Funkyzeit mit Fedya

This is Fedya, my parents’ cat.

Everything he thinks of me and, quite possibly, the world at large, is summed up by this picture.

Yesterday, in the middle of the night, I was attacked by a huge moth. I called for reinforcements. My brother and I swatted at the Mothra monster with a baseball bat for a while (I’m not kidding), but it didn’t get the hint. Fedya trapped the Mothra, carried it around in his mouth, then decided that he was more amused by watching us chase it around or, alternatively, watching it chase us, than actually eating it. So he let it go, and it flew around for a while, casting terror into our hearts and providing Fedya with endless nighttime entertainment.

Merciless toward small, cute birds, Fedya nevertheless has plenty of capacity for mercy when it comes to UGLY THINGS THAT FARKING TERRIFY ME.

*ahem*

Fedya is a Scottish Fold cat, which means, of course, that his ears fold over as if he were a toy. Fedya, however, stubbornly refuses to be treated like a toy. He has opinions about matters – most of said opinions being negative – and he’s not afraid to share them. The other day, he expressed his disapproval of my sand-covered pump by kicking it over and staring at it despondently for nearly half an hour (Fedya doesn’t like dirt and disorder of any kind, unless the dirt and disorder has been directly caused by him). Sufficiently shamed, I wiped my shoes down with a damp cloth as Fedya watched.

Fedya cannot stand his litterbox to be anything but pristine. If you did not clean up his pee fast enough, he will take a vengeful dump on your bed. He will then proceed to give you a look like the one above. It means “Pfft. Look what you made me do.” One legendary dump that Fedya took coincided nicely with New Year’s Day 2007. I had crawled home around 6 a.m., and, having snuggled nicely underneath my toasty feather blanket, was suddenly struck by the overwhelming smell of cat poop. Fedya was on my desk then, looking down. “Hah,” he seemed to say. “You don’t get to take time off from MY litterbox just because it happens to be YOUR drunken holiday.” I will never, ever forget that morning. I still have nightmares about it sometimes. Especially those nightmares that come when you have just turned over your pillow to the cool side, and pulled the delicious, freshly-laundered blanket over your face and are suddenly struck with a horrifying WHAT IF?…

Fedya’s other grand achievement is being able to sleep on his back, which he does quite often. I think he likes it, because deep down inside, he is a show-off. He’ll never admit it though. Being a show-off means trying too hard, and Fedya does not try. Hard or otherwise. He just is.

We adore him in the way we adore Tom Bombadil – without trying to understand him. That way madness lies.

MOAR Fedya pictures? Here’s one.