— Genki Kawamura
I’ve found that the way a person feels about cats—and the way they feel about him or her in return—is usually an excellent gauge by which to measure a person's character.
— P.C. Cast
Cats never listen. They’re dependable that way; when Rome burned, the emperor’s cats still expected to be fed on time.
— Seanan McGuire
If I had known last week that today was International Cat Day, I would have saved my post for the kittens for today. But I didn’t, so I had to find some other way to celebrate. And then I thought, why not do a tribute to kitties past?
As you might suspect, I’ve had many cats in my life, dating back to when I was a kid. And yes, I remember them all. But to make this post a little more manageable, I’m only going to talk about the kitties we’ve had while living here.
We bought this house the first October we were married, and in December I went to the Humane Society and came home with a little calico kitten we named Sheba. I do have a few pictures of her, but unfortunately they are all film pictures, and I have since given my box of photographs to the daughter so they’re all at her house now.
Anyway, she was a sweet girl, and because we did not intend to let her outside, we never thought of getting her spayed. Fast forward to the following spring when I heard a noise at the back door and found a little black kitten on the patio. It followed me around to the front step and we were sitting there when the hubby came home for lunch. I told the kitten if he wanted to stay, that was the guy he needed to impress, and he must have understood because he jumped down and trotted over to meet the hubby.
We named him Barry Quartz. He was used to going outside, so naturally Sheba began going out too, and before we knew it, she was knocked up. She had her kittens in a box in our bedroom.
There was one kitten I became particularly attached to – he had exotic markings and it was pretty obvious his father was a Siamese. I named him Sekmut, and he like to ride around on my shoulders. But the hubby put his foot down and said three cats was too many, so I had to give him up for adoption. This decision was made even harder when a few weeks after that Barry died from a viral infection in his brain.
Sheba got pregnant again before we could her spayed, and this time I was allowed to keep one of the kittens. This one was an orange boy I named Osiris. Sirus was a real peeping Tom cat – he would go over to the neighbor’s house, climb up on their roof, and stare down at them through the skylight.
Unfortunately, he was hit by a car one night. A short while later we discovered Sheba was pregnant again, and we suspected it was by him because although the kittens were different colours, they all had the same markings, and all but one of them died.
The survivor was a tuxedo girl. The markings on her face were so perfect you’d have thought they were painted on. We named her Chiron, or more often, Cheerio. She disappeared the night before her vet appointment to be spayed. We never did find out what happened to her. I’d like to think someone took her in, thinking she was a stray.
We did get Sheba spayed – I think she was as relieved as we were. By this time we had the daughter, and when she turned 4 she wanted a kitten of her own. And not just any kitten, she wanted an orange kitten and she was going to name him Valentine. Well, by the time I talked the hubby into it, there were no kittens to be had, let alone an orange one. But then my sister’s friend had a cat who had kittens, and one of them was orange.
So I drove up to Hamilton to him. Well, the friend had cancer in her brain, and had been neglecting the cat. The kitten was not very healthy looking. He was scruffy and one of his eyes was crusted shut. I wasn’t sure he was going to live, so I also took the healthiest looking kitten of the bunch.
According to the vet, there was nothing wrong with them that love and proper care wouldn’t cure. Valentine had to spend the night at the vet, but Sam, as we called his brother, was allowed to come home. Ironically, Sam was the one who died, and we never did determine why.
I could do a whole post touting the virtues of Valentine. They say you don’t pick the cat, the cat picks you. And although he was friendly enough with the daughter, he picked me as his person. So a few years after Sheba died, the daughter was back to wanting a kitten of her own.
Enter Taz, AKA the Tasmanian Devil, AKA General Razzamataz Meowington III. His mother was a barn cat and his father was Maine Coon. He was a fearless little guy, and even stood off against our border collie – and won.
Valentine was getting old by this time, and his health wasn’t great, but the two became buddies, even though he still got to go outside and Taz didn’t. Sadly, a couple of years after we got Taz we had to have Valentine put to sleep – it broke my heart.
This happened in the fall, and when the daughter came home from University for Christmas, she thought it was time we got a friend for Taz. Enter Pandora, AKA Panda, AKA Pantaloons.
It was love at first sight, as far as Taz was concerned. Panda was a little more chill. She was also bat crap crazy, as most tuxedo cats are. And she was an early bloomer, so before we could get her to the vet, she was knocked up.
The hubby said we could keep one of the kittens, but it was going to be his kitten because the daughter had Taz and I had Panda. From left to right, pictured are Romi, Julius, and Dante.
The hubby picked Julius for his kitty, and strangely enough, Julius (AKA Sunny Bunny) picked him, too. Romi and Dante were supposed to go to a friend of the hubby’s, but he couldn’t take them right away. And by the time he realized he really couldn’t take them after all, they were no long kittens. Which is how we ended up with five cats.
First to go was Panda, from kidney disease. A few years later it was Julius, from cancer. Next was Taz, at 20, who had become senile and reclusive. A year later Romi died at 18, and then Dante at 19.
It was hard losing three cats in three years like that, but they were all seniors and they’d all had pretty good lives. And after having lived with senior cats for a few years, we were ready for kittens again. Probably for the last time, if these guys last as long as the terrible trio did.
Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll live even longer. :-D
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