“Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes – I fear the Greek, even when they bring gifts.”

“Charlie, old chap, I’ll be back in two hours and I’ll have a lovely gift for you.”

Of course I thought of something like sweetened condensed milk, vanilla cream or tasty treats.

Yeah, right. Some treat that was!

Looking back now, I should have known something was cooking, because there had been plenty of signs: lengthy phone calls, abruptly interrupted when I approached. Food for “Kittens under 6 months” in the hamper. I actually made inquiries about that, and was told something along the line of “free samples from the pet shop”. Suuuuuuuuuuure…

Bounce’s death had left a huge gap in our lives. Emma was patrolling the place, looking for him; Oskar and Pauline were too depressed to steal each others mousies, and I – well, ok. It had hit me very hard as well. He was part of the family, and with him gone, we all just dragged ourselves through the day rather than enjoying life. Not to talk of the woman, who went through one box of Kleenex a day. I knew that, sooner or later, another cat would move in. It’s odd how it works – one leaves, making place for another cat in need. I guess that’s one of Mother Nature’s rules, and it had worked for me as well. Though I’ve never met my predecessor, I often think of Paddy the ginger and his amazing story. I’ll tell you about him some other day, now let’s go back to my whining!

The woman returned, carrying a brand new transporter. She put it down in front of me and scritched my ear.

“Here we go, Charlie,” she said with the grating cheerfulness of a vet before inserting the thermometre.  “His name is Buttons, I hope you’ll be the best of friends.”

Then she opened the door. Buttons? No, seriously – Buttons? I peeked into the basket, but it seemed to be empty. Just when I was about to stick my head in it, a tiny black and white furball with sharp claws tackled me. No “pleased to meet you” or any kind of formal introduction as you’d expect among well-mannered cats, oh no! Just a yell of “wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Partyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!” and – well. That was the last quiet moment I’ve had in this place.

“OMG OMG OMG, so exciting! Where’s the food? Where’s the fridge? Where’s the remote control for the telly? Do you have cable? Do you like football? What’s your favourite movie? Oops, sorry about the vase, but it was ugly, anyway, oh, look, a sofa, mind if I use it as a scratching post? Yes? Rats, too late, but you can always cover it up with a permanent marker, do you mind if I play with the Dalek on the desk, darn it, there it goes, and wooooooooooooow! Giant scratch pole!”

Honestly, it was impossible to get a word in. Ever wondered what the term “herding cats” means? I could tell you. Oh boy, could I ever. Emma, always the sensible lady, brought one of Bounce’s favourite toys along, a yellow octopus called Davy Jones.

“Here, give this to the wee one. It might calm him down before he gets a heart attack.”

“I’m more worried about me here,” I grumbled.

Later, while Buttons tried to find a way to hack the cat-proof lock on the telly, the woman told me his story over a cup of tea (for her. I got milk).

Buttons, so I learned, had been found with three of his siblings next to the railroad tracks; abandoned, dripping wet and freezing. Luckily, somebody informed the animal shelter, and they came to the rescue.

Here you can see Buttons, his brother and two sisters after their rescue. He couldn’t open his eyes because they were infected, and the kittens had to be fed by hand for the following weeks. I don’t know many humans who’d get up four times in the middle of the night to feed mewling kittens! Kudos to the ladies at the animal shelter; I wish everybody had such big hearts and dedication.

Buttons as a baby, first day at the animal shelter (front, left)

Buttons (front) and his brother Aragon

Luckily, all four kittens survived, and three of them found new homes. Back then, Buttons was still called “Eragon” and half the size of his siblings – and the only one left. So of course she had to take him in (and give him a new name. If I remember correctly, her words were “we don’t have any Eragons in here, neither on the bookshelf nor in the catbasket!”).

And why did she pick him? Heh – have you ever seen Puss’n'Boots in “Shrek”? That cat’s an amateur compared to Buttons. Buttons went to the School of Kawaii and graduated summa cum laude. You don’t stand any chance. It’s impossible to be angry with him, not even when he sleeps in your basket, chews on your tail, takes a bath in your water bowl or locks you in the fridge (don’t ask).

Buttons felt at home here from the very moment he set a paw on the parquet. And he’s wrapped us all around his tiny paw by now. He’s a four-pawed disaster area – but we love him. More about his adventures next week, because something just crashed in the kitchen, and as Buttons asks where we keep the armbands, my guess would be that yet another vase has gone the way of the dodo. I better check. In the meantime, please stay tuned.

Charlie and Buttons, Christmas 2009

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