Mandatory Parker: “The Plot Thickens, And I Do Not Lisp”

Introducing Winston the Flame-Point Doorstop

Now that we’re reasonably sure that winter in Dallas is over (we’re never absolutely sure, which is why I always tell friends never to think about planting gardens until after St. Patrick’s Day), life has hit an equilibrium. We’re about three weeks from putting up winter quilts and clothes with no significant chance of needing them again until December, the trees outside are starting to bud in preparation for explosive blooming in March, bicycle commuting becomes a joy again, and the mail drop is full of seed catalogs. (I spent fall collecting leaves from neighbors and letting them break down in the planting beds all winter, so we’re looking at space for luffa squash, passionflowers, moonflowers, and multiple varieties of hot pepper courtesy of the Chile Pepper Institute.) Sarah, Mako Mori to my Hannibal Chau, luxuriates in the relative heat, and retracts like a hermit crab into its shell every time she catches video of snow and ice elsewhere. The recent additions to the household, Kala the Kenyan sand boa and Brett the hermit crab, are both doing spectacularly well, with Kala so enthusiastically eating after her move that it’s hard not to see her slip beneath the sand after a good feed and murmur “Shai-Hulud.”

And then there’s Parker.

For the most part, life as a single cat suited Parker, and to hear him curse out neighbor cats as they passed by, you’d think he wanted to keep it that way. Problem is, Parker was bored. He mostly took it out on me, during the day by yelling at me in the hopes that I’d let him outside at a time different than his usual schedule and at night by yelling until I woke up to find out what was eating him butt-first in the hallway. During the day, he’d settle for indoor life if I just dropped everything and played with him for the next hour, or else the screams continued. At night, he would have been satisfied by my turning on the television (as always, The Walking Dead is one of his favorites; I suspect it gives him ideas), pulling out a bamboo fishing rod with a feather toy on the end, and running that rod back and forth across the room until he went cross-eyed from exertion and passed out, but lifting up his bulk over my side and cannonballing my ribs was a good second option if he got a good belly rub out of it. That cycle as of late ran multiple times a night, usually ending with him turning around and kicking me in the face in my sleep. Cat gets an itch on his belly, Monkey gets a cat foot planted in his eye. I didn’t complain, much, but it was obvious that Parker needed an antidote to his anomie.

Everything came to a head a few weeks ago when I encountered a beautiful seal-point Siamese up for adoption at a local chain pet shop. By the time I could bring Sarah over to view him, he’d already gone home with someone, but Sarah was now enamored of the idea of getting Parker a nighttime buddy. I was leery because of Parker’s behavior with outside cats, but then I thought about it, and agreed that this might work, especially in a job situation where I might have to travel on a regular basis and she’d be the only one keeping Parker sedate. To state up front, with the exception of letting me move in, Sarah is not a woman inclined to make reckless lunges or to make massive changes in her life without researching all of the options, and I’m pretty sure the Perseverance mission to Mars was more of an impromptu operation than Sarah’s efforts to find Parker the perfect feline pal. The foster cat group applications, the screening interviews, driving up to Denton to visit in person, getting Parker a veterinary checkup to verify that he was up to date on vaccinations and general health (and discovering that if my life had gone drastically differently, I probably would have been in school with my veterinarian for two years at Texas A&M), further interviews, verifying that everything would be best for Parker and the adoptee…well, all of this is a roundabout way of introducing all of you to Winston.

To start, Sarah is so attached to Parker and Parker in return that she wanted to try adopting another Siamese, so we now have a flame-point Siamese. Winston (his given name, and not just a name given by the rescue) had quite the backhistory, so one of the absolutes for our taking him was that he remain an indoor cat, no matter what. That said, much like Parker, Winston is always open to going on adventures, so Sarah’s and my protocols for keeping Parker inside continue. Winston is typical Siamese: bright blue eyes, wanting to talk and respond instead of simply meowing, and an absolute obsession for nesting inside of otherwise off-limits clothes closets. He’s also nearly Parker’s size, but with a heroic musculature that gained him his first nickname the first time I picked him up: “The Flame-Point Doorstop.” Honest to Elvis, this cat could double as a boat anchor, and I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if that was the job that paid his way through college.

Right now, Winston is taking the transition from his foster home exceedingly well: he obviously misses his former people, but he’s already realized that the “SUCKER” signs on Sarah’s and my foreheads are a full ten meters across, so he’s taking advantage of it. He’s still getting used to where his food and litter box are located, but he prefers silent exploration to Parker’s running commentary and echolocation, and taking Parker outside for his daily constitutional gives Winston a chance to check out the rest of the house without being tailed. Right when Parker expects his daily TV fix, Winston prefers to take an afternoon nap, so he finds a quiet space in a closet or bureau, curls up, and emerges a few hours later for dinner and discussion of current events. If he makes any noise at all, it’s to check to make sure that whatever he’s doing is okay, whether it’s flopping on the bed or drinking from the sink. He’s going to do all of it anyway, but that he asks first is greatly appreciated.

So far, the only surprising aspect of the whole situation is how well Parker is taking things. No more frantically waking me up to get me to scratch his belly. No perambulating up and down the hall at 3 ayem, checking to see if anybody’s up. Heck, he has to be reminded to go outside at dusk. Bringing Winston into the house for the first time, I was afraid that Parker would become more of a hellbeast than he usually is around other cats, but he simply sniffed at Winston’s carrier and let it slide. The two talk, but exactly the sort of subsonic burbles that both of them save for us humans. No yells, no yowling, no screeching…if anything, it’s much more quiet with two cats in the house than with just one. If I can go for a week without my eyelid bearing a cat paw imprint, I’m all for it.

As for the future? Well, unlike his older brother, Winston is more of a spoken-word performer than Hatebeak cover band vocalist. Maybe I can turn him into a voice actor: he’s already practically a Kipling character, so maybe he’ll want to audition to do audiobooks.

Want to get caught up on the St. Remedius story so far? Check out the main archive. Want more hints as to the history of St. Remedius Medical College? Check out Backstories and Fragments. Want to forget all of that and look at cat pictures from a beast who dreams of his own OnlyFans for his birthday? Check out Mandatory Parker. Questions, concerns, and disgust over generative AI? Check out Contact, Privacy Policy, and AI Policy. And feel free to visit the St. Remedius Medical College Redbubble shop for all of your Mandatory Parker needs.

Mandatory Parker Winston