Cat Coincidence

Alright, the cat saga is officially a cat SAGA, so it deserves the full treatment of a post. When last we left our furry heroes, we had two new cats in the garage and one on antibiotics, the victim of an apparent bladder infection. After 8 days on the meds, we were still noticing blood in the urine, Linda was going to let the 10 day meds run out before going back, my mother-in-law convinced her to call. She's back at the vet last Tuesday for an x-ray. I get the phone call I dread with two pieces of bad news. First, it's bladder stones and they need to operate. Prognosis for cat- good; prognosis for wallet- 4 figures lighter. Next, the reason I usually go the vet rather than her.
"Bill...there's this little black kitten"...
"no", I say.
"He's adorable and me and the boys are in love" she says.
"No", I try to sound forceful.
"Please",
"NO", I pull out the voice I reserve for the kids for the 'Can we go to Great Adventure' whine. "OH, Please!" she pleads; she's not giving up easily, and I'm losing ground
"No" I say with that smirk you can see over the phone 50 miles away. She has me now.
"Lemme just hold him? If he's not a good cat, I won't get him." I know this cat would have to drop a limb off before she'd consider not getting him at this point.
"He's got to be PERFECT. Playful AND lovable." I concede. Game, set, match....Linda.

So, now we have 4 cats in 3 'wards'. One in protective custody until that Friday when the operation will occur. Two in detention in the garage so we protect the sick one's olfactory turf until he's back on his feet; and a kitten with the run of the house. Friday surgery goes without a hitch and we have a bandaged cat back in the boys' room Saturday morning.

There's something about a kitten that you can't help but be drawn to. Even the girls have taken to watching him. Grace even went so far as to tell him to 'scoot' when he became annoying with some of her food. There have been several stimming episodes with cat toys that have been nothing short of physical comic masterpieces with him wiggling his butt and attacking an unsuspecting stimmer. We swear Liv was playing with him while 'spinning' with a cat string.

The rest of us just gravitate toward him while he's in the room. As the one who approved the transaction blindly, I pulled rank and requested final word on the name. I was NOT going to be party to another Smokey, Blackey or Midnight in this world. Although MY rejects were not exactly the best: Sirius Black from Harry potter fame; Grim from the Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy (somewhat warped cartoon, you have to be a preteen or a psylightly psychotic parent to laugh); Or of course, Ozzy Osbourne. Dizzy Gillespie was my front runner (get it, black 'cat', jazz...well I thought it quite obtuse in retrospect!). It was the flippant comment flipping through the 'black list' that got me the name. "How about Licorice?" After one minor tantrum from the oldest, it was written in stone. Licky for short...

So, it's been an interesting couple of weeks in the feline arena; an interesting 'degrees of separation'. My F9 key missing because of new cat (claw stuck while walking across and POP, out it came); new cat here because of sick cat; cat found to be sick because of new cats in the house; new cats in house due to mother-in-law moving out of her house. MIL moving out because of autistic kids.