the odd origin story of Winston the cat

If you’ve been reading this blog for a bit, then you’ve probably heard something about Winston and Puder. Today I hope to shed some light on the Winston side of things.

(Apologies for the terrible quality of these pics. I’d blame it on the fact that they were taken in the early 2000s, but considering I was the one who took them in the 2000s….. Well, I’ll leave it at that.)

This is Winston, the best and only black cat I have ever lived with. He was fat, permanently hungry, and the sort of cat that eats food like this:

Via GIPHY

It goes without saying that I was completely delighted with him. Which is why, when I saw a black cat Webkinz stuffed animal, I bought it immediately. And thus Winston II was born, and my mom’s sanity was tested daily.

But this is not a post about Winston Jr., so here is an assortment of my most vibrant memories of Winston the cat.

• Outside

When we had Winston, we also had a cat named Benjamin (who was an older, wiser cat who put up with no crap.) They got outside more often than is reasonable, so I’m guessing my brother and I weren’t great about keeping the doors shut.

One time in particular, I remember Winston getting outside, and somehow making it all the way to the backyard. Me and my brother were sent to pick him up. We had him cornered in the garage (and everything was going smoothly) until someone decided to start making siren noises.

It was not me.

When we got Winston back into the house, he had to have a bath because he had oil on his back from hiding under the car.

• Dress up

My brother wasn’t the only one guilty of being a twerp. Even though I had dolls and stuffed animals to play dress up with, I needed a livelier model. As I’ve mentioned, Benjamin was a take-no-crap cat, so Winston (poor Winston) was my prime target.

I dressed him up in my Build-A-Bear Princess Jasmine costume.

I got the crown and earrings on before he ran away. I still don’t feel as sorry for it as I probably should.

• Blanket Forts

Though twerps, my brother and I (read: my brother) were fairly decent fort makers. For Christmas one year, he got an expandable ball that could fit an adult in it (and like fifteen kids). Covered with clothes-pinned-on blankets and connected to a fabric tunnel, it made a good fort.

It also made a pretty good cat trap.

Benjamin was wise enough to avoid the call of the cat treats leading through the tunnel to the ball. But Winston wasn’t the smartest cat. We were able to get him in the ball, and we had every exit covered, but he was able to get out USING HIS MASS ALONE. I swear he leaned on the blankets until the clothespins snapped in half.

• The Carpet

Okay, as much as it sounds like we tormented him, I need you to know that Winston was not a saint. This story alone should prove that.

Winston Sr. had gone to the bathroom, and there was still some stuff on his bottom. And like the sensible cat he was, he decided to use the carpet to get it off. He dragged his butt across the carpet, leaving streaks. My mom was not pleased.

• Petting/Biting

Winston was a complicated soul. One minute you would be petting him and he would be happy. The next minute (with zero signs of any change in temperament) he would be trying to bite your hand.

I now know that he was probably overstimulated by the petting, and this was the best way for him to tell me to lay it off. But as a young child, I was perplexed by this behavior (and amused when it wasn’t directed at me.)

• The Salmon

Have I saved the best story for last, you ask? Yes. Yes, I have.

When I was younger, I didn’t like fish very much. I also hadn’t had fish very much, and experts agree you have to try a food 100 times before deciding if you like it and so on and so forth.

When he was alive, Winston liked fish very much. He also had had fish very much, because cat food comes in five flavors, and four of those are fish.

We were having fish one night for dinner. Salmon. Big, fat pieces of salmon.

I was thrilled. (Sarcasm.)

So was Winston. (Not sarcasm.)

The house smelled of it.

When the fish was cooked, Mom put the respective pieces on the respective plates on the table and went back into the kitchen. (Keep in mind that we just have a bar separating the dining room table and the kitchen.) When she looked back up, she saw Winston. Sitting with his back legs on the bench. One front paw on either side of my plate. Licking away.

When she yelled at him, he didn’t stop, he didn’t run away—he licked faster.

I was delighted.

I wasn’t there at the time (if I had been I probably wouldn’t have stopped him.) And I still had to have Salmon (we had an extra piece.) And for his efforts, Winston got to watch Benjamin eat the salmon that he had claimed. But I appreciated the thought, however poorly executed.

Do you have any memories of beloved (obnoxious) pets? Or any stories from current pets??