There had been a collie dog named Lassie, of course, but she must have been too much trouble for Mrs. Clean. Children are usually not very good at taking care of pets so Lassie went to live on a farm where she could have lots of room to run and make huge messes of some kind or another. It was not much fun for the little girl after Lassie left.
One day while walking home from first grade a cat started following her. It was a pretty cat, sort of gray with a white face and white feet. Of course a few pats on the head got the cat to follow her all the way home. There was no way to hide a cat so she had to face her Mother who was less than enthusiastic about the cat. Somehow the cat, named Mittens got to stay.
Whoa, wait a minute. That sounds like a fairy tale and all lived happily ever after. That is not the way that life usually goes. The little girl went out one morning a few weeks after the arrival of Mittens to find that she had died. To a six year old that was the end of the world. Mother was consoling but probably relieved. Dad was so concerned about his only little girl that a few days later he had a man drop off another cat for her. (There was no way he would have ever allowed a cat in his car.) So started my lifetime of living with cats.
Boots was the new arrival, a female naturally, and over the course of the next couple of years there were litters of kittens. Homes were found for the new arrivals except for one, my brother's cat, Champ. They stayed around until we moved. Since cats were not allowed in the house they disappeared the day we moved them.
Throughout the course of my first twenty year marriage there were many cats and a few dogs. Cats became elevated to living in my house although they all came and went as they pleased. In people language, all cat were free range. Every cat had it's own personality and there are some very funny stories.
When Wes, my first son, was born we had a Siamese that participated in the care of the new baby. Cherokee slept in the baby bed with Wes and was always right next to him when he was up. If I did not jump out of bed in the middle of the night when Wes cried, Cherokee was in my face making sure I got up. Don't believe those stories about cats smothering babies. That cat took care of Wes.
Cherokee passed away and his replacement was a cat we named Woody. At that time we were out of town a lot on weekends and we would put food out on the porch for Woody. When we came home he was always sitting on the porch waiting for us. The move from Texas to Kansas City was hectic getting the moving van loaded. When it left we left at just about the same time. I think we got about thirty-five miles from the old house when the boys asked "Where's Woody?" No need to answer that. Just turn the car around and head back. There he was, sitting on the porch. Someone was not to happy about the extra seventy miles to fetch the cat and it wasn't me.
When the boys were small if a cat disappeared and could not be found they started begging for a new one. I can remember driving fifty miles to a pet store one time to get a new kitten and going to a pound one other time to locate one. That time the boys picked out the kitten that was hanging by all four paws from the top of the cage. That was Sylvester who was one of our more legendary cats. There was French Fry who was the great hunter of squirrels and chipmunks. Never step out the door without looking or you might step on the latest trophy placed there by the cat. Stimpy arrived stuffed in Wes's sweatshirt. It was my birthday and he had no money to buy me a present. What luck they were giving away free kittens at the Wal-Mart. There were sick kittens both Wes and Wally found and brought home to Mom to take care of. Over the course of sixty years there were many cats but in thinking back I remember everyone of of them. Scary.
Along came Marshell who was not used to animals in the house much less sleeping on the bed. Two cats, two dogs and I came as a packaged deal. Our move into the gas station in Irving complicated matters. There are always lots of homeless cats in a downtown. I am afraid to count how many I fed and how many litters of kittens I gave away. They all stayed outside since they were basically wild but I still had a couple of cats inside.
One day a van pulled up in the drive and dumped a little tiny gray kitten in the parking lot. It just stood in one spot and howled. I attempted to put it out with the stray cats but within a week, Fuzzy, had moved into the building. He spent all thirteen years of his life being the king of cats. He loved sleeping outside on the pavement so he could greet passing skunks and possums that roam downtown at night. They would touch noises, sniff some and then move on. He also liked to go out and roll in the middle of the street and make the traffic stop. Every time a new cat or dog became a member of the family Fuzzy would give a sigh and a bored stare as if to say "not another one". He passed away in my arms on the way to the vet about a month ago. Everyone downtown misses him and I made the decision not to acquire any more cats.
I still have three. Buddy was a starving tiny kitten when she followed our black dog home seven years ago. Marshell built her a house out of wood so she could live on the porch. Winter came - she moved in. Five years ago I was feeding cats behind the diner and a kitten got her leg and tail chopped off in a car motor. She had to be rescued and after several trips to the vet became Little Cat who refuses to go outside. Two years ago a little yellow and white kitten was under a car across the street howling. I actually tried to feed him but he ran away. Great! Well....not so fast. The next morning it was on the porch eyes almost matted shut and a respiratory infection. It took me two weeks to get him to let me pet him. Big mistake as he then had to be taken to the vet and nursed back to health. Spencer has more hair than Dolly Parton which he places all over the house and he weighs about fifteen pounds. He also refuses to go outside for fear I will not open the door to let him back in.
Enough cats!
Here I guess I have to make another confession. Perhaps it should be omitted so I do not sound like a complete nut case. There is a house up the hill about a block away. The owner has moved to New Mexico and only comes home a couple times a year. Three years ago I saw the mother of my Little Cat carrying kittens up there. Do I need to finish the story or can you guess what happened.
No cat should die on an empty stomach. That cat, Belle, let me tame the kittens and find homes for them. She even let me take her to the vet to be spayed and returned to the yard to live out her life. Other cats have moved in and twice a day, rain, sleet or snow they have food and water. I have stopped naming them and none are tame enough to pet. They are not my cats - I have enough cats!
Famous last words. One night about two weeks ago a cat was crying across the street. It was a little kitten about twelve weeks old. It did not want to come to me but - mistake number one - I put food out for it. No stray cat should die on an empty stomach. The next morning it was sitting by the door ready for more food and for attention. It had one eye that was in really bad shape and it was sneezing. Over the weekend it was on the porch whenever we went out. This was NOT my cat I explained to the Vet on Monday. She said she would not take it, I said I was not going to spend money on it. Did she actually think I could just dump it somewhere? The standoff ensued. Finally my resolve melted and we came up with a reasonable cost. The cat came home with medicine.
We left on Thursday for six days. The best friend anyone could ever have came everyday to feed the cats. I figured the cat would move on while we were gone and I would have done my best. Wrong. The cat, now named Muffin, was sitting on the porch. Muffin now has a plastic storage box for a home on the porch and eats a combination of dry cat food and boiled chicken. Now what cat would go look for another home?
I cannot say Muffin is a pretty cat. I think she may be blind in one eye but she is one source of constant laughter. She loves to attack Lucky the dog, chase bits of paper blowing in the wind and anything else that moves. She follows Marshell around outside and gets in between his feet so it is hard to walk. Unlike the other cats who chose different places in the gravel parking lot at the side of the building for a sandbox Muffin uses one spot. That spot becomes a "poop mountain". At least business people parking their cars can easily avoid stepping in it. She may disappear tomorrow or stay forever.
What started when I was six years old hasn't stopped. There were times when I was told I couldn't have any more cats but one has always appeared that needed help or just a home. Marshell has thought many times we should just put the Vet on a monthly retainer. May as well just give up and keep enjoying each one of them. Perhaps all the cats are living happily ever after.
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