My brother Willie McGee

Ohai!  Iz me, Finnegan!  Sorry I hasn't been around much lately.  My mom got real bizzy and stuff, and she's the one who types for me.  I can type too, see:  aikintieptooseez.  But my mom does it better than I do, so I dictate and she types.

My big brother Willie McGee flew away to Rainbow Bridge on Memorial Day.  My mom and me, we has sads.  Willie was around for a long, long time before I came along, and my mom loved him very much.  I did too, but I've only known him since I came to my Forever Home about a year and a half ago.  Willie was very nice to me and he would never sock me back when I socked him.

This is a picture of us when I was just a teenie bitty kitty.  He was a blue point Birman but Willie McGee never put on airs about being a purebred kitty.  He was just a regular guy like me, ya know? 

I misses him a lot. 

Rescuer of Hearts

Here is Finnegan, the day I brought him home from the local shelter.  This is the only angelic picture I have of him. 

Twenty-four hours after bringing home my eight-week old floofy bundle of joy, Finnegan started to act as if he was choking.  His little noggin would turn a bit to the side and he'd make terrible choking noises.  Scared me to tears, having lost my best Elmo kitty a few weeks previously.  A trip to the vet revealed that my little guy had lungworm.  I had to squirt white medicine into his little mouth twice a day.  Bless his little heart, he hated it but he forgave me every time. 

Forty-eight hours after bringing him home, little Finney started sneezing so hard, he'd rock back on his hind legs.  Seven, nine, twelve giant sneezes right in rows.  A second trip to the vet revealed a severe upper respiratory infection.  In addition to the white medicine, I now had to squirt brown medicine into his mouth and put nosedrops into his microscopic itty-bitty-kitty nose holes.  I had to put on my granny glasses to help improve my aim.  Poor little guy, he hated it but he still forgave me every time.

About a week after I'd brought little Finney home, he was BOINGY BOINGY BOINGY-ing like a nine-week old kitten.  The technician at the shelter called me that week to find out how everything was going with my new little friend.  After telling the tech about Finnegan's bouts with lungworm and respiratory infections, the tech said to me, "Well, now.  You've saved his life three times in one week.  You rescued him from the shelter, you saved him from lungworm, and you saved him from the respiratory infection."

I replied, "Well, that may be true.  But he has saved my broken heart."

Beginning with Finnegan

Finnegan.  Fourteen pounds of happy floofy little black cat.  I've started this Finneyblog because Finnegan has asked me to do so.  "Mom," he said.  "I finks I needs a blog."  Anything for my friend Finn.

For anyone wondering why Finney talks so funny, well, he comes to sit here in my lap while I'm on the computer every evening, and he has done this every evening since I brought him home.  He has voraciously read every word that appears on ICanHasCheezburger.com, a favorite website for both of us.  Cats in "Cheezland" have their own way of talking - and spelling - and Finney (being the astoundingly intelligent little guy that he is) picked it up quite quickly.  So please forgive both of us if the spelling seems a bit awry in places.

Finnegan, all 32 ounces of him at the time, came to live with me in the fall of 2009 following the loss of my brightest light and bestest kitty, Elmo Macaroni.  All I can say is this: I was so lucky to have found Elmo - and I was so lucky to have found Finnegan.  Everyone deserves a once-in-a-lifetime cat.  Me, I have had TWO once-in-a-lifetime cats, first Elmo ... and now my little Finnegan.  I've gotten lucky twice.

So, at Finnegan's direction, I'll be posting his philosophies and adventures as they happen.  Finney sez, "Ohai!  Ohai, ebbrybuddy! I will tellz yoo awl bowt my fillosofees and my 'ventchers!"