Ode to my fur kids: Ernie

Oh, you and your little love bites.

You were the last to join my herd, last September. You were born during Hurricane Charley and you were found shortly after the storm, motherless, hairless, and covered with fleas, along with your two sisters.

You were featured on the news in a story asking people to be foster parents to the homeless pets left in Charley's wake. A Nature Center volunteer saw the story and took in you and your sisters. When you were three weeks old, she brought you all to the Nature Center to visit and hopefully find permanent homes for you all.

Since I was moving at the time and already had Foxy and Hef, I really wasn't looking for any more roommates. But I couldn't say no when I saw you because you looked completely ridiculous. You were the runt -- born prematurely and half the size of your sisters. Plus, you had the oversized forehead that all newborns -- kittens, puppies, people, aliens -- have.

When I finally got to take you home, you weighed a staggering one pound and fit into my measuring cups -- my little cup o' cat. You were so small that I used to lose you on the couch all the time; you blended in with the afghan and just looked like a little mohair lump.

I named you Ernie because you were fuzzy like a sweater. I thought, "Who wears a lot of sweaters?" The first person I thought of was, of course, Bill Cosby. However, I really didn't want a "Cos" running around the house. The next sweater-wearers I thought of were the pioneering alternative-lifestyle puppets Bert and Ernie.

I really like the name 'Ernie' -- I can call you Ernest when you are in trouble, plus some people think you're so named for another Ernest, one cat-loving, Florida-living, Mr. Hemingway. Although I detest most of his writings, people tend to think I'm more erudite than I am when they hear my precious furball's name. Little do they know you're named for a piece of talking felt.

You're a good kid, Ernie, and not just because you're the only small mammal in the house never to pee on my belongings. When BISL and I were breaking up (okay ... when he was dumping me), you attacked him out of the clear blue while I was sobbing uncontrollably. You casually strolled into the room, jumped up on the bed with us, looked at BISL square in the eye, and sank your teeth and claws into his shoulder. And you used to adore him! It would have been a little inappropriate for me to do that, so I glad you took matters into your own paws.

Although I'll never understand why you like chewing on my hair when I get out of the shower, I do like that we have this morning ritual together. On the other hand, I really wish you would stop trying to eat the bunny.

And even though you single-pawedly destroyed my beloved pink velour couch, I do still love you. You have finally warmed to me cleaning your ears and I believe that we do have a special bond now. If only they made ear candles for felines, then we could sit together on my tattered couch with flaming sticks protruding from our ears, both of us purring from the cerumen-free serenity.