When I was a kid, I was obsessed with cats and monkeys. Because we lived on a farm, it was a given that we’d have a cat or two but the only monkeys I had were the stuffed cuddly version. And I had plenty of those. I hung chimpanzee posters up on my wall around the top bunk where I slept and even Jane Goodall posters.

I had a few cats growing up, but my main kitty was an all black cat named Sweetums. Sweetums was an amazing mouser and could also take down squirrels and even a rat or two. I’ll never forget watching her sink her teeth into the back of the head of a rat and seeing it’s eyes pop almost right out of it’s head.

Sweetums was a part of our family for about eight or nine years, which seemed a long time for an outdoors farm cat. The other cats I recall, were named Puppy (I had to be different) and Jane, which I spelled Jaen. Cringe.

About a year ago, Clint brought home a black cat for Sid. He was a wild cat that lived in the bush behind Clint’s parents house. Every now and then from when he was a kitten, he’d show up on their step and eat from the bowl of food his parents left out there, specifically for feeding these wild kitties.

Eventually he became somewhat tame and so Clint was able to wrangle him into a pet carrier and brought him on the six hour drive, back to Thompson, to Sid.

Sid named him Boo.

I was excited, thinking another all black cat would act just like Sweetums did. A replica of Sweetums. But no, he’s not. He’s actually kind of domesticated and wimpy, to be honest. I’m not really into wimps. But Sid likes him.