In July 2014, my friend CJ found two little kitties outside of her apartment building. They were all alone with a bag of food that was full of ants, and no mother in sight. CJ took them in, bathed and sheltered them from the hot Phoenix summer, and fondly named them “Batman” and “Ashtray”.
When I casually mentioned to her that I was thinking about adopting a cat, she invited me over to see the black one – the boy. She had given the other one to her friend in Tucson to watch while she was out of town. I immediately fell in love with Batman. He was sweet and playful, and so, so tiny. I took him home that night, and the next day I brought him to his very first vet appointment, where I learned he was approximately five weeks old. I purchased some kitten formula and when I gave it to him, he immediately perked up and became very happy.
Three days later, I drove to Tucson to pick up “Ashtray”, and then took her to the vet before reintroducing her to her brother.
She wandered around the living room for a little bit, oblivious to Batman, who was quietly watching her from under the table. When she finally noticed him, she started batting at him and pawing his face. They rolled around play fighting for three days straight, seemingly trying to figure out who was in charge of whom while testing each other’s strengths and limits.
Within a week, they had earned their names – Ruby and Wildman. Ruby is named after the programming language because her cat daddy is a developer. Wildman got his name because little kitties haven’t learned boundaries yet, and one time he cut my finger with his razor sharp teeth. I said, “He’s a wild man”, and that was a good name.