Enter the Terrorist

In 1988, I transferred from Virginia down to Jacksonville, FL. Something about snow, sleet, ice and cold just wasn't conducive to a quiet home life with a woman who was raised in San Diego. Bimbo and Floozie, if they had a voice, would have agreed.

So, during a 30 day period we sold our townhouse, purchased a house in Jacksonville, and moved all our belongings. Another car trip with the cats went well. We had learned our lesson. I took the cats in my car, Faye drove her car cat-free.

A couple of months after I was settled into my job and I was establishing my empire among the peons I was assigned to work with, a woman came by with a cardboard box. It seems that her cat had had a few kittens and she was willing to share them with anyone who had a good home.

Since I am an easy mark, I picked an off-white cutie with brownish ears. It was almost Siamese looking but had longer hair.

I called Faye. Reminded her that she said she missed having a kitten around. Listened patiently to her explain that she didn't mean she wanted another cat. And then told her it was too late to back out.

Since we had two perfectly healthy cats in the house, I dropped by the vet's office to have the new kitten checked out.

The next day, at work, the vet called to tell me about Feline Leukemia. The kitten would not make it and she would give it to our other cats before she died. I passed this on to the woman who gave me the kitten and listened to her denials and rave about how healthy the others were. I never saw that woman in the office again.

I stopped by the vet's office on the way home to pay the bill. While there, the vet offered a replacement kitten. It seems that he had 4 left of a litter of 6 that had been left with their momma at the back door of their other clinic.

I chose the one who shied away from me. He was gray, dark gray, short hair. And angry. I picked him up, he bit me. He clawed at me. It was obvious that I should take him home.

He took to the car like a fish takes to the desert. He hid under the seat. And complained all the way home. Incredibly loudly for a tiny kitten. It took me five minutes to get him out from under the seat once we arrived. It was a true bonding experience.

Once inside, I introduced him to the two other cats. Bimbo took an immediate dislike to him and walked away with her nose in the air. Floozie was confused. In the next few months, Floozie would exhibit symptoms of having had a litter. She thought, somehow, she had given birth to the new one and had forgotten. She had to go through hormone treatments to allow her hair to grow back. Cats often lose hair after giving birth.

The new kitten ignored Floozie completely. He fell in love with Bimbo. He followed her around, he tried to snuggle up to her, it was obvious he worshipped her. She, in turn, would knock him for a loop whenever he moved within paw's reach.

Ah, his name. We had not settled on a name for him. Cats don't care what you call them, they won't answer to it anyway, so you can name them anything you like. But it should fit the personality of the cat, reflect their nature.

It took a couple of weeks. But it became clear what his name should be once he settled into a pattern of behavior.

We had a three piece entertainment system along the wall. To the right of those cabinets was the hallway which led from the bedrooms. He would hide behind the cabinets and when you walked out from the bedroom attack your ankle with gusto... and claws... and teeth. And hang on for as long as possible.

And so we called him Carlos... because we thought Illich Ramirez Sanchez was a bit long.

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