Stare Down

In November 2011 I adopted a 3-4 month old short-haired gray cat with a white bib, belly and paws. He was homely and had terrible juvenile gingival hyperplasia. His gums were swollen, inflamed and growing down over his teeth. He had horrendous halitosis, yet he was sweet and affectionate despite all the dental and mouth pain he must have had.

We brought him home and he adapted quickly to life with his tuxedo brother Revere whom we had adopted at the end of June that same year.

Gradually, my little short-haired gray and white cat began poofing out into a long-haired cat! He was suddenly no longer a homey little guy but a gorgeous cat! After several trips to the vet with the possibility of having to take him to a feline dental surgeon to have ALL his teeth extracted looming in the future, his vet here said he'd give laser gum surgery a try to see if it might help him keep his teeth longer, that sometimes a cat would outgrow the condition. He lasered the gums back, extracted a couple teeth that had been partially absorbed with root exposures, cleaned and polished Beans' remaining teeth and we brought him home. He was on antibiotics for fourteen days and did well. Soon he was eating dry food. He goes to the vet annually for regular dental cleanings and his condition has greatly imoroved. He's a happy if somewhat oblivious little guy.

He's unbelievably sweet but he has one unnerving trait- when Kelly and I are sitting at the kitchen table writing he will come and stare me down. He will literally stand and stare at me and not move, not blink an eye until he bends my will to his and I either let him jump up onto my lap so he can get his ears rubbed, or I go find a toy and play with him.

Tonight he tried the stare down at dinner. He wanted to be fed. He came and stood on the rug in front of the sink and just stared at me. I tried to ignore him but I don't think there's anyone alive who can ignore those pea green orbs of feline intensity. He wanted to eat and he was not going to back down.

He got fed. (He's so damn cute.)

I am weak. (I love him so much.)

The cat won. (Somehow I don't feel like a loser.)

When we adopted him he was labeled a chronic by the vet and we were told that he might live two years at most with his dental issues. On Thursday we will be celebrating the fourth anniversary of his adoption day.

All good writers have fantastic felines, or literary kitty cats (or they should, although I suppose there are writers who prefer dogs)- Hemingway, Edgar Allen Poe...I just wonder if their cats ever did the stare down thing with them?