This is Finn.
I am crazy about him.
"Crazy," you may mumble, "yes, clearly." It's okay. I know I'm up against a long tradition of cat-lover stereotypes.
Finn is actually named Phineas Wolf. I wanted to name him "Finn" because I'm a medievalist and I adore Beowulf; Finn Folcwalding is a Frisian king in the poem, and my ancestors on my father's side came from Frisia. Thus, Finn. Luke, my boyfriend, prefers Phineas, and so it is that Finn has actually two different names that sound the same--Finn, and Phin(eas). I don't know if anyone but Luke and I realize this. At the vet, Finn is Phineas.
I used to think that people who created blogs had too much extra time on their hands or were pent up emotionally. I'm doing it now because these days blogging seems more mainstream, like online dating and reality television; there is the lure of money or being discovered by publishers; and, relevantly, I have too much extra time on my hands and am pent up emotionally.
No, really, it occurred to me that I spend a good part of every day with my cat, Finn, in addition to shopping for him, or thinking about him, or researching feline health matters. As I care for Finn, I am discovering new things about myself that point toward some sense of how I would/will? care for children. That's exciting. But I also find it interesting how fulfilled I am by Finn--perhaps I even feel a bit guilty at the thought that if by chance I don't or can't have children (I'm 31, unmarried, and the clock is ticking), I could find such joy in being a cat's mother. Is that just weird?
I thought so.
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