ENTER THE LOVE MACHINE.
Before we begin, I'd like you to click on the YouTube video above and keep the music rolling as you read the rest of this post.
Done it? Ok, good. Then let’s begin.
You’ll recall that a few weeks ago, I posted a photo of my daughter asleep on the sofa with Fino--the bigger and sexier of my two cats.
Little did I suspect the outpouring of lust for that big hunka chinchilla-soft fur and bulging muscle-mass.
So overwhelming was the global infatuation with Fino, that I was strong-armed by the desperate masses to write a stand-alone post about him. Far be it from me to deprive the masses--desperate or otherwise.
Fino was born on September 8, 1997 in the Tonkatykes cattery in Lansing, Michigan.
His full name, as registered with The Cat Fanciers’ Association, Inc., is “Tonkatykes Fino La Ina.”
He is the son of "Kipkat White Knight of Tonkatykes" (father) and "CH Tonkatykes Rising Star" (mother). Perhaps you saw his parents in the off-Broadway production of "Cats on a Hot Tin Roof."
He is a pure-bred Tonkinese; which is, more or less, a mixture of Siamese and Burmese.
Fino never graduated from college, but he is a long-standing member of the Local 3420 Pipefitters’ Union. He is also certified fishmonger, a third degree black belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, and former bass guitarist for the rock band, "Moby Grape."
Aside from his Michigan birthplace, Fino has lived in Oak Park, IL, Barcelona and (now) Castilla-LaMancha.
Healthwise, I can make two interesting disclosures about Fino.
First, a veterinarian once told me that he was unlikely to live beyond the next few months because of some unpronouncable virus that turned-up in his blood test. That was in 1997.
Second, no veterinarian has ever--EVER--heard his heartbeat. No...it’s not because his heartbeat is weak or irregular. Rather, it’s because his purring--which can only be compared with the growl of a Harley-Davidson exhaust pipe--drowns-out every other sound that’s filtered through the stethoscope.
Yes, Fino is one helluva happy cat. In fact...were it not for his meticulous use the litter box, I might question whether he were a cat at all. He's more like a dog.
He comes when called. He refuses to leave when asked. If you’re ever looking for Fino, you need only take a step and will surely find him underneath your foot--a habit that will eventually cost me either a lawsuit or a broken hip.
If you sit on my sofa, he will be on your lap within three seconds. He will be on your chest within four. His left ear will be in your left eye within six.
Make no mistake--this boy lives to make love. And if you should ever visit, then he *will* make love to YOU--whether you want it, or not.
That’s why I call him, “The Love Machine.”
And if you listen closely to his deep, buttery, baritone purrrrrr--you, like I, will come to believe that Fino is more than just a cat.
He is the reincarnation of Barry White.