All About Bandit

line

The name's Bandit. Misha calls me strange names, like Bandito-quite-neato-dorito-a frito... etc. etc. I only put up with it because she's a good human.

I'm not sure how old I am. The vet thinks I'm 10 or 12; sounds good enough for me. I look Siamese, so they say I am, even if I'm not. I don't know. I showed up here several years back. I think it was 1990. I just wandered around the neighborhood, looking for food and attention. By the time I found Misha, I was pretty hungry, and pretty lonely. You could see my ribs, almost, and I was really light. So, even though she wasn't supposed to have another cat, she snuck food and water to me, and gave me lots of attention. Finally she convinced her mom and dad that I was abandoned, and needed a home. She thought about calling me Snickerdoodle for a while (what a horrid name for me) but decided on Bandit, because I have a mask. And the other reason...

I LOVE to sit in a box. Any box. Cardboard is best, but wood or plastic will do in a pinch. If someone leaves a box sitting anywhere outside, I'm in it as soon as possible. Even if it's really tall, I try my best to hop in, or knock it over at least. I like it best when it's empty; no styrofoam or plastic or papers. When I go to the vet's, I have a cardboard box cat-carrier. Misha leaves it open till we get there, and I just sit, looking out the window, in my box. Almost makes it worth getting a shot and the thermometer you-know-where.

So I am the Boxcar Bandit. I have a black collar, with a black bell, and a black, round, nametag. I live outside, and I sleep in the poolshed. The other cats don't go in the poolshed often cause it's loud sometimes (the filter and heater and all the pipes). The lawnmower bag is comfy, like a hammock; so is the old blanket on top of some boxes.

The other cats here are okay. I ignore Gypsy; she's a strange one. She hisses and cries and whines when she sees any other cat. Abra and I get along okay. Sometimes we share a cat-carrier, and sleep next to each other. Toss, the young orange cat, is a pest. He pounces on all of us when we don't expect it, and tries to play. He doesn't understand that Abra, Gypsy, and I are older cats (8+ years). Sparkle, the newest cat, is about a year old. I hissed at her a lot at first. But now we're best friends, and we curl up together at night in the garage, keeping each other warm.

My family eats dinner outside a lot in summertime. I do my best to stake out one of them and beg for treats. I put my front paws on their leg and knead until I get food. Sometimes I get pushed away, after they say "Ow!". They don't understand - it's "ME-OW!"

I eat just about anything. Chicken, steak, guacamole, Chinese food, Fritos, peanuts, potato chips, french fries... you name it. I inhale my food, which worries the humans around here. Once I choked, and Misha had to do a Heimlich type manuver on me. They spread my cat food (dry) around, so it's not in a pile, and I can't gulp it down.

I get a lot of attention, but not as much as I'd like. Misha is allergic to me, somewhat. Also, I knead, and I have needle-sharp claws. And I drool like a faucet. I can't help it; it's just how I am. She tries hard not to sneeze, or wince when I work my acupuncture on her.

In 1995 I hurt myself somehow. I don't remember what happened, and my family is clueless as to how I did it. The bone in my chest, between my ribs, is displaced. It pokes outward a bit, instead of laying flat. I've been to two vets, and neither of them can do anything. It's okay, mostly, but I have trouble jumping into laps, or standing on my hind legs to get pets or beg. The humans here know this, and are extra careful with me. They also tell company, so I don't get hurt accidentally.

I had an adventure in February of 1996 -- I got lost. I disappeared on a Sunday, when it was really rainy and windy and cold. Normally, I stay in the backyard, and never wander, but somehow I ended up down the street. I didn't show up for dinner, but I don't always, so my humans weren't too concerned. When breakfast on Monday came around, and I didn't show up, then they worried. They thought the worst had happened, since I'm not as young as I used to be. They looked all around the backyard and poolshed and garage and everywhere else they could think of. Misha was hysterical. She made up "Lost Cat" flyers with my picture on them and put them on all the neighbors' mailboxes. She cried a lot, too.

Finally, on a Wednesday morning, she got a call from someone who said they had an orange (?) cat with a collar like mine. It was her neighbor two houses down. She threw a sweater on over her pajamas and ran down the street in the pouring rain. I was in his backyard. As soon as I saw her, I got so excited. I meowed and meowed as only a Siamese cat can. She scooped me up and hugged me. I ended up drooling all over her, and snagging her sweater in about 10 different places because I was kneading frantically, but it was okay. I'd been there the whole time. The neighbor never thought to look at my collar and nametag, even though he knew I'd been there since Sunday. All he fed me were Triscuits and water, but at least he fed me. His backyard is kind of like mine; it has a pool, and a woodpile behind the garage. So you can see why I was confused. So Misha thanked him, crying happily, and ran home with me under her sweater. I had the best day after that. Canned cat food (a treat around here), some lunchmeat, got to ride in the car with the heater on, shared some Chicken McNuggets and fries from the drive thru with Misha, and got checked out by the vet. Also caught up on all the pets and treats I'd missed out on.

Now, when it might be nasty weather outside, Misha makes SURE all us kitties are safe in the garage. She never wants to go through that again. Neither do I. It is very nice at this house.

That's it for now. I hope to have more stuff and pictures up soon.
You are welcome to email me, at gypsy@mooncrystal.com. Just make sure you say it's for me!

Bandit

line

Created August 7, 1996. Last updated November 4, 1997.