Kits, cats, sacks, and wives..

Almost 20 years ago when I was placing French students for visits in American homes one of my friends said, "Well, I'll think about taking one after I find places for all these kittens." She gave me a sidelong look with a question mark in it. I went home with a yellow cat that lived for 17 years and she kept a smelly French student for three weeks. I have never been especially good at barter. My children were happy however as we had flirtations and short term affairs with a number of cats over the years, but at the time we were kitten-less.

I would tell you the name of the yellow tom tabby, but for the life of me I can't recall. The reason being that names for cats do not stick well in our household. My daughter gave them elaborate storybook names and my husband immediately renamed them something he felt fit their personality. I note that no cat ever comes when you call the name they have been assigned. I am most certain they have a name they call themselves, but it is unpronounceable in human language as it requires both sound and smells we cannot duplicate. Over the years I have determined that "here kitty, kitty" accompanied by the rattle of the treat bag or hum of the can opener is sufficient to draw even the most arrogant feline to my feet, so why bother?

Once you open your door to a cat you can be sure it will not be an only child. Cats draw others like furry psychic magnets. I think they have hobo signs they leave on gate posts to alert each other to a soft heart, but once again, it is written in the cat language that even the ancient Egyptians who worshiped them could not translate. The yellow kitten was not settled in well before another friend negotiated a similar cat/student exchange, but this one went for broke. "I have this rental property," she told me, "and I had to evict the tenants. They left this ugly cat and a litter of kittens behind. I have placed all the kittens but one, and of course I have to do something with the mother." You know how this is going to go, right?

The mama was a large tortoise shell queen with half a tail. She had been passed around from hand to hand through her long life and heaven only knows what trials she had endured. She was an excellent mother to the nest of adorable fluffy kittens and one pathetic little one that looked exactly like Mama must have in her youth. I will not say they were ugly cats, but their looks were perhaps an acquired taste. I gathered up the mom and the one ugly duckling and headed for home. I know you want a Disney ending for this one but frankly both the mom and child turned out to be very annoying cats. The mom, Sally, lived to groom any animal that was in range of her tongue, including humans. She taught this to her daughter so effectively that anyone whose lap either graced was doomed to enduring a cat spit bath for as long as they sat there.

I took all the animals to the vet to have them checked and set up times for neutering. The mom got her nip tuck right away, but the vet said the little ones would have to wait a bit. Of course I had French students arriving in waves over the summer and I admit I was negligent. I guess I never thought the two little ones would "play doctor" so soon. The litter of kittens was born on my daughter's 10th birthday, on her bed. They were all four grey tabby toms, but my daughter immediately dubbed them Mootsie, Cutsie, Tootsie and I forget the other, but I always want to say Cottontail for some reason. My husband did not name them as he did not expect them to be around for long. He was correct in his assumption, but before they left us everyone had their day at the vet including the teenage parents who remained with us their entire lives. 

Over the years we spent many small fortunes in vet bills on the cats. The teen mom that my daughter called "Sweetie" and my husband called "Stinky" developed an allergy to her teeth. I swear I am not making this up. The vet pulled them out in stages which cost us around $1200. Before that one of her kittens managed to jump six feet in the air and get his paw hooked on a fishing lure while playing in the garage. That happened very early on a Sunday morning right after we had returned from vacation at midnight on Saturday. We called around for emergency vets and finally ended up carrying a screaming half grown kitten wrapped in a towel 15 miles across town. On the way the cat managed to hook the sleeve of my the expensive wool jacket I had tossed on in my haste, so we arrived at the vet with the cat and I struggling on one hook. The vet took a pair of scissors and cut a quarter size hole out of my jacket to free the cat, adding additional dollars to our expenses. Upon our arrival home, a few hundred dollars in cash later, the cat seemed none the worse for wear, but from that time forth he was dubbed 'Sir Fishhook" by my husband.

Ah, good times, good memories. Not that all our cat experiences have been negative. We now have 4 cats who make their home with us but many more have come and gone over the years. The momma cat with half a tale lived out her life with us, died peacefully in our arms and lies sleeping in our little pet cemetery along with Sir Fishhook, Mr Doodle, DooWha Kitty, and assorted mice we ironically kept in cages to the eternal frustration of them all. The last of that era left us in March of this year. She was almost 20, a frail geriatric cat who had ceased grooming herself and lost all pride concerning her bodily functions. Sadly, it was a relief to us all when she went.

It is most surprising to me that I have owned cats at all. I am decidedly not a cat person. The cats I have most enjoyed have personality traits more like dogs. They are excited to see me when I come home, they are not picky eaters, and they chase things. I find them amusing and appreciate the fact that they require less maintenance than dogs. My daughter now complains when she comes to visit that everything is covered with cat hair and she has to take something for allergies as soon as she walks in the door. I patiently point out to her that they are all her cats and I am only the reluctant caretaker. I also inform her that I used my super vacuum, Scotch Fur fighter and many sticky rollers on the furniture before she arrives. The same conversation has been repeated between us ad naseum. Soon she settles down, takes a Clariton, and snuggles with the cats she rescued from the animal shelter 10 years ago.

 I only rarely mention the kitten she found in the neighbor's barn loft that lives in our garage. As sweet and soft a little thing as you will ever meet, but a consummate barn cat. A great mouser, she has never grasped the concept of the litter box. She has egress to the outdoors from her home by the slightly open window in the garage. A rescue that worked out much better was the cat at the vet's office that sat sadly in a cage and looked at us with soft blue eyes. The receptionist told us she would have to be destroyed in a few days as she had a defect in her hind legs and no one wanted her. We named her Diannah and she immediately attached herself to my middle son. When he moved away she grieved so that I purchased a special cat sack, tucked her into it one early morning and flew with her under my seat all the way to Seattle where she now makes her home with her boy.

My husband remains characteristically silent on the subject of all these cats, but every night Artie (short for Artemis) and Luna, both named for moon deities, snuggle up comfortably with him on the sofa. It is said that cats do not have owners but I will say the cats are intensely loyal to my moon child husband. They all communicate in a deeply intuitive manner, more feeling than logic. I am linear, impatient, and constantly occupied, while my husband and the felines are serpentine, forbearing, and prone to inertia. I know it is not for me that they came here or for me that they stay here. However, even though my world is covered with their hair, even though they hack up things on the oriental rugs, even though the litter box is an endless chore, they do give me a lot of joy and I am glad they decided to live here. Okay, I said it and I wrote it down, but I reserve the right to deniability in the future. Now if you will excuse me I have a (gag) litter box to clean.