I had long pined for a new kitten and Lisa finally succumbed to my wishes in October of 1995 by picking up a kitten for me at the local pet store, and presenting him to me for the one-year anniversary of our meeting on October 21, 1994. He was an adorable little white seven-week-old kitten with un-uniform splotches of tabby stripes throughout his frame. Pets were allowed at our Woodman Park Apartment complex, but we were supposed to report that we had one so we could pay an additional amount of rent. With this we decided not to bother. I named him Stymie, after my favorite Little Rascals character. Never mind that he wasn’t black.
I knew that we were in for a heck of time with this kitten during our first night together. First of all, Stymie hated to be held. He would flip out if you picked him up in any way, shape, or form. Secondly, we thought it would be nice to have our new little kitten cuddle up in bed with us for our first slumber. All night long, we heard the sound of little claws tugging at the bedspread, leaving tiny holes throughout the comforter. Lisa decided at that point that it would be best if Stymie spent the nights locked in the bathroom. So for the next couple of nights, we listened to the sound of scratching and banging against the bathroom door through the small hours. So we decided to just let him roam free. The shenanigans continued in the daytime as well. At one point, we had a maintenance man working in our bathroom at the apartment and Stymie climbed inside the wall and wasn’t too keen on coming out.
In a rare sedated moment, young Stymie permits Lisa to hold him
It appeared that young Stymie was completely incorrigible. We went through the motions with him, having him neutered and de-clawed, with the intention of just getting used to the little hellion. No matter how much trouble he was, I still loved him and intended to keep him ’til death do us part.
However, early in 1996, Lisa and I decided to move into a better apartment - one that didn’t allow pets under any circumstances. So we came to the decision that we would ask my Mom if she would keep Stymie for the time that we lived there, intending to reclaim him once we got our own house. She agreed, and Denise, who was living there at the time, was happy to add a cat to their household, which already included our family dog Laurel.
Soon it became evident that Denise and Stymie were a match made in heaven. Despite Stymie’s numerous shortcomings, Denise loved the heck out of him - so much so that she ended up taking him with her when she moved to Columbus in 2000. Through thick and thin, illness and vitality, and at least one tumble out of her apartment window, Stymie was Denise’s constant companion.
The regal Stymie of today
Today at the age of twelve, Stymie continues to reside in the Ockerman household. He has even learned to to be a good sport with his younger brother Adam, who loves to find ways to annoy and prod Stymie. Actually, Stymie grew into a relatively affectionate cat and usually hops up onto my lap when I visit him and his family. He is also quite playful, despite his tendency to bite too hard (just ask Ed!), and loves to lay inside boxes. Although Denise’s house is tastefully furnished and decorated, you will always find an old ratty shoebox which belongs to Stymie in the middle of the living room.
Here’s to Stymie, the feline patriarch of our cat family!
Don’t be scared…
Return to Fall 1995…
Stymie can talk too! While I have not heard him repeat this feat in many years, Sarah and I once heard him talking when we visited Denise in Columbus. Stymie yelled, “Alone! All alone!” when he thought everyone was gone. He went on to moan, “Right now…I am home…alone.” Ask Sarah. She heard the whole thing. She will even re-enact the moment for you in full Stymie-voice if you ask her.
Chris Tangeman
December 13th, 2007
I can vouch for the fact that Stymie can talk. I can also vouch for the fact that he can bite.
Finally, I would add that he has gone through at least 8 of his lives. One from his fall out of our SECOND floor apartment onto asphalt, two from his major surgery, two from his thyroid problem, and three from the constant torment of having his tail pulled and being hit in the head with golf balls by Adam this last year. Poor Stymie. I hope his last life is good for a long time to come.
Aaron
December 13th, 2007
Stymie looks a lot like my second cat, Growf, who got his name from the unique way he meowed. There’s been at least one cat here at casa Skretvedt since March of 1969. Fenworthy, Growf, Inky, Rerun, Tiger, Blackie and honorary cats Dreyfuss and Hobo have all prowled around here before the incumbent kitty, Shadow, arrived in 2000. Shadow *loves* to be held and would happily cuddle in my arms all day if I’d let him. He’s very affectionate–he likes to rub foreheads! He also talks a lot and has certain catwords for different requests. And he understands “Show me what you want,” because after I say that he’ll always lead me to the fridge or the back door or his water bowl or whatever he wants. I hope Stymie has many good years ahead of him!
Randy Skretvedt
December 13th, 2007