What makes Skittles so mean?
This is Skittles, named as such because the moment we brought him home as a tiny kitten about seven years ago, he immediately ran to the couch, plopped onto his side, sunk his claws into the material and yanked himself along as though he were on a pulley. We called it “skittering.” (You thought he was named for the candy, huh?)
Skittles (a.k.a. Bubba and Sugar Butt) is a total Mama’s Boy and has to be where I am at all times. He sleeps with me, follows me from room to room, and throws a tantrum (by screaming at the top of his lungs, in his high-pitched baby-meow, non-stop) when he’s been shut out of a room into which I’ve gone. But Skittles isn’t all fat, blubbery love…oh, no. He’s a biter. I’m told (over and over again) that this is because I’ve spoiled him so much without discipline, but I know in my heart that, although his preternaturally large size speaks otherwise, Skittles still thinks he’s a kitten and doesn’t realize or understand that when he bites us playfully, it hurts!
My boyfriend, Steve (with whom Skittles is quite competitive for my attentions), is learning just who’s the Alpha-male around here. You’d think after all this time, my two boys would get along, but the sad truth of the matter is that Skittles doesn’t appreciate this extended intrusion of such an interloper in his life.
Photo submitted by: Heather