And now time for my crazy cat lady post. I have always had cats. We weren’t a huge dog family but I can remember my first cat. Midnight. She was black (I wasn’t always that imaginative) and she did more to boost the feral cat population than any other cat I knew. This was back in the 70’s and my parents obviously did not care about spaying and neutering their animals. I would sneak her in my bedroom at night and cuddle with her. I learned how babies were born from watching her labor in my closet on my clothes. This is good reason why my kids don’t gross me out.
The second cat I had was named Daiquiri. I am really starting to question my parent’s choices and why it was appropriate for a 10 year old to name her cat after a delicious frozen adult beverage. She hated everyone but me and my dad tried to give her away but she always found her way back to me. I don’t remember her ever having kittens so it’s a good possibility that she was actually spayed.
Daiquiri was followed by Warlock (who was female), several Tigger’s, Fluffy Mittens, Taucun and an assortment of other felines that either ran away or met a fate that equaled death in the busy road in front of our house. Finally, there was Billy Meow. He was my favorite cat of all time. Black and white long haired with big green eyes. He was my companion until he passed away at 15. I swore I wouldn’t have another cat for a long time.
My daughter has also had an assortment of cats. They all seemed to be barn cats that never adjusted to life indoors. They had names like Reverend Seamus, Schmooshmortion, Mumra, and Dogbait. They sprayed, peed, pooped everywhere but in the litter box. They tore up things and were hissing angry beasts that only wanted to spread misery. They weren’t micers and they weren’t particularly attractive. They found homes after several attempts to domesticate them.
One day my best friend from grade school let me know that she had two kittens, a grey girl and little black boy with a white spot who needed a home. I felt it was time to get another cat. We were going to get the little girl and make her part of the family.
#5 went with me. She was a beautiful little thing, all big green eyes and soft fuzzy gray fur. Her name would be Emma. Her little brother was too cute to leave all alone without his littermate. So we also brought home Ivan the Purrible. Emma was cuddly and sweet and Ivan loved nothing more than to be petted and purr. When they were old enough we made an appointment to get them spayed and neutered. Bob Barker would have been proud.
The day before Emma’s vet appointment I discovered that she had a bulge underneath her tail. And that is how Emma became Gus. My beautiful precious grey girl was a boy. How I never noticed, I have no idea. I had to call the vet and let them know that it would actually be two boys getting neutered. They hid their laughter well. #6 was devastated and begged for Gus to go back to being Emma. She got a very early lesson in biology.
It does seem that as soon as Gus became Gus his temperament changed as well. Gone was the sweet little ball of fur who only wanted to be held. In its place was an aloof cat who only wanted fed and left alone. He would only want attention when it was 2 a.m. or when I was doing work on the computer. He was a cat. His brother Ivan on the other hand still only wants loved on. He will nip on fingers and toes until his petting obsession is done. He will walk on your face, climb on your shoulders and weave in between your legs in an attempt to make you notice him. He is more like a dog than a cat. He tears up toilet paper and shreds it better than the government hiding facts. He leaves us dead mice and an occasional bird to show us he loves us. Gus eats his dead things and leaves the hind end. Go figure.
I am done with cats. I love our two boys and will mourn their passing when they finally leave us to go to kitty heaven. And then maybe we should just get a bird. Or a season pass to the zoo.