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Readers of Language Hat will know Jamessal, the writer James Salant. On Friday, Jim found this three- to four-week-old kitten sitting in the middle of the road.
‘He hijacked my whole day,’ Jim wrote, ‘ first searching unsuccessfully for his home, then consulting vets, then buying kitty food, but he’s cuter than hell — we’re considering keeping him’. So, he, and food blogger Robin Damstra of Caviar and Codfish, considered it:
And then: ‘We are exhausted; Robin actually has a fever and I was up most of the night worrying about the animals’, (there’s also Champ the dog to consider). It seems what they were mostly considering was a name, which is now Muntz (probably after the Simpsons’ character). The last I heard was ‘Forgot to say: he weighs one pound’ …
until Jim filled in the details as a comment, below. I’m moving it here:
The story in full: I was driving home from buying fish when a few cars swerved ahead of me; a cat had darted across the road, dropping a kitten from her mouth right on the double lines. Without thinking really, I stopped the car and grabbed the soiled creature, holding it up by way of apologetic explanation for the two cars stopped abruptly behind me, and then drove off. A hectic minute or two down the road (my dog was in the backseat, eager for a sniff), I started thinking I’d made a mistake — maybe I should have just gotten the kitten out the road for his mother to find — so I pulled into the next driveway to think it over and, amazingly, the next driveway was a vet’s! The vet himself was busy, but a kind lady at the desk gave me a box and blanket, and suggested I ring a few doorbells to see if the kitten and his mother belonged to anybody. I did; one woman offered to take the kitten, saying her sister worked at a good shelter, but by then I’d already grown somewhat attached — I could give him to a shelter myself, thank you. The next person whose door I knocked on said that a cat with exactly the kitten’s markings lived wild in the neighborhood, eating out of trashcans. Not seeing much point on knocking on doors after that, I went back to the vet, who, now available, said the kitten would be better with me (or whomever I chose to give him to) than on the side of the road, or even with his mother (if I could find her) — so we’ve had him since Friday. He seems healthy as can be (eating, sleeping, playing), although I’m supposed to keep him away from our cat, in case of disease. (That’s actually what kept me up: both Champ, our dog, and Lily, our cat, like sleeping in, or at least having access to, our bedroom, and of course that’s where the kitten was.)
Update 20 May ’09: Muntz is now one pound, five ounces (0.6 kg).
A Bad Guide 
How can anyone resist that creature?
No one’s tried.
(probably after the Simpsons’ character)
Funny, that’s what Hat said. But no: even though Robin and I both grew up on the Simpsons, we’d forgotten who Nelson Muntz was. The kitten is just Muntz. Robin started calling him that, and now we both enjoy walking into rooms and seeing the most adorable creature and shouting Muntz! Bonnie (Hat’s wife) suggested Otto, for, in Italian, how many lives he has left; and after little lobbying, that’s now his middle name: Muntz Otto Salant. Don’t even talk to me about “resisting the creature.” This is the longest blog comment I’ve left in months. (That includes the bit above, Ed.)
Not to weigh in on your teleological debate with Grumbly (to which, if I
remember, this old Fodor piece is relevant), but there’s a reason God makes ’em so damn cute: we were up till three in the morning vacuuming the
apartment and washing all our sheets and comforters and pillow cases after
seeing a few jumpy-jumpies on the couch — and then, as soon as we woke up
this morning, joking about what a pain in the ass last night was but how at
least it’s nice to have clean sheets, Muntz pissed in our bed.
In hindsight, we’re thinking it was a false flea alarm — just some tiny
river bug lookalikes — but still, if that little bastard were any less
cute…
Yes, but look how clean your apartment is.
I may start calling you at three in the morning and asking if you’ve vacuumed under the sofa.
Oh God. He’s adorable. Of course jamessal and Robin have to keep him. He has such a knowing little face.
My cats are what Russians call “throw aways.” They got left at the doorstep of my wonderful cat food store, the owners of which sigh and take them in. And then I adopted them. I am a big believer in animals who appear in your life — you need to keep them because, well, they appeared in your life. Who are you to argue?
I’d like to make it known that Muntz is joining our family and it’s because of Jim. He’s in love with the little guy and has put his foot down. He feeds him mashed up cat food out of a baby spoon and I just don’t think there’s any giving away after that.
we were up till three in the morning vacuuming the
apartment and washing all our sheets and comforters and pillow cases after
seeing a few jumpy-jumpies on the couch — and then, as soon as we woke up
this morning, joking about what a pain in the ass last night was but how at
least it’s nice to have clean sheets, Muntz pissed in our bed.
In hindsight, we’re thinking it was a false flea alarm — just some tiny
river bug lookalikes — but still, if that little bastard were any less
cute…
He complains, but with a kitten on his lap.
I have a Yorkshire terrier on mine.
Whereas you, Robin, would just as soon be rid of Muntz and you pleaded with Jim, ‘Take him away, take him away’. Glad you cleared that up.
Heh. I guess I’m Dummkatz’ third owner.
He was found under a bush in thunder and rain by my friends’ neighbours. My friends tried keeping him, but her allergies broke out again, so I ended up getting him. Luckily he ‘clicked’ with my neighbour’s cats immediately, so he’s been easy to keep entertained.
He did piss on my bed, too, though.
I’m still trying to figure out what to do when I get a job, since it’ll likely mean moving. Ah well – den tid, den sorg.
I’m quite interested by the number of linguists who keep cats. It seems to go with the field, although Marie-Lucie would probably say it depends on which branch of linguistics you’re talking about (and what kind of cat).
I’m not a linguist – in any sense of the word. I’m at best sesquilingual.
Iono – Pullum is into parrots, isn’t he? I don’t imagine they go well with cats.
I’m not a linguist
Yes, that’s what most linguists seem to want to say.
Well, it’s official — we’re keeping him.
Thanks to Mab and Sili and Hat (and of course our host) for the encouragement and warm cat stories. You’re all linguists in my eyes.
Insufferable updates to come!
Keep them coming — we aim to be completely insufferable.
Update 20 May ‘09: Muntz is now one pound, five ounces (0.6 kg).
He’s also taken to attacking my shoes and, when brave, Champ.
We’re thinking of training him to use the toilet — what Hat informs me is the Mingus route. (Now that I have such complicated instructions I’m feeling a bit daunted but still considering it.)
Oops, I linked the Google search rather than the site.
On the other hand, it’s rather interesting that there are 16,400 google hits for mingus toilet.
I wonder if Mingus was good at maths and liked comics?
Having read it, I can’t see how I could get this to work for goats. It’s too bad, because I would love to have them in the house.
[…] I’d been holding back from posting about the newest member of our family but I snuck up on Muntz filtching chicken from our dinner plates the other night and oo! This is food-related! I can post […]