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 In
May of 2000, I turned 21. I had a wonderful birthday (the
parts that I can remember), partly because I became the owner
of my first pet. I named him Aeris, after one of my
favorite characters from the Final Fantasy series. I soon
found out that she was a he, but I had been calling him by
this female character's name so long, it just stuck. Anyhoo,
I was in love. He took a little while to warm up to me, but
in the end he couldn't be a more a lovable cat. I got him
from a friend of mine who's own cat had a litter of kittens.
I got Aeris, my best friend Mike got his twin brother Goober,
and my other friend Savas got his other brother, Kittie. When
Mike moved away, he took Goober with him. Aeris was very morose
for a while, and I was afraid he'd be too lonely when I left
him home alone.
One day during that summer, I was kitten-sitting
for Savas (by this time, Savas had also moved out). He and
Kittie were good friends, so they would bring him over to
play. I wasn't home at the time they dropped him off. I got
a call on my cell from Savas informing me I just got a new
cat. Of course, I was all "Whuut?" It seems a street
kitten had ran into my apartment when they opened my door
and made himself quite at home. He immediately took it upon
himself to eat a meal at Aeris' bowl and make use of the litter
box. Savas couldn't catch him, and he really had to go out
of town, so he left him there for the time being. I got home
later and found the kitten underneath a desk, hissing and
clawing at Aeris and Kittie. They weren't very upset, just
curious. I took little Kitty-Homewrecker and tried to be nice
to him, petting him and loving. He scratched the crap outta
me.
Oh, he had to go.
I left him outside the door and went about my
business. I didn't need another cat. I went out to go check
my mail, and there he was on the first step of the stairs
huddled in a little fur ball, shivering. Why he was shivering
in July in South Texas is beyond me, but I suspect it was
a ruse to make me feel sorry for it.
It worked.
From then on, I kept the little shit and he
became a part of my little household. I named him Mr. Pants
(duh).
Mr. Pants wasn't the brightest bulb in the pack,
I learned soon enough. He had no concept of the word "no",
he didn't know how to cover his horrendous litter packages,
and he once jumped off my second floor balcony to cavort with
the street cats down below. Like I said, he ain't exactly
a Harvard bound cat. He never ceased to fill my life with
hell and I loved him all the more for it.
Eventually, I moved out of my apartment into
a house, and I began to let the cats out. Especially Mr. Pants,
who was known to eat anything and everything left on the counters.
Many a time there was he found himself out on the porch. He
liked it though, and more and more he'd venture off for a
couple of days tom-cattin' and making many, many kitten-support
cases. Well, one day he didn't come home after an extended
leave, and that was the last I saw of him. Needless to say,
I was heartbroken, I loved the little shit. But he's out and
about, and apparently, living it up on the outside. This is
my little tribute to him.
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