Category Archives: Meow

Adventures of Fridge Cat

Meow!

This is Fridge Cat.

Actually, her name is Zoe.  But given her long-running fascination with living on top of the fridge, I’ve aptly given her the name Fridge Cat.

Zoe is about 4 years old.  My mom got her just after my brother graduated from college in 2007.  It was a Friday.  I came home from school and found this rambunctious, orange kitten rolling around in a Kitty Tower.  She was tiny.  The runt of the litter.

I had already decided what to name the new kitten.  Milo.  Milo is the main character of my favorite book (ever) The Phantom Tollbooth.  This new addition to the family was going to be named after him, no negotiations.

“But Liz, what if it’s a female?”

“I refuse to accept that outcome!”

And refuse I did.  Even the next day, which was that same brother’s graduation party at our house, while my mom showed our new kitten to every one.  Apparently my grandfather knows how to tell the difference between male cat parts and female cat parts.  With just one look he announced Milo was a girl.

No.  No.  Ohhh, no.  I’m still gonna call her Milo.

Throughout the rest of the day, my mom was convinced that the new kitten was lonely.  The two other cats we already had wanted nothing to do with her.

Well, hello!

So what happened?

The next morning my mom came home with a second kitten, Zoe’s brother.  Even brighter orange, with longer fur.  He looked like a puff ball.  After a trip to the vet for both the new kittens, it was verified.  I had my Milo.  A male Milo.  And Zoe found a new name.

The two recognized each other immediately.  It was like they had never been apart–for two days, I mean.

New kittens are tiny.  Especially Zoe.  She’s only about 9 pounds now, and she was tiny kitten.  Just for comparison, Milo is about 19 pounds now, with all his fur, he was a decent sized kitten.

So with the tiny kitten, I became immediately worried she’d get stuck certain places.  Specifically…the fridge.  I worried she’d chase a toy under the fridge and be caught forever.  I’d have to feed Zoe her meals piece by piece each day with a long stick.  Forget that.  That kitty is going no where near the fridge.

And here we are.  Four years later.  Fridge cat.

Attack!

Zoe bats at you when you encroach on her territory.  She gets that angry cat face that makes you laugh because of the simple reason of What are you angry at, cat?  You live indoors.  When have you ever encountered an enemy to use that scowl on?

om nom

No where, that’s where, Fridge Cat.

She also has an obsession with fingers and toes.  I thought it was my nail polish.  Bright colors always adorn my nails.  But she seems to do it to everyone.

At first you think its cute.  Aww, you’re so cute, Fridge Cat.  Gnawing on my fingertips with your tiny teeth.

And then you let her get out of hand.

Awwww–owww!  Zoe! Stop.  Wait.  Wait.  STOP!  ZOE. YOU’RE CAT CLAWS ARE TURNING MY FOREARM INTO YOUR OWN PERSONAL FARM TO PLOW.  

And then I am left with scratches up and down the soft skin of my inner forearm and Zoe just looks at me.  With an expression of something along the lines of “You brought this on.  You did this to yourself.”

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