Update: my cats are dicks

Update: my cats are dicks

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In the weekend, me and my whānau adopted two rescue cats.

Since that time, it's become apparent that rescue cats don't ****ing rescue you AT ALL. But I'm not going to dwell on that - not here, not now. Let's just say it's in the hands of the Commerce Commission.

My son spotted this furry pair online. They lived at the local cat café, which was about to move premises, and was trying to adopt out the last of its residents.

In the rush to take all those fur babies home, Kōwhai and Atawhai were the last cats standing - or hiding, maybe. The other cats, fun and outgoing and silly, had been adopted eagerly.

We were warned, these two were different. Kōwhai was shy. He got his name from Eastbourne's Kōwhai track where he was found, abandoned, hungry and cold. The fear he showed when he was touched told he had been abused.

Atawhai, he was a little more bold, but for whatever reason, he had become inseparable from his companion - not his real brother, because they were found a month apart, but the two were somehow inextricably bonded.

The café said, they had to be adopted together.

Now, I don't know about you, but 2020 was the most awful year I've ever had. It wasn't just pandemic-related, but personal. The horror began in 2019, and it continued into 2021.

For me, 2020 was the kind of year that makes you want to question everything and punch Jesus. Every goddam thing went wrong, to the point the only consolation I could find was to say, at least I've got my kids and my cat.

Then my cat died. Crackers. My beloved, chubby, preposterous, comedy gold cat. Every day a toilet roll goes uneaten, I miss him.

It took a few months to face the uncomfortable bullsh*t transience of loving something small and furry again. We were warned that, abused and fearful and damaged, these two might not love us back.

The afternoon we got them home, we set their carry cages in the lounge, opened the doors. Only Kōwhai moved, furtively, into the other cage, to find the comfort of his brother. It was a long time before either would venture out, even to eat.

That was only Sunday. I think we can say, a lot has changed in a short time.

Atawhai has today revealed himself as the Warren Beatty of cats: he's so vain, I bet he thinks this post is about him. The kitty who shied away from touch is now hard out posing for the kind of full body photos we warn our teenagers not to put on Snapchat.

And as for Kōwhai? Furry little contrarian, and I've got a whole lot of time for that. Not especially interested in getting a pat, but willing to do so to compete with his brother. Scowls. Gets on his high horse a little. Said no to catnip like he was Nancy Reagan.

Every now and again, stuff just works out. We're lucky to have two new family members. They're lucky to live somewhere the carpet is so awful no one will even notice a stray poo. Some things are simply meant to be.

This pair of dicks might have been last picked, but they sure are first loved. They're here, and they're home.

*****

PS. Edited to add these cats will stay inside at night, to protect native birds, and because if they can't handle a bit of woke PC virtue signalling, they've come to the wrong place.