I love my little fuzzy guys, Andy and Dougy. They are an amusement, a challenge, a responsibility, a source of entertainment and videos. Not bad for free cats that cost me $1400 in veterinarian bills before I had them 3 1/2 months!

They came to me by accident, really. Louie, the beloved 23 pound 12 ounce ginger tabby I had before the boys died on the first of August 2011. Some of you know the story. I had him cremated at the veterinary where he got his shots and check-ups. It was when I picked up his ashes that Tara, one of the technicians who raises cats, came out with this little fuzzball that looked remarkably like Willie the groundskeeper on “The Simpsons”, you know, a crazed wild-haired Scotsman!

“Would I be interested in having this kitty when he’s old enough to leave his mother?” she asked. She set him down on the counter , and he waddled over to me! Aw! “Sure!” I said. Seems he (and Dougy) weren’t breeding or show quality, so their value as cats for sale was diminished. Plus they were sick, and responsible breeders don’t sell sick animals. They just give them away! I joke. I really, really appreciate the fact that Tara gave them to me as pet quality Persians still have a value, and it’s more than I ever paid or likely would pay for a pet, hundreds of dollars. On the other hand, look at that face! Aw! Priceless!

I decided he needed a Scottish name since I am mostly of  Scottish ancestry. I chose Andrew, after the patron saint of  Scotland, St. Andrew, even though I’m Presbyterian and Andy’s no saint. There was a hope, however, so he became Andrew James Thomas. All my pets have the same middle and last names. Because. Don’t ask. Just seems right to me, and I like James, which has some family connection. The absurdity of it, this long name on this fuzzball appealed to my sick sense of humor. “He’ll grow into it.”

[It says “naughty kitten”, which, by the time I took the photo seemed a shrewd assessment of his potential for mayhem when he grew older. And how!]

Dougy came a few days after I picked up Andy to bring him home. After a week, Andy’s illness concerned me enough I called Tara to let her know I wasn’t sure Andy would survive. He had diarrhea, ate sometimes, other times not, and that I wasn’t ready to have another pet die on me so soon after Louie. I was very stressed! She picked him up that night and took him to the clinic, where I left him till his medical issues were in better control.

When I went to the clinic a few days later to see Andy, Tara came out with another fuzzball that looked pretty much like Andy, only a bit bigger now that the boys were maybe two, three weeks older. She told me Andy played well with his brother while at the clinic, that the brother wasn’t a kitten she could sell because of health and age issues (I think it was), but would I be interested in having him?

Aw! Damn cute kittens! Of course I wanted him!

Yes, the boys play well together! I decided Scrapper Nr. 2 needed a Scottish name as well, the boys being brothers and all. I sorted through many suggestions from friends: Angus, Archibald, Murdoch, ugh! Nr. 2 was a quirky little rascal, funny and loveable. “Why not name him after another quirky little rascal, funny and loveable, me!” I thought, though I had concern people would judge me to be vain or crazy to name a cat after myself. “I’ll pronounce it ‘Doogie’, and no one will know the difference,” I smugly decided. It took no time at all for Doogie to become Dougy, and for me to learn he tore around the apartment at top speed, a little tornado.

To this day, the boys tear around the apartment at top speed, leaving a trail of destruction, a fact well documented here and on videos, many of which I’ve attached to different posts.

Mayhem and Tornado. Those are pretty cool cat names. Too bad I didn’t think of them earlier!