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Minou was born in 2007, the year before the subprime crisis, which made no difference to him. He had his own crisis when as a fairly young cat, he was hit by a car. He crawled back inside the house. He must have had multiple broken bones. His right front tooth was gone, and that was the least of it. The veterinarian hardly expected him to live. But his appetite came back, and he managed to heal. From then on, he was more a more careful animal.
He still hunts regularly, growling around his prey when he brings it into the house through the cat door. If he hasn't had to kill the animal, he then lays it gently on the floor and coaxes it to run (or fly) away, so that he can catch it again. Perhaps adrenaline flavors the meat.
As a neutered male cat, Minou fares acceptably well fighting off the other cats who visit at night. But nearly all his injuries since the car accident stem from cat fights. Although he is clearly frightened, he doesn't shy away from defending his territory. People might think it would be better to stay inside the house. Minou doesn't think that way. If peeing in the basement isn't enough, he bites and scratches.
Minou talks a lot. He generally has something to say when people finally get out of bed at the end of his night. He meows thanks when someone opens the door for him. Depending on the ambient noise level, and the time of day, his vocalizations vary from the closest simulation that a cat can make of a human whisper, to a conversational tone, to a violent yell at a trespassing neighbor cat.
His hunting makes him thoughtful. Some of his language with people is crude, like pantomiming the need to switch a dish of stale dry kibbles for new greasy ones, or staring at a person until they get up from their chair to open a door or smooth his bedspread. And yet he can be more subtle, exuding disdain, contentment, veiled threats, or even stoical patience. He can focus for long moments without moving, waiting for a lizard or a mouse to stir, sniff thoroughly and interrogatively, or stare pensively into the distance from high on the porch.
He suffers the mockery of fools without anger, maybe with pity.
If you meet him, you'll see the white fur on his belly, and the gray fur mounting to a crest in the middle of his back. The center of his face is a white triangle whose point is above his nose, with gray fur around his yellow eyes.
Don't stare into his eyes. You must blink with affection or he'll claw you and draw blood.
He still hunts regularly, growling around his prey when he brings it into the house through the cat door. If he hasn't had to kill the animal, he then lays it gently on the floor and coaxes it to run (or fly) away, so that he can catch it again. Perhaps adrenaline flavors the meat.
As a neutered male cat, Minou fares acceptably well fighting off the other cats who visit at night. But nearly all his injuries since the car accident stem from cat fights. Although he is clearly frightened, he doesn't shy away from defending his territory. People might think it would be better to stay inside the house. Minou doesn't think that way. If peeing in the basement isn't enough, he bites and scratches.
Minou talks a lot. He generally has something to say when people finally get out of bed at the end of his night. He meows thanks when someone opens the door for him. Depending on the ambient noise level, and the time of day, his vocalizations vary from the closest simulation that a cat can make of a human whisper, to a conversational tone, to a violent yell at a trespassing neighbor cat.
His hunting makes him thoughtful. Some of his language with people is crude, like pantomiming the need to switch a dish of stale dry kibbles for new greasy ones, or staring at a person until they get up from their chair to open a door or smooth his bedspread. And yet he can be more subtle, exuding disdain, contentment, veiled threats, or even stoical patience. He can focus for long moments without moving, waiting for a lizard or a mouse to stir, sniff thoroughly and interrogatively, or stare pensively into the distance from high on the porch.
He suffers the mockery of fools without anger, maybe with pity.
If you meet him, you'll see the white fur on his belly, and the gray fur mounting to a crest in the middle of his back. The center of his face is a white triangle whose point is above his nose, with gray fur around his yellow eyes.
Don't stare into his eyes. You must blink with affection or he'll claw you and draw blood.
