I had coffee with a new guy this week, Media. We talked about this and that and the subject of pets came up. He asked if I had any, I replied yes, two cats and he said that this part of the country (he is East Coast) seemed to really enjoy having pets.
I guess I hadn't thought about it before. Growing up, early on, we had two dogs and a cat. Later in my early teenage to teenage years we had a series of cats (outdoor cats + county road = lots of tears). My junior year of high school, my long-time cat, Smokey, died peacefully. The following year, Mom brought home a floppy-eared dog, promptly named Whizzer for her fantastic ability to pee when scared. I might mention she was a wuss so we had a lot of paper towels used in those days ...
In college I (obviously) had no pets. I am not a fish person, nor a bird person, nor any kind of reptile person. I also don't care for hamsters, rats, guinea pigs or bunnies. My sister had a hamster when we were growing up and its incessant need to break out of its cage and the Godawful smells that came out of that cage pretty much turned me off to all small rodent creatures.
Then I graduated college and got my very own apartment. After about three months of living alone I realized a house (apt) wasn't a home without a cat. My cousin mentioned that his coworker had some cats that she was trying to find good homes for, as her cat had kittens on the 4th of July and it was now September.
I drove up from downtown to Fishers (it seemed then to be an endless drive) and met the coworker. I also met her cats. She had three kittens left (of four), and one of them immediately glommed on to me and purred incessantly when I petted her. While the other kittens were just as cute (as all kittens are), this one was for me.
As I drove her home I realized two things immediately: a) the sweet little kitten that loved me absolutely HATED cars and b) this cat was the most VOCAL cat I'd ever laid eyes (ears) on.
Cleo (thus named for her gorgeous Cleopatra-like eyeliner) and I lived alone for three years before I realized that my constant travel and out of the house time was making her very lonely. She sulked around and wasn't the happy, lively cat I had been used to. I thought, perhaps, she needed a friend. I had put the word out that I was seeking another cat but nothing had happened.
Until one fine October day when I headed off to the Irvington post office to mail some letters and buy some stamps. As I walked in I noticed a young girl with her coat zipped up partway with something (a dog?) squirming beneath. I said to her, 'oh, nice dog' and she said, 'no, it's a cat.' It was then I saw the tiniest little red-haired kitten pop his head up and look at me. I went in to the post office, did my business and returned back through the lobby. I asked the girl if it was her kitten and she said no, they (she and her friends) had found it in the alley behind the post office and that they were going to take it to the shelter. Well, being a cat lover and thinking of the shelter as the kitty killing ground was enough for me. I told her I'd take the cat. She was quite happy and surprised. So I took the little kitty (he could sit in the palm of my hand) and went home.
This kitty was really into the car. He put his paws up on the steering wheel and 'drove' us home. This little kitten turned into quite a challenge for me, as he was allergic to all milk products, including Kitten Chow. Yes, nothing like explosive diarreah from a kitten to make you rethink the whole second cat thing.
After a rather expensive trip to the vet, the problem was solved and my 'free' kitten was back home. His name is Caesar and he lives up to his name well.
He is a great ambassador for goodwill around here, serving as the connsumate host while I attend to other things. He is the outgoing one, always seeking attention or love, while Cleo is sitting quietly in a corner, observing and distaining anyone but me. She is a one-woman cat and makes no bones about it. Caesar, on the other hand, is an attention whore. 'Love Me, Love Me, Love Me' is his cry. When he isn't looking for love, he is harrassing Cleo. Seems like history is repeating itself ...
Cleo is coming up on 12 years old this year and Caesar will be 9. Both miss me terribly when I am gone, so much so that I've taken to asking a friend to stay over when I'm gone for extended periods of time (thanks A1). They need someone to love on (or distain, in the case of Cleo) while I am gone and A1 serves that purpose well.
Cats, it seems, are as much a part of my DNA as my hazel eyes. I can't imagine a happy home without a cat (or two).
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