His name is technically Yum-yum; that's what shows on any official documents that may exist. He's never really been called that at home. To us he's Shitter (Shedder or Shetter if you'd rather keep it family-friendly). He's had that name pretty much since I found him in a pet store with a little ball of feces stuck to his ass fur.
That was on St. Patrick's Day, and the year was...uh...hmm. I've never been too certain of my own chronology. I know that I got my Bachelor's degree in May of '94, then spent a fairly crappy year at my parents' house, and finally came out here the following October. Which would probably mean that we got Shitter in March of '96, making him almost 12 years old. No longer young, wondering how much time is left...huh, what that's like?
I was working as a repo man at the time. I spent long days criss-crossing the city of Las Vegas, knocking half-heartedly on the doors of deadbeats, hoping that they wouldn't answer...or at least, if they did answer, hoping that they wouldn't shoot me. My wife hadn't been hired by the school district yet, so she was doing part-time work at a private daycare/ pre-K school. She spent a lot of time alone, in a city that was new and strange to us, so a pet was just what the doctor ordered. As we were still apartment-dwellers at the time, dogs were out of the question (and I've never understood having birds, fish, or any other type of small pet).So one day (while I was supposed to be working, but let's not talk about that), I stopped by a pet store and bought her a kitten. He was just a little ball of orange lint with huge blue eyes. She may have cried when she saw him; whether or no, they spent the rest of the day together while I went back to work feeling pretty damn pleased with myself. He nestled in her bathrobe and they watched "The Money Pit" together while she cooked corned beef and cabbage...a meal that only tastes good on St. Patrick's Day (and sometimes not even then).
Shortly thereafter, my wife started working a little more, so we decided the kitten needed a companion. Actually, one of her co-workers had a cat who'd just given birth, and the dire threat of unwanted kittens going to the pound may have motivated us just as much as our kitten's loneliness. So we brought home a cute little goth kitty (plump, with black and grey tiger stripes, black lips and big evil eyes) who we named Isabella. The two got along well together, and unofficially she became my cat, as Shitter was always my wife's.
Those two traveled with us to our next apartment, where we spent two years, and then to our house, where we still live. They weren't overjoyed by the addition of two bulldogs to the family, but no major problems surfaced...except that maybe they got less attention, and were less likely to come downstairs to hang out with us. On the other hand, they were able to spend every night on the bed with us (and the dogs almost never had that opportunity!). Just to make sure the cats knew that we still cared about them, I made it a point to spend extra time with them here and there.
Shitter has a unique and endearing personality. He talks far more often than most cats- even more than Siamese cats, who are infamous for their noisiness. When I walk into a room and see him, I say hello- and he always says hello right back, though it usually sounds more like "wreuw". He can make an impressive variety of meows, from kitty peeps to tomcat yowls and other noises that only marginally resemble normal cat sounds. We've carried on entire conversations, going back and forth for five or ten minutes at a time until one of us gets bored and wanders off.
He's affectionate, for a cat, and has specific favorite places where he likes to show his affection. Oddly enough, he likes to visit when someone is sitting on the toilet...and in several documented cases, has felt the urge to nibble on an exposed leg. Once the weather starts to turn cool, he enjoys diving under the covers at night when I go to bed. He rarely stays too long...he'll get rubs while I settle in, and then more often than not dart out just as I'm drifting off, startling me back to consciousness. Then he'll sit and eat a few kibbles in the dark and jump back on the bed just as I'm finally falling asleep again. Yes, it can be as annoying as it sounds...but more often, it's just as cute as it sounds.
He has long fine fur, which has a tendency to turn into dreadlocks near his butt if he doesn't get regular combing. When he was young, his stripes were far more distinctive, but now he's more like a watercolor blur of cream and butterscotch, with whitest white fluff on his chest and belly (he looks like a little 19th Century gentleman with a white ruffle under a butterscotch overcoat).
This fur has made him cough up a hairball or two in his day. He's also inclined to be something of a glutton; for a while, I had to switch to the "weight control" cat food. I maintain that most his bulk is fur, but he's still a pretty big cat...weight in the teens, but not verified in several years. His eyes are still a bit bigger than his stomach; every once in a while, he'll eat a little too much and then vomit it out. However, I've never seen it happen more than once or maybe twice in a single day.
Yesterday, over the course of about six or eight hours, he produced at least five little chunky puddles on the carpet. Nothing unusual about them- no blood, nothing strange in there at all, just half-digested kibbles and stomach gravy.
Should I worry?
He was also a lot more affectionate yesterday than usual. After my wife went to bed, he came downstairs and hung around my ankles for awhile, purring as I petted him ("gettin' rubs", as we call it). This is unusual but not unknown; he just rarely spends much time downstairs since we've had the dogs.
As I was waking up this morning, he jumped up and settled down on the narrow space between my body and the edge of the bed...also gettin' rubs. He spends a lot of time on the bed, whether we're there or not, but I've never seen him take that particular position before.
So should I worry? Extra vomiting, and extra affection.
He's 12 years old. He could easily live another five years or so without hurting the statistics, and maybe even a few years beyond that without the Guiness people knocking on my door.
On the other hand, he's 12 years old. He could go tomorrow and it wouldn't hurt the statistics that way, either.
He hasn't been to the vet in many years. As an indoor-only cat, he's not at risk from most feline problems; we don't even have to worry much about fleas or ticks out here in the desert. The last time we took him to the vet, he was very unhappy about it...it took two assistants and a towel wrapped around him to get him to submit to the vet's examinations. None of us in this house are overly social, I'm afraid. It's a fairly closed society. I figured the stress of making him go to the vet was at least as dangerous as missing a booster shot or two.
The only possible health issue he's had over the years is his teeth (this explains the rise of a few of his other nicknames, "Stinkmoufy" and "Bad Teefers"). They're a little yellower than they should be, but they seem whole and healthy despite that. He obviously has little problem eating. I know that feline dental problems can cause or indicate more serious health problems, but there's been no additional symptoms to make me worry. Up to now, I mean.
So should I worry?
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