Meet the Nommers - Part I of III

Let me explain something. We like to make up words in our house. Or take words that exist and morph them into something they were never intended to be.

Like "nom." Nom is a slang word used on LOLcats to denote eating, biting, or food. Lolcats "nom" their cheezburgers. Cheezburgers are good “noms.” My kitten Zoey “nom, nom, noms" my shin through the blankets. Get it?

This makes perfect sense to me. When you eat something, it really does sound like you are "nomming" it. So we adopted this slang verb into our everyday language. And then mutated it another step. Into a noun (adverb? I never was much good at grammar).

I now own three "noms."



What I mean is, three "noms" live with me in this house. I'm not sure anyone ever "owns" a nom.

Their "real" names are, in order of oldest to youngest, Mojo, Kali and Zoey. But mostly we just call them "Big Nom," "Little Nom," and "Baby Nom." It's easier that way. Too many names to remember, and old brains.

"Little Nom" used to be "Baby Nom" when she was a kitten, so I always get her confused with Baby Nom now. But they just deal with it. They all still come running, no matter what we call them.

Or not. OK, mostly not.

When we moved to the country in 2008, we had one nom, Big Nom - Mojo. Or, as we used to call him, "Mojojo." I'm not sure why it's so fun to have three syllable nicknames, but it is.

Mojojo
Kali-Cat
Zoey-oh-ee-oh (ok, so that's 5 syllables... never was much good at counting, either).

Big Nom is Pappa Bear's cat. He picked him out from a rescue litter. His previous name was Nova. (Mojo's, not PB's). That just didn't fly with PB. This cat needed a better name. One with a touch of humor. "Bad Mojo!" "Gooood Mojo!" PB gets a kick out of things like that.


So Big Nom came home with us on Halloween in 2004. He likes to eat. This is his #1 priority. He has the softest, whitest belly, which has shrunk a bit since we started measuring out his daily allotments. Now his Buddha belly just swings below him like a half-empty sack of potatoes.

He has seven toes on both of his white front paws. Veritable catcher’s mitts. When he grips you with his paws, you could swear he uses them like opposable thumbs. He is very grippery.


He loves to curl up on my side of the bed, right under my armpit. That way he can wake me up bright and early to feed him. PB will sleep right through it. Big Nom knows this, he knows which side his bread is buttered on. If he sleeps on the wrong side, no butter. One time we switched sides of the bed. Just to mess with him. He slept by Kelly. But only that one night. It takes a lot to pull one over on a cat.


We didn't plan on having any more cats. In fact, we had agreed, "No more cats until we buy a farm." Then we would splurge and have a bunch of barn cats to catch the mice in the hayloft, and leave kittens strewn around for the visiting children to take home in their luggage.

To be continued.............