The Wild World of Wonk‍

Our Eighteen-year-old girl just read a story to me that was hilariously funny (to me) and unfortunately terrifying (to her) about our Cat. She was one of those, dead-serious, sometime-ishly affectionate, indoor-outdoor type of Cat. 

We became the proud owners of this pet, thanks to an old-fashioned, fair-trade deal: 

One feisty, fiercely independent, orange-striped Tabby for a gorgeous, docile, long-hair, tan (wait for it)—Hamster! 

A bon-a-fide trade.

The new family member (as my wife lovingly claimed), entered our home in 2009.

It was as clear as a vast, bright morning sky in July that our girl was SO horrified by that cat, that she wrote an entire paper about her harrowing ordeal!

Well, she would be delighted to know that this story isn’t about THAT CAT.

Not one bit (beyond the opening lines above); this is about my wife’s newest love of her life—now a huge, gentle, absolutely beautiful, metallic grey & white long-haired Persian cat she named “Wonk”. I have no idea whatsoever why she calls him that, but it is what it is.

We have had our share of cats over the years (separately and together); to name a few:

There was Gizmo, Nermal, Cinnamon, Oliver—at least, I think there was an Oliver, Kitty (that horrifying orange monster I mentioned earlier), Marmalade and . . .

Then, there’s Wonk. 

Wonk-A-Doo and a bunch of other names that he pays no attention to whatsoever.

Unlike the incessant checking and prodding he urges and prompts us to regarding food. 

Now that’s something he can’t escape; not that he’s even remotely interested in that sort of heresy. It gets no weirder (for me) than Wonk—the cat who was COMPLETELY afraid of our son’s teeny-weenie hamster.

Ummmm, that was a great deal for the little hamster fella.

However, the humans in Wonk’s life were entirely mystified.

Happy? 

Of course.

Mystified? Yup! You better believe it.

One hundred-percent of mystification reverberated through the house that day of their chance encounter. Actually, I thought we might have to get a bit of clinical intervention going on due to the fear Wonk clearly showed towards the hamster encounter.

And by the way, after that, Wonk was extra sure to stay clear of any sign of the hamster roaming the living room floor whenever my son felt it would be a great idea to save his hamster from endlessly spinning his own wheels—literally! 

So now, let me tell you why I’m really writing about Wonk . . .

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