Pickles & Dimes

I saw you at the Adoption Center at PetSmart. All the other cats were caterwauling hysterically or jumping at us through their cages, but not you. You were sitting quiet and straight, your big green eyes on us. We were enthralled, but weren’t looking to adopt.

At home, four hours later, I turned to Jason and said firmly, “I want that cat.”

I wanted to call you Gary, before I realized you were a girl. But Sunny suits you perfectly - from your appearance to your happy little personality.

We debated for almost two weeks before deciding to adopt you. We already had Abby, a cantankerous feline accustomed to being alone. I wasn’t too sure how she would react.

When we went to adopt you, the store manager said you had almost been adopted a few hours earlier, but when the prospective adopters picked you up, you freaked out and scratched them. To the point that they balked. She showed us her annihilated arm as proof.

I didn’t know at the time what we were getting ourselves into, but you’ve never showed any aggression or anger toward us. Ever.

When we brought you to get declawed, the vet discovered that you had two broken teeth. One he pulled, and the other he filed down. Your nickname is “Billy Idol” because your lips get caught on that half-fang once in awhile.

The first few days home, Abby hissed at you constantly, but with your mellow attitude, you didn’t even respond. You just went about your normal business, and hey, if she wasn’t going to eat her treat, then you would.

You’ve always been a fast eater, inhaling your food and heading straight for Abby’s. You’re finally at that point where you can eat some food and walk away with some still in your bowl.

When we come upstairs to feed you, you show us “the rattlesnake” by sticking your tail straight up in the air and wiggling it furiously.

You’re a cuddle-monkey: you love sitting on people’s chests:

And on people’s blanketed laps:
 

You were really quiet at first, communicating only in Marlon Brando-esque whispers or strangely deep-throated grunts. The first time you actually meowed was when I was opening up a can of Spam.

You used to pop up on your hind legs prairie dog-style to look out the windows.

You follow Abby around constantly, much to her chagrin. As a result, you’ve picked up some of her tricks:
 
You gained a TON of weight very quickly, but that didn’t hinder your jumping ability to get to your favorite sitting places, like here:
 
Or here:
 
You are supernaturally curious and if something’s got a zipper, a flap, or a drawer, you’ve got to investigate:
 

Now you’re one of the chattiest cats I know, routinely walking up to us and having a very persistent and loud “conversation,” where your chattering gets louder and louder with every “What?” we utter, but you’re as quiet as can be at 4:30 in the morning, when you sneak under the covers to curl up next to my bare belly. Only your broken-motor purring gives you away.
 
You enjoy licking the water off the shower wall, and one day, in your determination to get it all, you fell into the tub while Jason was taking a shower. His scream was girly.

When you want to be fed, you get our attention by bringing out the big guns:
 
You’ve got a mischievous side to you: when Abby does her laps around the living room, you hang out on the couch and bat her on the head as she runs by. Then you turn to look at us and I swear you’re laughing.

You’re the best thing that ever happened to our odd little family, and even though Abby will never admit it, she loves you. And so do we.
 

Happy second birthday, you belly-showing, Billy Idol-impersonating, entire-food-bowl-eating, undercover-cuddle-monkey.