An historic Hermcoming

I’ve got a lot to be thankful for—my wonderful fiancée, family, friends, an apartment that’s big enough, always enough food. My car mostly works. Today I’m supposed to write about something I’m thankful for. Just one, single, incredible blessing in my life. A big task, I know.

So, let me tell you about my cat.


Herman came home with me and Stephanie three years ago on Christmas Eve. We’d just eaten at our favorite Mexican restaurant, which comped our meal in the Christmas spirit, since we’re regulars. Radiating holiday cheer, we headed off to the pet store to get a couple, small items. We left with a small, furry thing that wasn’t on the list.

Herman was the very last kitten, a little puff of orange. And even though I knew what would happen, I picked him up.

That was it. I would’ve had to have a Grinch-size heart (pre-Cindy Lou Who, of course) to put him back down. He was so playful, helping us not wrap gifts as this video shows:

There was a reason, though, why he was the last to be picked. The evil hidden behind those devilish good looks.

First off, he always wakes me up. Always has, always will. No matter how early, he never fails to knead furiously when he’s ready to eat. Second, he has a nasty habit of scratching everything except the things we spent money on for that specific purpose. Third, whatever I’m drinking is definitely better than what’s in his bowl—simply because it’s in a cup. A glass of tap water is infinitely alluring, but if said water is poured from the cup into Herman’s bowl, it somehow loses all desirability. Also, he bites; he scratches. It’s meant in love, I tell myself.

herman the cat

He used to always lie in my hoods, or on my shoulders, before he got too big.

That doesn’t mean he’s not sweet. Au contraire, mon frère—that cat loves to cuddle. It’s especially true if I’m trying to work on something. Case in point: as soon as I started to write this blog, he laid right across my arms.

What I love about Herman is this: Since day one, he has been unexpected. I never know what he’ll do, and that makes him both pure evil and, well, a little bit of an angel. (Certainly, he’s no ethereal being of pure light like our other cat, Pumpkin. But he’s okay.)

He can turn around a bad day, by carrying around a mouse toy, by attacking a hair tie, or simply by sitting with me while I watch the Daily Show. When I crack up, Herman just gives me a knowing glance—his version of an eye roll—and snuggles a little closer.

my cat he


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