Soooo. My name is Mr. Bo Jangles. They call be Bo, Bobo Head, MBJ and Sweet Man. But my name is Mr. Bo Jangles. I used to live under a dorm in Texas, and my to-be human would sneak me cans of Friskies under a bush. I’d hiss and spit at her to show her how fierce I am, but I actually was pretty grateful. Friskies is gross, but not as gross as University trash. Soon thereafter, I was trapped by the Feral Cat Rescue Program and sent to live with my human. She didn’t get to actually touch me for about three months; I was a wild cat after all, and she needed to know there would be no cute kitten fluffy snuggles. We moved from Texas to Colorado five years ago, and now I spend all my time outside hunting the mountains, because I am a mountain lion. I now have three humans; my favorite is the 18month-old who calls for me at dinner time, hollering “Boooooooooooooo” and kisses my back and tail. Nobody knows how old I am, but I think I’m about eight. My game weight is a svelte 15.9 lbs.
Likes: Playing with creatures, oftentimes until they stop playing back. I try to bring them in the house to share with my family – two snakes, four lizards, a mole, two mice, numerous birds (the best being a crazy magpie who my manhuman had to catch and release) and I’m spending this summer hunting a chipmunk family in the rock wall next door. My humans say they’re responsible for eating the tomatoes, peppers and Brussels sprouts in the garden, so I’m looking to take them down.
Dislikes: Having my belly petted. Oddly, my shehuman seems to be magnetically attracted to my belly and tries to rub it constantly. I tell her “no” by rabbit thumping her arm and biting her hand. I’ve given her scars. Grasshoppers I also don’t like. I chase them, knock off a leg or two, and then eat them. I don’t like them so much that I hork them back up again, usually in the house.
Points of Interest: In one of my hunting forays, I was bit by a rattlesnake in my own backyard if you can believe that. This is when I first met my Colorado Vet, who told my shehuman that I had a 50% chance of living or dying. My face and neck swelled up like a bull frog, they had to stuff me in an acrylic box and gas me to pass me out and mend me. I traded out four of my nine lives for that one.
I don’t actually get to come into the Newton Headquarters (other than for my photo shoot). There’s some sort of company policy that dogs are allowed, but no cats, rabbits, ferrets, and so forth. It’s because dogs are stupid and can’t spend the day by themselves without help – who needs an escort to go wee? Pretty sure they’re the only ones… Speaking of the photo shoot, if you’re ever coming in for one of these, know that there’s no Green Room or Craft Services table, and the photographer had the audacity to ask my shehuman if she could make me sit for the shoot. Uh, no.
Last bit. Although I’m a mountain lion of feral heritage, I am most comfortable at night sleeping between my two adult humans, on my own special pillow, with my face buried under Skipper the Bear. I live the life of Riley.