I promised I would never blog about my cat...

Actually I never promised that.

He's been such a good boy.

As a tyke of seven years old I craved a fluffy white girl cat that I could affectionately name "Muffin."

At 8 I recall hanging out in my living room, my mom (a realtor at the time) on the phone with a client. She yelled from the kitchen, asking if I'd like a black fluffy boy cat...I told my mother no, no I would not like a black boy cat.

She continued on in her conversation; about 20 minutes later before hanging up she said "Chrissy, are you sure you wouldn't want this cat?"

To which I responded "uh.....yeah, I guess I'll have him."

And that my friends is where my relationship with the little Muff-puff began.

It was a blustery December night - the 23rd of 1991 to be exact. The little guy was a baby - very very small, and frightened to boot. I bundled him up in a blanket and placed him inside my parka until he got home.

When we came into our old Brooklyn Center house he scurried out of my coat and ran across the house, searching for a door.

Once he found one, he peed.

Awwww.

For years I held him when he desired not to be held. I dressed him up when he desired not to be dressed up. I picked him up by his front feet and made him dance when he did not want to dance. Once my friend Laura and I forced him into holy union with our other cat, Kirby. We put a dress on Kirby, and allowed Muffin to be the groom (his white flea collar made him look like he was wearing a tux).

Muffin always wetted himself everytime we put him in the car to go to the vet. Muffin does not like car rides.

Speaking of the vet, in order to get him there we would put him in a pillow case, thus limiting his ability to move.

Muffin is also afraid of people.




At 12, we moved to Richfield. During the move, Muffin hid under our old porch; there was no getting him out. I cried and cried and cried. For a week or so, my dad would stop by the old house on his way to work, to check and see if he could find Muffin. No luck. My brother assured me that Muffin was dead.

One very early morning, my dad woke me up with a little bundle of black fur in his arms. It was Muffin! I was so happy!!! My dad went to the old house and pretended to be unlocking the door, Muffin out of habit came running out of hiding to go inside - my dad swooped him up and brought him home. I took him and we fed him and bathed him in love.


During high school I was distracted with the things of high school. I enjoyed petting Muffin, but found myself lost in a world of crushes, new friends, Sifl & Olly and stupidity. I turned to Muffin when my high school cares became too much for me to handle - Muffin was a great comforter. He's so pretty!!

High school left and college came. I embarked upon Australia my junior year of college, and abandoned Muffin for a year. I was pretty sure he'd forget me during that time, but he sure didn't!

My parents moved to a condo in Roseville while I was in Australia, they gave Kirby and Muffin to someone to watch until I came home. Kirby ran away and Muffin was miserable, so my parents snuck him in illegally to the condo they were living in. There he stayed until I came home and moved him to St. Paul...

...where he met Milton and Margo. Muffin was frightened. Muffin is a frightened boy. He feared Margo. He never left my bedroom, unless forced out by Jess or I.

Jess moved out and Amber moved in - with Merlin and Baby. Muffin was frightened. He feared Merlin. He never left my bedroom, unless forced out by Amber or I.

Recently I moved into an apartment in Minnetonka. Muffin is breathing a sigh of relief. It's retirement time.

He's had a rough life, and now all he wants is retirement love. It's seriously the cutest thing in the world.



I figure he'll be dying pretty soon, and my only question is this: what do I do with a dead cat?

Edit: Please share your favorite memory of Muffin, have you one.