JENN McKINLAY: Happy National Cat Day to all who celebrate!
True confession. I did not grow up in a cat house...wait, that sounds weird. Let me rephrase. I didn't grow up in a house with cats. My people were bird people and as such they did not like cats. It just was the way it was and I didn't question it. We always had dogs and a menagerie of other critters so I wasn't deprived.
The first cat I cohabited with was in college when my roommate brought home a tiny little orange fellow that he named Chubby in the hopes that as the runt of the litter, he would bulk up. Spoiler: He did.
I adored him. Having never had a cat, I had no idea how funny, smart, snuggly, and all around charming cats were. I lived in a three family house, second floor, and usually got home from bartending at two in the morning. Chubs would sit on the portico roof waiting for me, which meant I had to climb out the window and retrieve him on my way into my apartment. Good times! Still, Chubs was an excellent ambassador for feline kind.
My roommate took off to be a waiter on Martha's Vineyard for the summer, and naturally Chubs became mine. When I moved to Arizona a few years after graduation, Chubs rode shotgun. Here we are in 1992 having just arrived in our desert digs.
Chubs passed in 2005 at the age of 17. I was devastated. The house just wasn't right without a cat so the Hooligans picked out the next two, Patsy and Loretta.
Then, of course, I found King George abandoned on our front stoop at just a few days old. Next I found a litter, three of the four of which stayed with us--Shackleton, Wynona, and Tiger--and then tiny Henry climbed up into the skid plate of Hub's car and now he's ours as well. Patsy and Loretta passed a few years ago, so it's just the five gray tabbies now. Just five. LOL.
Oh, wait, then there's the yard cats that we share with our neighbors. Collectively, we trapped, spayed or neutered 25 cats in the hood. A tuxedo named Pepe, who never leaves our yard. We even got a collar on him. Then there are two Siamese old men, Sinatra and Deano, Mama (the mother of our found litter), Scooter, Pearl, Smoky, Tony, and Tom (aka Big Boy, who also rarely leaves our yard). None of them are homeable (way too feral) so we have built a cat sanctuary on the side of our house with little houses and a cat tree nestled under our grape arbor. Meals are served twice a day and they all show up - it's like a cat soup kitchen. A few of them let me pet them, the hairier ones allow me to brush them, and Pepe lets me pick him up. Just me, though, no one else.
So...I think it's safe to say I have become a cat person. Just don't tell my dogs!
How about you, Reds and Readers, are you a cat person or no? No judgement (well, maybe from the cats but not from me)!
From a calico cat named Missy to a black cat named Mouser, we've shared a home with many a cat so I guess we are definitely cat people [as well as dog people] . . . .
ReplyDeleteNot a cat person. You do you.
ReplyDeleteI love cats. My husband does not. We've had cats in the past and he believed he was allergic. Naturally, our cats liked to sleep on our bed, preferably on his pillow. When our last house cat died at 17, for his sake I switched to having barn cats. I was given a pair of grey tabby kittens, nearly identical, that I named Freddie and Flossie. Freddie was the greatest cat I've ever had. When I went up in the hayloft and lay down, he'd sit on my chest and purr. He would follow me outside when I worked on fencing. (My vet observed, "You like a cat who acts like a dog.") I was devastated when Freddie disappeared at age 2, undoubtedly a victim of a coyote. His twin Flossie is still with me, age 15. Earlier shy and aloof, after Freddie's death she took on many of his ways. I was shoveling gravel yesterday far from the barn and she picked her way out, tail high, to join me. She still goes up and down the hayloft ladder most of the year, but now in winter I keep a heating pad in a rubber feed trough in the tack room for her comfort. (Selden)
ReplyDeleteI love your outdoor quarters for the yard cats! We are Cat persons all the way, although the two my family had when I was small didn't last. My first cat as an adult was when I moved to Boston at age thirty with my shiny new PhD. Then a series: Jakuma, Neko, Gatinha (all the word for "cat") in various languages, plus Zipper and Biscuit.
ReplyDeletePost divorce I adopted Birdy, who got the starring role in all of my Country Store mysteries, and poor neurotic Athena, both of whom I had when Hugh and I combined households. He had Preston (Parkhurst III, a noble fellow) and Cristabel, so then there were four, which made my asthma kick in during the winters. All of them had been indoor-outdoor cats, until we lost Preston and Cristabel to a combo of old age and outdoor accidents. Now we're down to big gentle Martin, who stays inside. No dogs, ever.
The Boston cat was Vanessa (Redgrave).
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