Today's catblogging installment is a historical look at Demetrius as he was when he first came to live with me. Thanks to the Internet Archive's Wayback Machine, I was able to recover some pictures of Demetrius that I took in those days and posted on my first website in 1996.
When Demetrius first came to live with me he was a young cat, not really any longer a kitten, but not quite fully grown. He had been born in Brooklyn, in my parents' back yard, one of a litter of three. After my father rounded up the kittens (their mother practically placed them on my parents' doorstep, but kept herself out of reach), my parents found homes for the other two kittens, but they kept Demetrius, who was the cutest and fuzziest and softest in the litter. After a number of months, though, it became clear that Demetrius wasn't a happy cat. He got along well with my parents' other cat, good old Lysander (now of blessed memory), but he lived in terror of my father and hid under the bed all day, only emerging late at night when my father was asleep and the house was quiet.
And so, when I decided it was time to get a cat, my parents offered me Demetrius. They bundled him into the car and drove him up to Boston, stopping partway to feed him a little chicken from a roadside Roy Rogers. At my house, Demetrius stayed under the bed for a while, but after a couple of days his curiosity got the better of him and he emerged, meowing. It wasn't long before Demetrius blossomed into the talky, insistent, demanding, and still slightly skittish cat who has made me smile for the last ten years. The pictures in this post show you what he looked like in the first few weeks after he arrived in Boston.