Lord Spencer Kirby

Have I blogged about my wonderful kitty cat, Lord Spencer Kirby? He is, without a doubt, the best kitty who’s ever owned me. He was born May 15, 2002, which makes him 9 ½ years old. He was 3 ½ when we got Shelby, and he was 5 ½ before he semi-accepted her coming to live with us. Spencer has “mitten paws” also known as “polydactyl”. Zactly – that’s why I like “mitten paws” better. We believe Spencer to be part Maine Coon breed due to his beautiful markings on his side and tummy. He is very talkative, mainly because I trained him as a baby. At least I take credit for it.

When I get home from work, Spencer calmly sits by the basement door as I walk in. He looks up at me and blinks sleepily, all the while pretending to be uninterested in my arrival. When I take Shelby out the back door, he meanders over to the door and watches while we are outside. When we come back in, he waits until the last possible moment to move out of the way of the dog charging through the back door. Then he resumes his guard by the basement door. At this point, he might look up at me and meow while I feed the dog. I like to think he is saying, “Hi Mommy, welcome home”. But more likely he is saying, “enough with the dog, what about me?” After feeding the dog, I always look at him and say, ok Spencey, let’s go downstairs! That always gets a resounding “Mwor”.

We head downstairs where he promptly flops over and wants his belly rubbed. I stop to pet him, all the while telling him what a sweet boy, how much I love him, how pretty he is, etc. While I get his food down, I ask him about his day and he chatters back with me for as long as I ask everything in a question tone. Then I head over to his litter box to take care of it.

Now that I have described our daily routine, I feel you are adequately prepared for me to share what happened the other day. Anita, my girlfriend, and I decided to celebrate her birthday by getting pedicures. So I was hurrying through my daily “critter chores”. Skip to the part where Spencer received an abbreviated belly rub, feeding, etc. I arrived at the litter box. And that’s where this day differed from all the others. With one hand, I was holding a plastic bag to put the litter in. The other hand was in stuck in mid-air because of the location of the scoop. It was in the center of the litter box. Yes, you read that correctly. And in addition to being in the litter box, he had pee’d perfectly in the scooper, making the litter form around the scooper.

Now, before you read the next part, I need you to realize that on this day I was a "woman on a mission" to take care of my pets and be on time for My. Pedicure. Appointment. Ok?

So, as I stared at the scooper, I knew I had to make the difficult decision to pick it up. (Oh yes she did.) I picked it up, and had to bang it inside the plastic bag until the formed litter came off, and then finish scooping. All the while I was thinking, I hope he had realllllly good aim and none of it got on the handle, none on the handle, none on the handle. I ran upstairs (yes, ran) and threw away the bag. The scooper was still in my hand. I ran into the bathroom and pulled out about 4 Lysol wipes and started scrubbing the handle. Thinking that would not be enough sanitation, I then proceeded to scrub it with about 2 ounces of Bath & Body hand soap (Nectarine Mint). I laid it out on 2 paper towels. Then I washed my hands with approximately 4 ounces of same soap. Ugh. I finished grabbed my keys and headed out for the appointment.

Before I left for the appointment, and while I was washing my hands 6 times, it dawned on me: perhaps I should have used any one of the 67 plastic bags that are next to the litter box to pick up the scoop (refer to above “now, before you read the next part…”). It also dawned on me that my mitten paw friend was so talented to somehow put his scooper in the litter box. I even left Dwayne a note telling him how talented our youngest son was that he tried to scoop his own poo. I fantasized that I would never be put in a nursing home because if my super smart and talented kitty could scoop his own poo, there was no telling what else he could do.

I was so proud of his accomplishment that I shared the story with Anita during our pedicure (we talked about way grosser stuff during that appointment but that’s an entirely different blog). She was quite impressed as well, and felt that I was no longer headed for the nursing home.

Upon returning to the home of the most talented cat ever, I asked Dwayne if he had read the note. He had, and he proceeded to bring me right back to earth leaving the fantasy in a galaxy far, far away. It seems the night before, he had been sweeping up around Spencer’s box. We have a mat next to the box where we lay his scooper. Dwayne had picked up the mat to sweep up litter, and the scoop must have fallen in the box. I texted Anita and told her the nursing home was back on. She called to console me.

He’s still a very smart and talented cat. He’s not “save me from a life in a nursing home” talented, but he’s better than average for sure.