Thursday, April 5, 2012
Newt is an acquired taste.
Give her time; she'll grow on you. I doubt anyone ever appreciated their very first sip of Dalmore 64 Trinitas.
And besides, as a purebred Sphynx, Newt may be worth a lot of money, but she's no cream puff. Apparently she survived another brush with death, because when she came to my door today her tail was stitched up from top to bottom. She's a pip, I tell you. And fearless. And beautiful.
Newt reminds me of this guy I knew when I was growing up. He was little. We were all little, but Chip was really little, half our size. He came from a family of big people, tall parents, and two older brothers who played football. I guess they had no more feet or inches left when it came to Chip.
Still, Chip was the kind of kid who always had his arm in a sling or a patch on his eye or his middle digit taped to one of those tongue depressors. He was a scrapper.
If anyone teased Chip, it was at their peril. Maybe he couldn't reach to punch a fellow in the jaw, still he could run full force and head-butt someone right in the gut.
I wonder where Chipper is today. Probably in charge of some multi-billion dollar corporation, or in prison, or both.
Labels: newt the cat