poor spike

I have two cats; Ripper and Spike. First you should know that those are certainly names I am proud of and I would have given them those monikers myself … but I was not the one to name them. My daughter named them. Ripper when she was 2 1/2 and Spike when she was 3 1/2. Mike and I were both thrilled with her choices… but i have to say they haven’t really lived up to their tough boy titles.

Ripper wouldn’t rip up anything. He might attack a box, your foot under the blanket or eat a mouse (he did once eat one whole… we were more than a little surprised) but the only “person” he would terrorize is Spike (unless you count him trying to suffocate me by snuggling my head in the middle of the night).

Spike has one of the least spiky personalities I have ever seen. He is an enormous mama’s boy who cries for me all the time. If I meow for him he comes running and wants to spend as much time with me as he can. when he is not with me he enjoys sleeping on K’s bed, shredding cardboard and getting stoned on catnip… it is Spike that brings us to today’s blog.

While I was getting dinner started a while ago K was quietly playing in her room (always a dangerous sign ;). A few moments later I hear Spike’s tattle meow. Normally this meow is reserved for things like Ripper not letting him use the cat door or me not sitting with him when he thinks I should… but after a second I saw him out of the corner of my eye still mewing with a scarf my mother knitted wrapped around his neck. Lets just say he didn’t look pleased. K was practicing her favorite pastime. Dress up. She doesn’t care who is involved in dress up as long as it is going on. She will dress her self up, dress me up, then Mike. If our friends are over they are fair game as well. Then there’s the stuffed animals… they get dressed in all manner of things… Today obviously Spike was the object of her dress up obsession. After removing the scarf and sitting K down to explain to her why we don’t wrap things around the cats’ necks she asked so nicely what she could put on him… which lead to Spike laying on my bed in one of K’s preemie t-shirts staring into space wondering when his life took this turn.

I haven’t dressed a cat since I was about 8… my poor Spike

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