Mr. Bond is a Norwegian Forest Cat mix. Caution is his middle name.
I got him in the first place because he was so shy and careful about new things. He was one of a litter dumped in a cardboard box at a pet store I used to frequent. The pet store put the kittens in a cage by the cash register in an attempt to get new homes for them. Three cats went quickly. But not this kitten, who was there day after day, squashed into a corner of the cage, eyes wide in fright. “No one can cuddle him,” I was told. So, nobody wanted him.
I thought he was only semi-feral, judging by the quick acceptance of his littermates. So I took him out, calmed his struggles, and convinced him, with slow blinks of my eyes, that I was his friend. I triumphantly took him back to the cashier to show how cuddly he could be. But when I tried to transfer him to the teenager’s arms, I realized I had tripped him, all right. He was sweet and cuddly. But, as it turned out, only with me. I had touched his Only Cat heart, and so I had to take him home.
Mr. Bond is our Supervisor, Main Spokescat, and Master of Scheduling. If I tell him it’s Daylight Savings Time, he won’t wake me for breakfast without considering the hour difference. If the Litter Robot needs attention or the Kitty Grass is starting to wither, Mr. Bond is the one who leads us to it, and then waits for us to say, “My goodness, you’re right. I’ll get on that.”
When new Kitty Grass is planted, Mr. Bond will lead us in there and hang over the pot like a vulture, waiting for us to assure him this batch will grow, just like the others did.
Mr. Bond’s high intelligence is part of his caution. I believe he is too good at imagining poor outcomes, and this makes him less assertive than he might be. It is typical of Mr. Bond that the human dangling the wand toy for him will give up before Mr. Bond, hiding behind a piece of furniture, has completed his cunning plan for ambush. In fact, we suspect Mr. Bond enjoys the planning more than the actual ambush.
Besides being an intellectual, Mr. Bond has dramatic ambitions, since he will let me know he’s feeling neglected by hanging back in the hallway when it’s time for bed, wailing and lurking, until I make an equal fuss about missing him and he agrees to come to bed and take up his “teddy bear” position against my chest.
Unless he is trying out new hiding places, Mr. Bond is usually either curled up in my chair or against my leg. Either way, he’s a devoted companion, ready to be part of whatever I’m doing. Even if he is at a safe distance.
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