One more (long) cat tale

Published September 13, 2012

Stockton Sentinel

Stockton, Kansas

If you don’t like cats, you won’t hurt my feelings if you skip this and go read the Legals or anything else that interests you. The last two weeks I’ve written about animals – first, the animals that are with us here at the Sentinel, and then last week, specifically about the Sentinel cat, Beau. All this writing about pets has me thinking about my own, so if anyone is still reading, here’s some insight into my own world of pets.

             

The most mild-mannered cat I ever had was Smoky, a gray tabby that was the first cat I can remember. She was a wonderful momma cat, shelling out litters of kittens almost faster than she could get them weaned. One hot summer night, my brothers and I slept out in the farmyard on a hay wagon. When we woke up in the morning, we discovered that Smoky had been busy during the night and had laid a litter of kittens on the mattress beside us.

             

Smoky would let me dress her up in doll clothes, and she would lay in my dolly carriage as I pushed it up and down the sidewalk, clomping along in high heel shoes and dress-up clothes. She was my patient as I practiced being a nurse, because that’s what I was going to be when I grew up. As I got older, I would drape her around my neck like a fur collar, where she would stay as I’d ride my bike down the driveway, out onto the road and back.

             

When my dad was still milking cows, Smoky and the other farm cats would line up behind the cows, waiting their turn as Dad would squirt milk directly at their little faces. One or two squirts were probably enough to keep them busy licking for a long time. It’s a cute picture in my mental scrapbook.

             

I don’t remember what happened to Smoky, but my next favorite cat was Puff. He was a huge, fluffy, white cat with blue eyes, and he was totally deaf. Because they were mean, my brothers and cousins lit off fireworks right next to Puff, and it didn’t faze him. It sure didn’t set well with me. Obviously it was me they were really tormenting!

             

While Smoky was my most easy-going cat, the most temperamental was a beautiful Siamese. Tao was purebred, right down to the kink in the end of his tail, and he really didn’t like anyone but me. When Bob and I got married, my mom made sure Bob understood that when he took me out of the house, my cat went, too. Fortunately, Tao tolerated Bob, but when Bob’s brother, Larry, would come to our house, Tao would sit underneath a living room chair and make a funny yodeling sound.

             

After Tao, I had another big white cat we named Big Al. It was a strange coincidence that all our family pets at that time were white. In addition to Big Al, we were raising purebred Spitz dogs and big white rabbits with red eyes. The day we moved from Goessel to Mankato, Big Al got out of the house and was nowhere to be found when we were ready to leave. My neighbor, Tammy, consoled me and promised she would watch for Big Al to come home. Tearfully, I left her with Al’s litter box and food. Later that same evening, Tammy saw Big Al sitting by our kitchen door, and she put him and his things inside our empty house. A couple days later, she met me halfway between Goessel and Mankato to deliver him to me.

             

Big Al died of cancer the first winter we lived in Mankato. It was then that I decided I couldn’t go through this anymore – I no longer wanted a cat that I would have to put down or lose in some other way. But the mother of my son’s then-girlfriend rang our doorbell one evening and was holding a little yellow kitten. She knew I had recently lost Big Al, and she was offering me the comfort of a new pet. “You’re a cat person,” she said. “You need to have a cat.” I told her that I couldn’t do it again, and I just didn’t want another cat that I would grow attached to. Besides, I told her, if I ever did have another cat, I wanted a “tuxedo” cat – black with a white collar and boots. “You’re in luck!” she cried. “There’s one exactly like that in this same litter!”

             

Fifteen minutes later she was back with a perfectly-marked, black and white tuxedo kitten. One look at his sweet little face, and I was hooked. Bo grew up to be a gorgeous cat, but one day he came home very badly hurt. I’ll spare you the gory details but just tell you he lost an eye and one of his nine lives in the ordeal. Bo moved with us to Galva and got used to another house. I never let him venture outside after he lost the eye. But several years later, something happened to him that couldn’t be explained, other than that he just went loco. He started attacking everyone – I mean seriously attacking – enough that he put me in the emergency room. I couldn’t take the chance that he would attack our baby granddaughter or anyone else, so once again, I was faced with parting with another cat.

             

Then came a period of several years without a cat – the longest “catless” time in my life. But it was during this time that I adopted a puppy from the pound. CoCo was born blind in one eye and couldn’t be sold by his Lhasa Apso breeders, so they took him to the city pound in McPherson. I saw his picture in the paper and was immediately in love. I bought all the stuff we would need for puppy care and training, and I took him home for Bob’s Father’s Day gift. After many years of having a house cat, CoCo was our first “house dog.” CoCo went through a difficult and obviously painful time as a puppy, and I finally convinced the vet that it was his blind eye that was causing him pain. As it turned out, we replaced a one-eyed cat with a one-eyed dog! CoCo is now nine years old and a sweet little dog.

             

But CoCo does not own the house. Gus, another beautiful tuxedo cat that I adopted from Mendy Schlaegel, calls the shots at our house. The two of them actually tolerate each other quite well. When Gus decides he wants that spot on the couch or chair where CoCo is sleeping, CoCo graciously gives it up and finds himself another place to nap. Anything to please you, Gus!

             

Sure, I know that I have not owned any of these cats; they have owned me, and will continue to do so, I suppose, the rest of my life. Someone said that a cat’s meow massages the heart. I’ll buy that. And I’m sure I’ll also be buying kitty litter and hairball-control catfood for many years to come.