.

No bigger than a handful, he was just a tiny, soft, bundle of fluff when he arrived to join a household already bounding with seven  very active and busy Boston Terriers, not to mention Goldie, a beautiful copper coated Lab/Chow mix.  He was only about five weeks old.  We feared he would be intimidated by all the ruckus that was part of our everyday lives, and we were afraid that Goldie  might eat him for lunch.  But, not  in the slightest bit fazed from the moment he crossed the threshold, he made himself right at home, and the midst of a bevy of Boston’s’ and became the ruler of the roost.

Now, he is the most handsome cat, sporting a soft creamy beige coat, contrasting deep chocolate tipped ears, feet and tail.  You can bury your nose in his coat, as he always smells sweet and clean, and you can lose yourself in those deep azure eyes that only come in Siamese.

Goldie, and Pork, who just happened to be the most Alpha male Boston we have ever owned, argued from the moment he arrived.   Trying to establish without a doubt whose kitten he was, they took turns washing and grooming him, but Nicky picked Goldie to be his adopted Mom, after Sam (the husband, not the parrot).   Not only did he sleep with her, curled up cozily beneath her neck, but as a tiny kitten, and to this day, he still managed to sneak an occasional nursing in, when no one is looking, and you practically have to wrench him off, when you catch him at it.    As a baby, nestled in Sam’s T-shirt, he would suck on just about anything, chest hair, chins, or the nearest ear lobe.  Then as he grew, he went on to electric blankets (we were always worried about that one) and your favorite wooly sweaters.

He also had a weird fascination for unguents, liniments, and anything containing menthol or eucalyptus.   You have to be really careful where you rub on such salves as mentholatum, or “Icy-Hot” because in a flash, Nick will be there, sniffing and rubbing, and licking, as if it were catnip.

Nicky is not much one for real toys.  He has his favorite scratching post with the  bouncing ball attached, but he loves any dropped object, pens, bottle caps, Goldie’s tail, film canisters, and especially toilet tissue.  He will clamber up the clothes hamper to snake a fat brown paw warily  up to the countertop of the vanity and skillfully, with paws outstretched, pull down a roll of tissue, he then commences, along with the nearest puppy, to shred, chew, pull out, and re-arrange it into the most extraordinary sculptures.  When he is done, the floor looks Wall  Street on a good day,  or at the end of a ticker-tape parade.  Needless to say, the roll of toilet tissue went quickly from utilitarian to the role of an art object.