Loki

EagleHerald/Marissa Tharp

Loki, laying on my parent’s bed, even though he knows he is not supposed to.

 

Saturday is international cat day so I felt I would share on how I got my cat. Long story short, I stole him from my parents’ neighbors.

It may not technically be stealing since they know I have him though. Let me explain.

My parents live out in the middle of nowhere in Menominee County, surrounded by beef farms. So, naturally, these farms have barn cats.

Back during the summer of 2017, one of these barn cats was always coming to our house. He was a long-haired and tan-colored cat that would constantly rub against my parents and me. Ever since I was young, I loved cats; but we never had one.

So, whenever this cat came over, I was immediately running outside to pet him and spend time with him.

One day in September, I picked him up. (Don’t pick up barn/stray cats. You don’t know if they have a disease or not.) As I was holding him, I realized he had no front claws. I thought it was weird to have a barn cat with no front claws so I told my dad. He decided that since the cat didn’t have claws, we should feed him.

And then we fell down the cat-owning rabbit hole.

The cat never left. He only left to go hunt — which he would leave remains on our back porch. I guess that was his way of saying: “Hey, thanks for feeding me, now I’ll feed you.”

After that, my dad said to me: “We should name the cat.”

Since the cat has long, golden hair dad suggested Thor. I thought that name was too obvious but I liked the idea of naming him after a Norse god. And “Thor: Ragnarok” had come out earlier that year — so I decided to name the cat Loki.

After about a month of feeding Loki, and constant begging on my part to let the cat in the house, my parents relented and said that if I took him to vet, paid for his vet bills and took care of him, I could keep him. He also wasn’t allowed on the furniture at first, per my dad’s request. About three days after he was in the house, my mom sent me a picture of him all stretched out on the couch. When asked, “isn’t he not allowed on the furniture?” my mom said, “I didn’t have the heart to kick him off.”

When I brought Loki to the vet, he had all the typical stuff a barn cat does, he had tapeworm and ear mites and was 9 pounds.

I brought him back after about a month and a half because I was scared he wasn’t eating enough. My fears were unfounded though as Loki had gone from 9 to 15 pounds.

Also, I’m glad we named him after the Norse god of mischief because he’s a bit of a jerk. He’s always yelling at me to feed him (he yells all the time, really; he is very talkative), he constantly bites my phone or my video game controller if he thinks I’m not paying enough attention to him and every time I have McDonald’s, he tries to steal my fries or chicken nuggets. He consistently gets into my roommates corn chips when he leaves them on the counter. One day we’ll learn to put food back in the cabinets.

But I wouldn’t trade my food-stealing, screamy, fat cat for anything.