Mimir goes by many names – Meer, Meemsy, Pooh Bear, Tiger Cat. And then there is my personal favorite – Mimir Damnit – which is probably the name the cat is called more than any of the others. Granted, in the past, calling the cat “Damnit” has gotten me in trouble. Who can ever forget their first call by their child’s teacher asking that you come in for a meeting. And who can forget the ensuing discussion of your child’s family tree whereupon you find a picture of an orange blob with the name “Mimir Danmit” written on a bottom limb? Mimir, like the other females in this house, is opinionated, stubborn and determined to do it her way. You’d think we playing Frank Sinatra on perma-loop around here.
Mimir at play
Meemsy picked me in a random pet store five years ago today. She was found six months prior, while taking her kittens from the abandoned house where she gave birth to a house across the street with a open basement. The couple who saw her crossing the street blocked off traffic until she could transport the final two kittens and then scooped them all up and turned them in to Second Chance. Mimir weaned her babies two months later and they were all adopted right away; Mimir was not. Fast forward four months and you find me at some pet store with a guy we shall simply refer to as “one of Jeri’s mistakes in dating” when I saw her. Two weeks later Mimir came home and five years later, she’s a large part of my and Drue’s life. The guy? Yeah, not so much.
That’s not to say all is roses. Anytime you have one opinionated, stubborn female in the house, you’re in for it. Multiple that out by three… and well, you’ll understand why Jason is consistently up for the “Most Patient Person in the World” award each year. Meemsy expects a certain amount of petting, rubbing and playing each and every day and there’s hell to pay if anyone in this household with opposable thumbs doesn’t come through and rub the puddy tat.
See? It's a belly!
Over the last five years, I’ve come to expect certain things from my cat. If there’s a pile of papers in her spot – and by her spot I mean anywhere she deigns to be – they will be knocked on the floor. Stacks of CDs, DVDs, video games, photos, books and laundry have fallen before her. And after each display of her superior power, I get a look of pure innocence. If Meemsy could speak, she would say something akin to “What? I did nothing!” Occasionally, I even get the belly after she’s been particularly naughty. But don’t mistake this display as an invitation to pet her. Because if you do, you’ll come away with bloody nubs instead of fingers… and maybe even lost parts of your hand. You think I’m feisty? Pshaw. I’ve got nothing on my cat. Yes, she’s so cute! But remember, you were warned!
I’ve decided Meemsy is some deity’s (pick your favorite and insert) way of reminding me that OCD is not always a good thing. Or it’s a great reminde
