In 2003, my husband Ted and I were petless. Actually, we had a kindergartener, which is just like having a ferret, so we felt no need for another animal. But in most little girls there are pre-programmed stages of unquenchable desire. At precisely six years old, Dylan developed a burning case of Unbridled Love For Kittens and Unicorns. So, with the power of her blinding cuteness she blackmailed us into adopting a cat.
At the Pasadena animal shelter a tiny freckle faced ball of orange fur climbed on top of my head and we knew he was the one. After the standard micro chip and neutering, we brought him home to a life of material luxury and ultimately, sexual debauchery.
He was king of the castle for several years. With no competition he ate whenever he wanted and slept in my husbands laundry hamper. Emmitt had no desire to climb fences or pole vault. He barked at crows, but the idea of getting off his ass was beyond him. He surfed internet porn all day. He dressed in drag.
When she was eight, my daughter developed a severe case of "I NEED a white stallion." So we blackmailed my husband into getting another cat. This time we brought home a spring loaded, creamsicle kitten. We named him Guillermo.
He was a stud. Guillermo was solid muscle and pure testosterone. If it was tall he'd climb it. If it was dangerous he'd play with it. If it cheeped he'd kill it. And if it was fat, orange and standing still, he'd hump it. Emmitt took it like a man.
All day Guillermo perched ninja-style on the backs of chairs and landed on Emmitt like a Mexican wrestler, thrust like a mad man, then ran outside to scream at the moon while pounding his chest.
I tried everything short of chaining him to the dishwasher to keep him from snorting drain cleaner and robbing banks, but he was a maniac. The more I tried to tame him, the more he wailed on Emmitt. A scratchy soundtrack of seventies porn music followed him everywhere. Emmitt always succumbed to Guillermo's embraces with a look of a bored housewife.
Eventually the neighbor cat, a petite black girl named Baby, fell in love with Guillermo and began courting him with a succession of gifts. One day we woke to find an art installation of pigeon feathers on the lawn. Another day a pile of tiny intestines was left coiled on the porch. Then as a grand gesture for Guillermo, or possibly a mafia style warning to Emmitt, we received a giant severed head.
Emmitt was not threatened by the interloper. He knew his place. He loitered by the couch, pretending to play the cello and waited for his Mexican wrestler. Guillermo always came home to his good thing.
Then one night Guillermo climbed a tree to climb on the roof, jumped across the alley and slid down a fire escape to jump a moving train to meet some one he met on the internet and met a car instead.
For months after, Emmitt wandered the house looking for his boyfriend . . . or not. Hard to tell with cats. They have only three facial expressions. One for "Back the f%$# up, or I'll rip your eyeballs out." One for "Yeah baby, you know what I like" and one for "No, I can't help you move your piano." For Emmitt all these are the same face.
Dylan and I decided he was lonely, so a year later we blackmailed Ted into adopting a dog. After the standard micro chip and spay we brought home Lucy, a beagle the size of a toaster oven. She immediately fell into psychopathic possessive love with us. She loved us like a toddler loves her mother. She loved us like a devotee loves her guru. But she loved Emmitt like a cellmate.
All day long Emmitt and Lucy sprawled on the couch making out like drunk teenagers. Most of the time Emmitt's tongue was deep in Lucy's ears. Lucy's eyes rolled back in her lightbulb shaped head. After hours of this foreplay, my girl dog would hump my boy cat's . . . head.
Since Emmitt and Lucy were getting along so well, Dylan and I blackmailed Ted into adopting another cat.
At the Carson shelter a tiny black and white tuxedo cat smacked Dylan in the face, and we knew this was the kitty for us. When we picked up our drugged kitty after the standard micro chip and neuter the vet said, "He's very young. So we could only do a partial."
"What?"
"Only one of his testicles has come in."
I pictured a single furry testicle, standing on the porch, ringing the doorbell. "Wait. You mean he has one testicle?"
"No. I mean, yeah, NOW he has only one testicle. The other one hasn't dropped yet. When it's time, just bring him back and I'll take care of the other."
"How will I know when it's time?"
"Oh believe me Lady, you'll know."
Emmitt and Jethro remained chaste for seven months, satisfied to french kiss and chew on each other's faces. Again with the horrifying sounds of deep ear licking. Then one day Jethro sauntered up to Emmitt with a whisky sour in one paw, sunk his baby teeth into the back of Emmitt's neck and made a man of him. Twelve times in one day.
Emmitt complained half heartedly, giving up a single "maaaaaar" but with out much conviction. I suspect he was not complaining about the humping but because he's an old man now and his knees hurt.
I threw balled up socks at Jethro all day to chase him off of Emmitt, but that became the new game: "Chase the sock. Hump Fatty."
Was Emmitt thinking of Guillermo in those moments of wild abandon? Jethro is no Mexican wrestler. He is a hillbilly. Emmitt's Spanish is faltering. He's watching a lot of Nascar.
When Jethro came home from the vet he bragged about "going under the knife." Emmitt donned a nurse's frock he got from Party City and offered to tend his wounds.
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