American Shorthair/Oriental
Picture of Ash, a male American Shorthair/Oriental

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Home:The Beast (Pig Latin), CA, a  [I have a diary!]  
Age: 14 Years   Sex: Male   Weight: 10 lbs.

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   Leave a treat for Ash

Ashlington Puppycat

Kitty Complexion:
sleepyvery active
not curiousvery curious
not vocalvery vocal

Sun Sign:
Quick Bio:
-pound cat

Gotcha Date:
March 6th 2004

October 30th 2002

Kisses from me, attentiveness from his battalion of adoptees.

Avarice, sloth, eyeballing of butterdishes by his trainees.

Favorite Toy:
His girlfriend Sweetie Squirrel (RIP). He sits very still and watches when I feed her, then gets all excited and crawls up next to her and rolls onto his belly. Oh, how he wants to snuggle her. He's vigilant in chasing off the nasty bully boy squirrel.

Favorite Nap Spot:
These days, the very center of our glen of plum trees, abutting a blackberry bramble. And a chicken coop, next door.

Favorite Food:
Whatever I'm eating. Carnitas, esp. Bonus if there's peanut sauce involved.

Diplomacy: he'[was] the smallest cat on the block, but you'd better know he's in charge.

indoors and outdoors

Arrival Story:
Three months after losing his predecessor and King of All Cats, Beauregard [at the ripe old age of 18], I set out for the local shelters in search of a cat needing a home and a mom like me. Which is silly: that might describe any number of cats. There was one astounding gentleman cat, at the Humane Society, and I was sure we'd make a great team — but he was the facility favorite, pretty well adjusted, maybe not the neediest cat out there. I kept looking, but my standards got pretty rarified. I went back for a conjugal visit with this gentleman cat, and after an hour of snuggling and play and much chitchat, stood up to leave. Sort of teary. When I reached the playpen door, [Mozart was his name. Mozz. Art.] bounded from the floor to bench to land on my chest, hooked his paws around my neck and nuzzled into my neck. This was it. True love.

His original name was Mozart, which didn't seem like him so much and which the Humane Society insisted on pronouncing "Mozz-art." Mm. So on the way home, with him in the box, we realized we needed to think up a name for him which sounded Mozart-ish, so he'd take to it easily. me: What rhymes with Mozart? him: Go-cart? No. me: Salivart ? him: Bonaparte? me: Wait! I have it! him: Black Bart? me: Mozart rhymes with S-Mart! in stereo: Ash! The "him" in that story began manifesting obsessive and destructive tendencies soon after that. Ash and I fled, and after three years, eight addresses, and as many brisk escapes, we've landed in a place that feels like home and seems committed to keeping us around. Our last place, near the Oakland airport, had more abandoned animals per block than we could handle: Ash brought the best and most broken home for love and care. Violence took one, brought [Harlow, at 3wks]. We do what we can: Ash's posse, now, boasts SIX microchipped members, all happy healthy astoundingly well-socialized heroes. Ash is a good boy.

Lives Remaining:
3 of 9

Forums Motto:
Snuggles with Squirrels

The Groups I'm In:
Black Cats Crossing our Paths

rescuer of noblest of local better-deserving beasties: his minions number 6, at present. The newest recruit, young Harlow, is in hospital following surgical intervention after an encounter with a 5" mawed heathen of the canine persuasion. Upon cradling Ash to advise him of her absence, heat and swelling was noted on his shoulder, haunches. Is that how she got free and under the house? Ash is a strict social- and disciplinarian, and able trainer-to-ferocity, but he sure does love his girl.

I've Been On Catster Since:
August 26th 2004 More than 12 years!

Rosette, Star and Special Gift History

Catster Id:

Meet my family
Harlow [was
Arlo. then I
got a

Meet my Feline Friends
See all my Feline Friends
See all my Feline Friends

prying eyes pry

Proud, proud Papacat

March 15th 2013 9:39 am
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There's news, so exciting, so amazing, we hardly know how to tell it. So we'll get to it the long way: Ash is turning out to be a very, very fine father to his foundlings. JeanLuc is the most brave, brilliant, best-trained-to-take-orders kittycat we have ever had the pleasure to make kissyface with: the house is not yet stable, what with the addition and subtraction now and then with nary iaotae of notice, of a very handsome man with a very erratic disposition which leaves us all a little bit awed, not sure we'd be so cool with the world after 36yr coming at it with Aspergers like he has... so there are not yet the toys, or steps built onto walls in sunbeams, or large swathes of pest-free play area in the verdant rolling valley that is the backyard, nor have the monster shrubs out front been carved into elephants and snakes as recently promised. JeanLuc has found drapery pulls to be most amusing, and leather ottomans great for claw-sharpening, though. And she has learned that these are not their purposes, that they inline mama to say "Please don't do that," and so she does not. Do that.
This is kind of amazing. Seriously.
She was brought up right in her early weeks by Miss Harlow, so we wonder not that she rules.
Miss Harlow, you see, is magic.
We worked very hard to help her, sure, even scooping up her friends and driving them to the new house in paws-on-dashboard observation mode along a very straightish shot route, and kept breathing when they and our beloved Abbott disappeared shortly thereafter when the aforementioned boy let them out before the furniture moved in... and we go back daily, then weekly, then sporadically and call and call and call and feed and stuff... but still this is just...
MISS HARLOW IS HOME. SHE'S HERE. SHE'S REALLY REALLY HERE. NOT INSIDE, NOT CLOSE ENOUGH FOR ME TO TOUCH, BUT SHE EATS, SHE HANGS OUT, SHE RELAXES AT MY VOICE AND I SWEAR SHE SMILE (((((((THISBIG))))))) AND I REALLY HOPE ABBOTT REAPPEARS WITH HER, SOON, BEFORE THE BOY is released from the jail he disappeared into several weeks ago, where we just found him learning to keep his mouth shut when said mouth and his red red hair and penchant for hardware stores gets him arrested for looking like a guy who vandalised a truck outside one of those stores, and held in solitary for lots and lots and crazylots of bail. But maybe we can help him with a home to anchor from and he'll find and bring some balance. it could happen. Abbott could reappear, blind and deaf and heroic. He could. He could if Harlow could find us and come home to a place she's never lived. And she did that.
Ash raised her right. And now he's learned to pull his punches, to not run so directly to his beloved when ecstatic at their homecoming, but to keep his tail curled high, his voice purring sweetly, his belly up and chest fluffy and clearly engageable for snuggles. JeanLuc lets him push her toward the door, when she puts just one toe off the curb into the street, where Harlow rightly bolted: he would nip, now jut nudges.
He's been given a second chance to do things very right, with our bestest girl, and tiny treasure.
We're beside ourselves. Yay.


stalker doggie

October 2nd 2012 3:41 pm
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Some big stupid dog keeps biting my head, when I try to pry my young charge Harlow from its jaws. WTF, big stupid dog! My head's kind of squished, eyes asymmetrical. But I'm still sharp as a tack.
Just can't munch the crunchies as vigorously as I'd like. Or at all.
Vet visit mañana. Last time, when mom was quite sure my legs were fractured, which is extra lame what with the dissembly of same way back when I first snuck thru a window and discovered those things called "streets" never quite getting back to perfect.
Swagger's a little wiggly, still. But not as annoying as the jaw thing.
Tomorrow. Wonder if Mom can figure out how to make me feel like a cool car cat by then. 50 catnip crunchies to her if she can magic Harlow into the car with me...


And the Day was Glorious

May 7th 2012 12:48 am
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Cheek rubs to all my new friends!

See all diary entries for Ash