FBC: The Man, the Myth, the Legend

FBC: The Man, The Myth, The Legend

You knew I was going to blog about cats eventually, right? After all, they do dominate the Internet. Many of you probably recognize the suave looking dude at the top of this post from his frequent appearances on Facebook. His name is Boo, or as he is known to his many fans, FBC. Most of the time that stands for Fat Black Cat. Sometimes, depending on what he's been up to, it might stand for something else.

I've had a lot of cats over the years, and even now I have four, but Boo has attained a level of celebrity, modest though it may be, that the others have simply never achieved. I attribute this to his coming of age during the Facebook generation as well as to him being the most poorly behaved of any of my current or previous pets. I often vent about his antics to my friends who seem to get a perverse enjoyment out of the fact that he's not their cat. For all of his fans who have asked for more, this is for you. His story is short, sweet and peppered with kitty indiscretions. He's asked me to write it for him because his fingers are too short to effectively use the keyboard, although he often tries.

I was working at a small elementary school in the very small town of Marne, MI, during the middle of July 2006. A co-worker and I were standing near the entryway of the school and the building was closed up as tight as an old school building can get. We stood there talking for quite some time, who knows about what, until I couldn't ignore the irritating sound I kept hearing in the background anymore. I am sensitive to noise and this particular noise was quite grating. My co-worker thought it sounded like a cat but I said no, I thought it was a bird. It sounded just like the noise blue jays will sometimes make to scare away an animal they feel is threatening their nest. I know that noise well as there was a nest of blue jays outside a house I once rented and they made their opposition to my occupying a neighboring space painfully clear each time I came in or out of the house. Finally, I couldn't stand it anymore. I flung the front door of the school open expecting to scare away an angry blue jay. Instead, to my surprise and to the delight of my co-worker who got to say, "I told you so," a little puff of black fur came running out from underneath a bush, "yelling" all the way. If you know me at all, you know that I instantly swooped down upon the kitten, squeeing with the adorableness of it all and brought it right into the building with me. 

When I say little, I mean this was a kitten that could be held in one hand. He was tiny! I closed him up in the office where he amused himself by constantly relocating to wherever he thought one of my feet was about to be, crying loudly and biting my toes with his tiny little needle teeth. I took him home with me that day, thinking if I didn't find his owners I would take him to the Humane Society. I did look for his owners but I soon found out from some neighbors of the school that there had been a litter of black kittens roaming the town. There had been a fair in Marne the previous week and it appeared as though the kittens may have been left behind. Predictably, I kept finding excuses not to take him to the Humane Society. About two weeks after I'd found him, I finally gave up and named him. A friend suggested Boo because he looked like a "Halloween cat" and since I'd just watched To Kill A Mockingbird on TV the night before, and his personality was shaping up to be somewhat... well, "special," it stuck.

Unfortunately, no actual baby pictures of FBC exist, but this picture is 

representative of the "alien" phase he went through as a teenager.

Note the over-sized ears. He grew into them. Sort of.

Five years later my toothy little black furball weighs 19 pounds and holds court on my Facebook page as well as my couch. He's not so tiny anymore, but he sure is "special." He answers to either Boo, Boober, or FBC. He was also known, for a brief period, as Barack O-Boo-ma, but his interest in politics waned and he's never held public office.

FBC is a naughty cat, although I like to describe him as having a lot of personality. He's a Bombay, loud funny voice and all. The first time I took him tot he vet they laughed at him for his big ears and long rat tail. When the vet was done laughing she said "well... that will be good for balance. Maybe he'll grow into it." FBC loves to play fetch almost as much as he loves playing with ponytail elastics, which he stores in his food dish when not in use. He sharpens his claws on my sofa, fishes Q-tips out of the garbage, starts almost every cat-on-cat fight in the house, and is terrified of vacuum cleaners (even ones with no motors) and of storms. If it even rains hard, he hides under some furniture or runs to the basement. He's scared to death of plastic grocery bags. But he loves to bird watch, sometimes forgets his tongue is out and has a little whistle in his purr. His fur is sleek and tight to his body. Water rolls right off him like he's a seal.

On second thought, maybe there's a reason he's 

scared of those plastic grocery bags...

You may be seeing more of FBC here from time to time. Although we are at the beginning of thunderstorm season here in Michigan and with all the thunder last night, he made himself pretty scarce. He did manage to quell his terror and put in an appearance while I was eating dinner. For now, however, FBC and I will wish you good day and return to our regularly scheduled blogging. 

As FBC would say... "Peace, Bitches!"