A Harmless Little Squee

I was happy to make a trip back to Halo Animal Rescue this weekend. Halo is one of the largest no-kill animal shelters in Phoenix, and I’ve been volunteering for them fairly regularly on the weekends, folding laundry, washing dishes (i.e. cat boxes), and cleaning cages. This particular weekend, however, I had the unexpected pleasure to re-visit some kittens that I’d fostered for the shelter earlier this year.

They came in unexpectedly, and there was no space for them at the shelter. Under two pounds and just barely able to eat solid food, they were too young to be adopted. I had been thinking about fostering some cats for a while, and when the carrier came in front of me, I knew their next stop was my apartment.

This was how I met the cats I came to call Hamilton, Havzie, Squee, and Bellie.

They came by their names as most pets do: differently.

Dave named Hamilton, his favorite, after a founding father of his choice. I named the other three. Havzie for her half-tortiseshell face, Bellie for his leopard belly that served as a useful  physical characteristic to distinguish him from Squee, who squeed.

Of all the names, Squee had the most significance, which is more a result of luck than anything. Squee is not just onomatopoeia for an adorable noise that kittens and children might make, but also the name of a pathetic, clingy, fictional little child, Todd Cassil, who squees when frightened.

Squee is a creation of the sordid-but-hilarious Jhonen Velazquez who was made famous by his graphic novel Johnny the Homicidal Maniac and one particular strip,  “Tickle Me Hellmo: the toy all the kids are screaming about.” .

Without going into too much detail, Tickle Me Hellmo only laughs once (Level 1), then later “begins to question the relationship” (Level 3), before moving on to more sinister activities, including re-enacting the torture scene from Reservoir Dogs (Level 16).  My best friend Tori and I loved Squee, and we read Velazquez’s novels eagerly in the bookstores of malls, hoping to see him make an appearance. He never failed to make us laugh at his pain.

Squee, the kitten, made his first peep about three days into his stay at the Cheeseman-D’Angelo household, and it could only have been called a squee. I immediately flip-flopped on my no-naming-the-cats stance and named him after the scrawny, black-and-white squeeing sketch of a child. He looked like him, sounded like him, and also gave me plenty of non-nominal reasons to be fond of him.

Squee loved hanging out. Whether he was fighting with his brother on a blanket draped across my knees, napping on my stomach, or chilling on my shoulder, squeeing in my ear because I wasn’t paying enough attention to him.

The days leading up to the kittens’s return to the shelter were full of nostalgia and nervous anticipation, so much so that there were several “last days” when I ultimately decided it “would be better to take them on the weekend,” or at least “not so close to closing time.” I eventually managed to do the grown-up thing, telling myself it’s never easy to say goodbye to a pet, whether you have them only for their youngest or for all of their oldest years.

The actual event, however, wasn’t nearly as heart wrenching as I expected. I was happy to know they’d be going to a better, permanent home. So when I saw the kittens at the shelter, I wasn’t overcome with longing or heartache for my former non-pets. I was happy to see them one more time.

But where there were four, there were now only three, and I guess I missed out on seeing little Squee.

Unsurprisingly, this uncharacteristically affectionate kitty was picked up right away. While I would be lying if I said I didn’t miss him (as much as the rest of his litter), I am happy that this clingy little cat is on his way, undoubtedly providing good company.

So long, Squee.