A repost of an old post on Bernard the Cat

I have to figure out why I should use Blogger, so I think for now I'll just fill it up with things I've already said somewhere else.

Here's the one on my new cat:

Here are a few photos of my new cat, Bernie. Or Bernard, if you like. Actually, Bernard may be a better name, because if you add my last name to it, his name ends up becoming a pun off of the very famous musician, Bernard Hermann, who wrote and conducted scores for films such as Psycho, The Man Who Knew Too Much, Midnight Cowboy, and Citizen Cane. So Bernard Harmon may have to be his official name.

Anyway, I picked up Bernie at the San Gabriel Humane Society. The whole adoption process was very odd. To begin with, I discovered him by doing an online search for Burmese cats, because from what I understand, these are among the most personable and intelligent cat breeds. I called the person up who was supposedly Bernie’s caretaker, and she left me a message saying that I would have to be interviewed before adopting him.

After playing phone tag for two days, I was finally referred to the San Gabriel Humane Society. I was not interviewed at all (Will, the one question they asked was: “Do you plan to dissect him for scientific experiments?” Wow. How do you answer that one? “Um, just a little and only from time to time.”). The cat’s original name I learned was Tango. He is actually considered Siamese Seal Point Shorthair mix.

"Tango" had originally lived with a woman who rescued border collies, and apparently he got along very well with the entire household, is very much a dog and people oriented cat, but at the same time, he did have to put up with the dogs’ tendencies to herd him into corners.

Bernie turns out also to be about seven years old, not one year old as the website informed me. “Do you still want him?” the Humane Center official asked me. I told her I did, and then she explained how typically these cats are born in the system and tend to get shuffled around a lot and then end up dying in the system. So, they end up becoming institutionalized. Like Shawshank Redemption, I suppose (although, I hope Bernie turns out to be more like Morgan Freedman’s character than like that guy who hangs himself after gaining his freedom).

I took him home in his comfortable carrier and the cat wouldn’t stop yowling. He has a very distinct meow. Almost like an infant’s cry. He wouldn’t stop crying so I opened his carrier a bit so he could have a look around, but he escaped and wet the car seat. I still am trying to get the smell out. So I haven’t quite forgiven him for that, but at the same time, I suppose I only have myself to blame.

Bernie, as his profile indicates, is very attached to humans. He hates to be left alone. But, on the day of adoption, I had to leave him alone to get my car cleaned. He cried a bit and when I came back, I found him behind the shower curtain.

He is still getting acclimated and spends a lot of time hiding under my bed. Slowly, but surely (I think, I hope) he’s getting used to the place. Last night, for instance, was the first night that I recall that he actually started exploring my apartment, jumping onto the bed first to make sure I was asleep. Then, he started jumping on the dresser, and then ran out to use the scratch pad, and who knows what else.

So, I’m glad he’s getting acclimated. He’s very much a nocturnal creature, and even now, he’s asleep in his little tent waiting for midnight to roll around (he’ll sleep in it if I put him in there, but it’s not his place of choice). I’m hoping that in no time he’ll be the same cat I saw in the adoption paper, running and jumping all over the place, or at least return to his old self again. It’s a bit disconcerting to have him hiding day and night under the bed in fear, although, I suppose that’s what cats do.

Interestingly, if I hold him, he’s ok with that. Sometimes he’ll even fall asleep in my arms, which is kind of nice. But, as soon as he wakes up, he panics and runs away again. In addition, he’ll eat in my presence, but again, he’ll dart away once he’s through eating.

I’m not sure what’s going through his mind, nor am I sure you’re expected to understand cats’ minds. Other times, I feel as though I’m able to read him. In some ways, I think that's why I favor cats a little more over dogs. It's easy to become a dog's best friend. A cat is a little more challenging.

But, it’s a bit exciting having him. In a way, he’s my first pet, or rather the first pet that I’m wholly responsible for. So, the fact that he hasn’t died on me, and that he seems fairly housetrained, and even the fact that he’ll occasionally condescend to be held is a big deal to me.

Another thing... it’s common for people to project themselves onto their pets. The Onion even wrote a funny article on this. Well, whatever. It’s amusing to see myself doing this with my own cat, though. I do hope, though, that my own neuroses don’t end up rubbing off on him or it’ll be impossible for the two of us to live together. At the moment, I feel a bit like Jack Nicholson from As Good As It Gets.

Anyway, I promised pictures, so here they are (I’ve yet to get one of him at play, especially because he’s mostly active when I’m asleep):