work, Esteban is generally sitting in the hallway crying his eyes out. He cannot climb onto the bed without his steps. Apparently he doesn't want to jump out the second story window.
The crying. That's another issue. Since Sisy (actually we renamed her Miriam Trogdon after a producer on Roseanne, don't ask me why) passed, Esteban seems to get lost in the house and often just sits and cries. His wailing sounds like a baby instead of an elderly cat. Tears your heart out.
Do you get my point here?
Sisy went to kitty heaven in January (though we cannot talk about it at home, as hearing her name makes The Gray One search the house for her).
Fala has been despondent over her passing. And he has become crazy.
I spoke with our vet Dr. Chapin on Friday (although sometimes I call him Dr. Blitzflick and occasionally Dr. Funnypants) and he thinks Fala/Esteban/Renaldo is experiencing age-related dementia.
The Gray One was 14 on his last birthday. In cats years, I think that makes him older than Betty White (who incidentially loves animals and is NOT out of her mind.)
That is all.