When i was about 16, my foster sisters cat, Bandito(the cat i gave her, btw), gave birth to about 5 kittens. They were adorable. However, 4 of the kittens came out attached to each by the umbilical cord. That caused concern from my parents especially. The only kitten luckily enough to escape Bandito’s unintentional death trap(which i am convinced that she really enjoyed the death trap, as she was a terrible mother), was Norbert, who would later become my kitten after much pleading and begging.

Norbert is a bizarre cat to say the least; he constantly stalks me, even though i have moved out of my parents house and he stays there as an indoor cat, whenever i go over there. And he stares. He has intelligent eyes, although he himself is very unintelligent. Talking to him would be almost plausible if it weren’t for the fact that my parents already think I’m nuts. Still, there is something about Norbert that makes me wonder if he can actually understand me. Or maybe he is just obsessed with me. I call it an obsession solely based on the fact that when he first realized that i was his mistress, he followed me around constantly and from then on would stalk me into the bathroom, sitting outside the shower, waiting for me to emerge from the evil water.(He never moved from his spot by the sink of course, the shower was evil, but neither would he leave the bathroom). Then he would proceed to rub up against my wet legs, leaving what looked like a little forest on freshly shaved legs. With a shake of my hair, he would run back to the sink to avoid the water droplets now bombarding him, looking very hurt, after all, he was just telling me he loved me. But i suppose he could have just continued stealing my hair scrunchies.

Oh yes, hair scrunchies. He loved them! Especially mine. After a day of working i would come home, say hello to the parents and walk into my room, Norbert on my heels. Unaware that he was behind me, i would remove my scrunchy and set it on my desk and turn to the closet for a less food-smelly outfit, only to turn back around and discover that Norbert had my scrunchy in his mouth. Well there was no use trying to get it back until he dropped it, which he did sometimes, mainly i think to fool me into thinking he had forgotten it.  Assured that he would not bother the poor scrunchy again, i would open the door to let him out. In sleek cat form, he would snatch the scrunchy up and run as fast as he could for the exit. On the one occasion i decided to chase him, he had my favorite scrunchy secured in his jaws, he ran down the stairs into the basement and made a right turn into the laundry room. I stop and watched in amazement as he jump on top of the washer and into a little hole in the ceiling, where i am very sure that the rest of my scrunchies forfeited their lives to him. To this day, if he gets a chance to steal a scrunchy, he takes it. And the others still lay very dead in the ceiling. Of course he is no longer allowed downstairs, due to his misbehavior in my parents bedroom. Alas, the lament of the scrunchies is long over and i wonder if he even remembers whether or not they are there, waiting for the scrunchy King’s return with another victim.

Yes, Norbert the Scrunchy King is by far my favorite cat in that house. But he is only one of seven in a house where my mom is a sucker for living creatures, whether they are kids or dogs or cats. Who knows, he may even be in a house of 8 by the end of the week.

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