When I tell people that we have a 30-pound cat, I get incredulous stares and exclamations of surprise. Then follwed by requests to see actual pictures of said cat.
I first met Lincoln in late April 2002. My roomate and sister was getting married at the end of May and I was moving into a new 1 bedroom apartment and living by myself for the first time ever. I found out that the landlord allowed cats, and thought it would be the perfect opportunity to adopt a pair of cats for some companionship.
Conning my husband, who was my boyfried at the time, that I just wanted to "check out" an animal shelter, we headed down to the city-run shelter in Chicago. We came back with two cats, one of them, named Toby at the shelter, would then be named Lincoln. Not in honor of the president, but Lincoln Avenue, one of the streets I lived right off of in the city. Lincoln was a 3 year old male, cream and grey striped tabby mix with blue eyes.
Joining Lincoln was Leokadia, which is quite possibly the worst name ever for a cat. Leokadia was a 4 year old gray female with green eyes. She was promptly renamed Belden, after Belden Avenue, the other street that intersected with Lincoln Avenue where I lived.
Lincoln and Belden came from separate homes with different owners/situations. It would be interesting to see how they would interact with each other.
Lincoln is a big cat originally from the mean streets of Chicago now living in the idyllic burbs of Iowa. He blogs about life in general - focusing on the little ankle biters who generally leave him alone and don't pull his tail or whiskers.
No comments:
Post a Comment