Heather Strickland, Mr. Ollivander (aka Ollie) & Prince Fluffy Butt (aka PFB)
I adopted Ollie in 2015. At the time, I was living with two roommates, in an apartment that was deeply infested with mice. I wanted a cat and my roommates had mixed feelings, but I think the mice helped convince them. I had some experience with pets—my family briefly had a dog and a cat, and my mom got a dog when I was in high school. I took the dog in after she died. I’d also lived with partners who had cats and had gotten pets with partners. But Ollie was the first cat— the first pet—that I chose, just for me. The first one that was truly mine.
I didn’t really know how to pick a cat. I visited a few different cats, and when I met Ollie, he just crawled right into my lap. And that was it. He had this black mark on his nose and this little beard and I just melted. He picked me, for sure. His foster family said he had been wandering the streets in BedStuy, trying to see if anyone would let him inside. With his charm and sass, how could anyone say no?
Ollie is absolutely the king of the castle. He always wants to be where the party is. He greets me at the door when I come home, and always says hello to my guests. But he also likes his space— he will turn on you quick if you’re petting him and he decides he doesn’t like it. He’s also super snuggly, but on his own terms. My favorite is when he snuggles up in my armpit at night, or when he becomes a little purr machine on my chest. He loves to go exploring in the hallway. He’ll wait at the door when I’m about to leave—he’s so damn smart, he knows when I’m packing my bag or putting my lipstick on it means I’m about to leave, so he just parks himself near the door. Sometimes I have to lure him away with catnip or treats. He also loves to sneak into my coat closet—though one time I didn’t notice he’d snuck in there, and I left him in there all day. In retribution, he peed on a coat that an ex of mine had left behind. Oops. (But also - way to go, Ollie.)
I started fostering in 2018. A friend of mine from my building works with Brooklyn Animal Action, and she’d watched Ollie a few times and asked me if I’d ever want to foster. Of course I said yes. I’ve had so many incredible cats in my care. I always swore I would never keep one. I was doing a service. And Ollie has loved so many of his foster siblings. One in particular, who I had for almost a year, we both really fell for. It was hard to let him go, but I knew it was for a greater cause, so I always let them leave for their forever home.
Then the pandemic happened, and this little black fluffy ball of nonsense showed up on my doorstep. He was maybe 8 weeks old; he’d been born in the back seat of a car. He would sit on my shoulder while I was working, and he seemed incapable of eating without getting food on his face. He had a crooked tail and the teeniest little kitten meow. He made me feel needed and loved, and made me laugh at a time when I was really struggling. So when my friend told me he’d had some interest from adopters, I told her absolutely not. I was keeping him. And that was that.
I named him Gizmo at first, but I always called him Prince Fluffy Butt as a joke—on account of his extremely fluffy butt, which is always in my face because of his crooked tail. Eventually, the nickname just stuck. PFB is absolutely a prince, but kind of a silly one. He’s obsessed with those little plastic spring toys, and he LOVES to play fetch—my friend taught him how one Thanksgiving and he’s never grown out of it. PFB is shyer than Ollie—I chalk it up to him being a pandemic kitten and not meeting any strangers for a year. But he always comes around eventually, especially if you scratch his chin. He still acts so much like a kitten even though he’s almost three.
“The boys get along, but they’re not best friends. Their relationship is more like brothers. They play and groom one another, but they fight sometimes, and they only snuggle up when I’m also in the cuddle puddle.”
The boys get along, but they’re not best friends. Their relationship is more like brothers. They play and groom one another, but they fight sometimes, and they only snuggle up when I’m also in the cuddle puddle. My friends live in Maine so we take road trips up there sometimes, and that’s where they get along the best. They’ll sit in the windows and watch the birds together for hours, and by the end of the day, they’re so tired they just cuddle on either side of me.
I’m a big proponent of found family, and as ridiculous as it might sound to some—these cats are my family. I talk about “my boys” or “the boys” all the time. “I’m bringing my boys.” “The boys were in rare form last night.” and people know exactly who I mean. Who else would I mean? They’re the best boys on the planet.
Heather is a marketing director at American Express - but she’s also the president of the Crown Heights Running Club, a trivia host (@heatherhoststrivia) and a writer. She loves to cook (sorry if there’s cat hair in your food), make cocktails (sorry if there’s cat hair in your drink), and play board games (sorry the cat knocked over the pieces). Check out her foster animals at @brooklynfosters.