is a cat. Yes, I named my poor, defenseless tabby cat Higgenbaffum. Actually, I named him Higgenbathum, but no one could say it right and the vet wrote it down wrong, so he became Higgenbaffum. No matter what his name, he’s a Higgy. I have three cats, two brothers and a female cat we adopted about 4 years ago. Higgy is the smart one of the group. He’s also slightly insane. No, really, he’s on antidepressants.
I adopted Higgy and his brother Pooka (who will be featured in an upcoming post) in 1998. I answered an ad in the newspaper for free kittens. When I got to the house, they brought a wicker basket out with three kittens in it – two black and white ones and the tabby. Before I could do anything, the tabby jumped into the box I brought to take them home in. I turned to my mom and said, “Guess we’re taking him home.” Cause really, how do you take him OUT of the box?
On the way home, we placed a towel over the box to keep them in. We didn’t have any carriers because going down was a last minute kind of decision. Well, two kittens in a box with a towel on top turned into wack-a-kitten. They wouldn’t sit still! They kept pushing their heads against the towel and I kept pushing them back down. And then it happened. The tabby escaped the box and ran. Now, we’re driving in the car, so he didn’t get far, but still. So, I’m sitting in the back seat of the car with a box on my lap. I’m trying to catch the tabby that escaped and keep the black and white one that hadn’t in the box, when I said, “Escaping is such a Higgy thing to do.” And hence he was named.
I could go on and on about tabby stories, all very, very funny, but you come here not for my fantastic writing style, but to see photos. These are a few photos taken last night of Higgy on the couch.