The Stump-tailed Cat

I have a cat now. An orange, sad, short-broken tailed, old cat. It meows loudly to announce my arrival into a room... or to ask me for something, usually I can't figure out what (unless it's canned cat food, which it might be every time). It curls up with me on the couch as I watch Frida or Mission Impossible on TV and try to learn new words. I like the cat very much because, like me, it is a cat of paradoxes. Relaxed and quiet, then loud and rambunctious getting stuck under the couch. Aloof and solitary, but also craving bursts of attention and bent on curling up in your lap. It's a good cat... I only wish I could find a decent name for it. It's been Boomerang, Tiger (Tigs, Teague), and Kitty so far. None of them suit the cat. I think I may end up calling it Teague so it doesn't have an identity crisis, not that it hasn't so far. I'm sure that cat has years of therapy to undergo because none of it's 2-year-long ownerships have managed to keep the same name. It's a Peace Corps cat and it gets passed from old-outgoing Volunteer to new-incoming Volunteer. So for the next two years Teague will be with me and we will keep each other company.