BABY SATAN [& QAT]
Baby Satan is - as you might have guessed - the one on top, traumatizing Qat, as per usual.
The second I launched The Art of Entropy, I was unsurprisingly flooded with requests from readers to include cat content. I made a critical error with my claim the site would offer something for everyone that follows my work, regardless of which particular area is most interesting. Now that I think about it, "owning" Baby Satan (and his big brother Qat) really should be a full-time job - so why not include those monsters on my professional website? Work is work, after all.
For those of you who have the pleasure of not knowing my cats, I apologize and you're welcome. They were both accidents, by which I mean I intended to adopt a kitten, and unknowingly took home monsters: Qat (government name: "Tarot" / a.k.a. "Tarrocho" / a.k.a. "Floof") is a giant, fluffy, neurotic Maine Coon mix who is afraid of the world and only accepts belly rubs for pets. He was abandoned by his mother early on (I think around 4 or 5 weeks),, and we assume that's the source of his weird issues - like the four-month period where he absolutely refused to leave our bedroom for any reason, including food.
Anyway, about a year after bringing home that oversized, whiny, neurosis-filled creature with severe separation anxiety, yours truly had the BRIGHT IDEA that perhaps a friend would be helpful to his fragile emotional state! Like the idiot I am, when I saw an adoption ad for the absolute demon known as Baby Satan (government name: "Hex" / a.k.a. "Hexifer Wexifer" / a.k.a. "Killmonger" / a.k.a. "Hexy Qexy" / a.k.a. "You Maniacal Little Shit"), did I research what a Savannah cat was? Absolutely not. In fact, I assumed -- given the mildly stripper-adjacent visual image that springs to mind when I think of the woman's name -- that a Savannah cat was going to be some sort of feline equivalent to a teacup poodle. I managed to catch on that something was wrong when I texted the woman from whom I got him on our way home, because I wanted to know if he was off dry food, and -- she. blocked. my. phone. number.
That is where my Ph.D. came in very handy, because it dawned on me that Google exists and research is good. In the process, I have learned that: I'm a sucker for cute face when I should be doing a background check instead, and that Savannah cats are not, in fact, dainty miniature lap cats. Turns out, Baby Satan isn't even a domestic animal; he's a hybrid of a serval and a domestic cat -- which is, shall we say, evident when you meet him. Did Baby Satan help Qat heal, and learn the value of socialization? YES. Do they like each other? Most of the time, I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA. I wouldn't call his issue separation anxiety; Baby Satan's particular emotional malady is far better characterized as "aggressive codependence."
And that's a concise introduction to How I Ended Up With Giant, Monster Cats.
For those of you who have the pleasure of not knowing my cats, I apologize and you're welcome. They were both accidents, by which I mean I intended to adopt a kitten, and unknowingly took home monsters: Qat (government name: "Tarot" / a.k.a. "Tarrocho" / a.k.a. "Floof") is a giant, fluffy, neurotic Maine Coon mix who is afraid of the world and only accepts belly rubs for pets. He was abandoned by his mother early on (I think around 4 or 5 weeks),, and we assume that's the source of his weird issues - like the four-month period where he absolutely refused to leave our bedroom for any reason, including food.
Anyway, about a year after bringing home that oversized, whiny, neurosis-filled creature with severe separation anxiety, yours truly had the BRIGHT IDEA that perhaps a friend would be helpful to his fragile emotional state! Like the idiot I am, when I saw an adoption ad for the absolute demon known as Baby Satan (government name: "Hex" / a.k.a. "Hexifer Wexifer" / a.k.a. "Killmonger" / a.k.a. "Hexy Qexy" / a.k.a. "You Maniacal Little Shit"), did I research what a Savannah cat was? Absolutely not. In fact, I assumed -- given the mildly stripper-adjacent visual image that springs to mind when I think of the woman's name -- that a Savannah cat was going to be some sort of feline equivalent to a teacup poodle. I managed to catch on that something was wrong when I texted the woman from whom I got him on our way home, because I wanted to know if he was off dry food, and -- she. blocked. my. phone. number.
That is where my Ph.D. came in very handy, because it dawned on me that Google exists and research is good. In the process, I have learned that: I'm a sucker for cute face when I should be doing a background check instead, and that Savannah cats are not, in fact, dainty miniature lap cats. Turns out, Baby Satan isn't even a domestic animal; he's a hybrid of a serval and a domestic cat -- which is, shall we say, evident when you meet him. Did Baby Satan help Qat heal, and learn the value of socialization? YES. Do they like each other? Most of the time, I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA. I wouldn't call his issue separation anxiety; Baby Satan's particular emotional malady is far better characterized as "aggressive codependence."
And that's a concise introduction to How I Ended Up With Giant, Monster Cats.
Here are some photographs that I feel do a solid job of capturing the brotherly love in my house; I hope this tides you over until I get a chance to breathe and can provide more cat-related content if, for no other reason, to pacify Baby Satan's fan base from harassing me about it.
Stay tuned for more of, well... "them.."
Welcome,. and also -- Help. Me.
Stay tuned for more of, well... "them.."
Welcome,. and also -- Help. Me.
These are the truest words I have ever read.
RETURN TO HOME.