Adventures of Oreo the Bandit

And Archie, his partner in crime.

Beginnings

Those of you following me on Facebook may recall that we acquired a Little Monster in the final chaotic days of 2023.

That is, a friend pointed us in the direction of a farm cat litter, and, next thing I know, I’m holding a farm cat who was promptly named Zoe and then promptly renamed Oreo following a vet visit and a rather loud what the F***! upon discovery of a(n apparently very common) misgendering.

Surprise!

I want to reiterate that either name was fine for either gender, but our friends now call him печенюшка (little cookie), which is so extremely adorable that I'm happy we made the switch.

Anyway. Some of you may not be aware of just how foreign a concept farm cats are for a Torontonian. We get our healthy, castrated, non-parasitic cookies—ahem, I mean cats—from Humane Societies, cat rescues, and Pet Valus. So, in retrospect, the fact that I immediately held and kissed him before confirming that he was, in fact, healthy, was... well... not too smart and totally in keeping with the unsuspecting city girl that I am (thankfully, it was of no consequence).

Side note: In an area where countless numbers of farm and non-farm cats wander this way and that and contribute to the feral cat population, the fact that Morden has begun a Trap-Neuter-Return (TNR) program is extremely commendable. It breaks my heart to write this: The average life span of a street cat is three years. Folks, I have known indoor cats (including my own) to have lived a minimum of 16 years in healthy, comfortable, loving environments. We owe these domestic creatures better lives.

Like I wrote when we first got him, for two days we were certain that we had the calmest baby on earth. No complaints, no meowing, no zoomies, despite his approximately 7 months. Sweetest passenger ever. Just sleep, snacks, petting, and more sleep.

Well, turns out that was just an unhealthy lethargy due to... unhealthiness. Once he was treated for the inevitable ear infection, lice, skin injuries, and god-knows-what in the stomach, Oreo transformed into the Little Monster we all know and love today.

The Great Escape...(s)

Oreo's humble, semi-feral beginnings mean that he's comfortable outdoors (always in a fenced area and always under supervision!), although lawn mowers and loud trucks are enough to send him flying home.

That being said, the Monster has engineered several daring escapes from seemingly secure backyards, despite my incessant checking and re-checking of all possible exit holes.

One of his greatest tricks was climbing up to the roof and causing a neighbourhood ruckus while my partner got on a ladder with a bowl of kibble and proceeded to shake shake shake it until somebody came running—because one of the things Oreo is NOT satisfied with is the amount of food he's getting. Ever. I mean, to the point where we joke that:

1. We have not one, but actually, two highly food-motivated Beagles

2. One of those Beagles may pester us with food-insufficiency trauma simply forever

3. Hiding food above reach on the counter will not stop the more agile Beagle

4. If the agile Beagle's food consumption is not controlled, he will easily outgrow the original Beagle

5. All of the above

But I digress.

I watched the neighbours gawk and chuckle to themselves as I vacuumed obliviously inside, thankful to have learned about the whole escapade when Oreo was safely indoors.

On that note: Everyone stared politely from a distance, which is especially amusing given that, in Toronto, this would have drawn a small crowd, a few cheers, and definitely a video on Twitter*, which may or may not have gone viral. Torontonians love a good-news animal story. But I mean... who doesn't.

Sleeplessness in S... I mean, Morden

Like a real nocturnal hunter, Oreo wakes in the very early morning to terrorize the town.

And because my partner sleeps like the dead, the townsfolk consist of me, myself, and I, all of whom wake if an ant shuffles across the floor or a butterfly flaps its wings—let's play a game of "choose your own metaphor."

So whether the Little Monster is meowing, running, scratching something (like, a shelf), or making incessant merrrps that either replace or precede a round of meowing, what he really wants (after food) is attention and playtime, all day, every day. Sometimes I wave his teaser wand around in a half-sleep, like a third arm. Sometimes I follow him and give in to demands for petting because when he suddenly plops by your feet with stretchies and rollies he is impossible to resist and also extremely long to the point of being a tripping hazard.

The very good news is, Oreo now has a playmate in our new neighbour's kitten, who regularly jumps the fence into our backyard. This has helped shift the Time of Terror from 3:00am to 5:00am, which some of us are perfectly fine with.

Friendships

Archie and Oreo are good friends, by which I mean that the friendship is mostly one-sided. Oreo is very close friends with Archie to the point of squeezing himself into various sleeping arrangements with his BFF, but, for Archie, Oreo is a yeah, whatever kind of acquaintance that he happens to live with.

I have witnessed Archie's knowledge and abuse of this connection on multiple occasions.

When Oreo steals Archie's favourite armchair, Archie goes out to the backyard, knowing that Oreo will follow—because Oreo wants company outside more than anything. Archie then returns to the comfortable embrace of the chair while its temporary occupant rolls around on the warm pavement, does various stretches, and sometimes disappears under the fence, at which point the human who has just seen this runs around shake shake shaking food containers and calling OREO! in what my sister has dubbed the Oreo voice, a voice not to be used for her princess kitty, which was done accidentally on one occasion, which tells us all how often I actually have to use it.

Belongings

At one point or another, Oreo's belongings have consisted of:

• One squeaky toy, previously belonging to Archie

• One rolly ball

• Two toy mice, one of which was destroyed and then mysteriously disappeared

• One cardboard scratching post, horizontal, primarily used for lounging

• One Cardboard of Frustration, pieces of which are regularly bitten off and spat out into little piles of mini-frustrations

• One blanket, previously belonging to Archie

• One cat tree

• Two crumpled pieces of paper

• One armchair

• One large bed

• One egg carton

• One pine cone, possibly lost in the move

• One puzzle assembly table

• One nearly-demolished sushi-shaped cat toy

• One nearly shredded piece of paper, attached to string

• One bushy, majestic tail

• Two-and-a-half humans

• One Archie

The first phase of home ownership is filling it with cherished possessions, so, as you can see, Oreo has settled into domestic life smoothly and effortlessly. Without a doubt, he knows that he was made for warmth, comfort, love, and a constant supply of food. I joke, but it's no joke. We are all allowed to live if he is adequately fed. If not, he will literally annoy you to death with merrps and sleeplessness.

Although you wouldn't know it by looking at him.

Just... honestly. We should all be so lucky.

*I'm aware of Twitter's renaming, but I care very little for the blockhead who purchased it. So, it'll always be "Twitter" in my heart and soul.