Meet Gatsby/Catsby: The Story of the Waffle House Cat

My family has added another stocking to the fireplace this holiday season, but we can’t keep the owner out of the tree. Allow me to introduce Gatsby.

Mother’s Day weekend, my mom and I took to Asheville for adventure and shopping. We spent our day exploring the beautiful downtown of the city and putting miles in on the road. For a perfect end, we stopped at Waffle House around 1 AM for some chocolate smothered waffles and a cup of coffee.

I am open to sharing my love for Waffle House with whoever desires. I know my Northern or non-American readers may be unfamiliar with the southern staple. Therefore, I will do my best to place you in a syrup covered booth.

Waffle House is not food; it’s an experience. I am a frequent customer, yet I can count the times I have visited during normal hours on one hand. If you ever find yourself in rural southern America, chances are that you will have an illuminated yellow beacon to guide your journey and fill your stomach.

You do not visit Waffle House when you want a 5-star meal. Waffle House is where one goes when they are too tired to do anything but eat their favorite unhealthy comfort foods. I do not even bother opening my calorie counting app when I suspect I will soon be dining at the most extravagant of late night eateries.

The very Waffle House in which my mother and I visited, but taken a few weeks earlier. Like I said, I am a frequent customer.

I must admit, I digress, but I am passionate about this particular subject. Hopefully, I have set the scene for the following events.

I cannot express enough how important it is to visit Waffle House late at night. The latest hours have the best waitresses. On this night, my mother and I had befriended our waitress and were finishing our glorified waffles when she burst in exclaiming about how someone had tossed a kitten from a vehicle. Luckily, some customers saw the fiasco and scooped up the feline before any harm came to it. She was pouring the poor animal some milk when my mother gave me permission to leave her with the bill and visit the kitten outside.

The waitress’s daughter, another Waffle House employee, held a shaking grey orb in her hands. The creature was not shy about voicing his opinion about the prior events. He meowed with ferocity, covering up the fear in his eyes.

The waitress returned. “It’s a gray Siamese cat. Full blooded,” she assured me.

The above statement, as you all have probably guessed, is flawed. Purebreds are not often discarded like litter and the kitten had no resemblance whatsoever to a Siamese cat save that they were of the same species.

The daughter begged her mother to allow her ownership of the homeless kitten, but she refused after a recount of how the last family pets had met their demise. I suppose it was a sensible decision. By this time, my mother had joined the conversation and I could sense her unease about the situation. The kitten was entirely helpless, fitting easily into the palm of my hand. My mom nudged her head towards the car and we found ourselves in the possession of a purring tuft of fur.

The kitten who we were guessing to be a boy meowed the entire way home. He was obviously hungry, so we stopped at a nearby Walmart for some kitten food and a litter box. My mom rushed inside while I sat in the car and tried to keep him from climbing up the interior.

Finally, we made it home with our newest family member. For once in my life, I was able to name him quickly. I liked the idea of doubling the G names among my pets, so we now had Gatsby (also known as Catsby) and Goldie.  The literary nerd in me was also secretly pleased by the amount of symbolism found among the gold in The Great Gatsby which I would be happy to make a post about if you so desire. (If you missed Goldie’s post, it can be found here.)

Admittedly, Gatsby did not fit into our family right away. Up until this point, our family had consisted strictly of dog-people and their dogs. A cat had no place in this equation. At times, Goldie would lick and protect Gatsby as if he was her own, but other times she would growl and snap. Everyone in the family still despises the new bathroom decor of litter boxes and cat toys. (Seriously, it’s 2018! Make litter boxes more bearable.) On top of all this, Gatsby has more energy than any of us can handle and he often displaces his playfulness into biting and swatting that has left us with scars and resentment.

Then, there are the times when he curls up on the small of your back while you’re doing homework, and it all seems worthwhile. Until he decides the textbook is made to be shredded.

As with any animal, Gatsby has presented his own unique challenges and opportunities for my family to grow and love. Along with his sharp claws, Gatsby has brought adventure since day one. I’d trade the (now ruined) carpeting, recliner, suede chair, etc. for him any day.

Did Gatsby give you kitten fever? Find your own kitten or cat here!