Rest assured please, I am not really a cat lady by the stereotypical definition. At least I don't think I am.
I don't knit sweaters out of their fur. I don't feed them from my mouth. I only have two. I do own a litter box and I do clean it regularly. I, God willing, will not be found dead and on the news in my hoarder-like house filled with yowling, deficating cats. I do, however, love my cats like children. Not as much as I love my own child, but . . . I am dragging on now.
I grew up with pets. Indoor cats, outdoor cats, stray cats, cats with attitude . . . wait, they ALL have attitude; cattitude if you will. We always had dogs as well. Protective dogs, little dogs, yippy dogs, etc.
I have always loved animals' fuzzy, cuddly nature as well as their ability to be independant.
While married, I was not "allowed" to have any kind of pet. The shedding was "not permissible".
Well then, once I separated from my now ex-husband, I decided that my daughter, Elle, and I needed a pet.
As single mother, working full time, living in an apartment with no yard, I didn't see it fair to get a dog. So we were ready to adopt a cat. My mama insisted we get two and I wholeharted agree that is the way to go. They need companionship and it is so much fun to spend an evening watching them play together. The hiding, the creeping, the hunting and sneeking. The intense way they wiggle their behinds getting ready to pounce, then all hell breaks loose.
Where to find those cats, though? My parent's porch.
My parent's porch had long been and unwanted and unintentional cat farm. All ferel, yet still fed twice a day. Hmm, wonder why they stuck around . . . and bred . . . and fought . . . and you get the picture.
What better place to find my new furry children?
I waited until spring so I could get the pick of the litter . . . Wow, I just now realized where that phrase came from.
And, boy did I find an incredible duo.
My first pick, Mud Pie, named for her motley, long hair, tabby/calico coloring. She was the most adorable kitten I have ever seen. Her poofy fur and sweet little face . . . I was in love.
Our next pick, Dandelion (Dandy), named for his bright white shock of stand-on-end fur. He is clearly Siamese from his coloring to his yowling to his "dog-like" mannerisms. How he came to be born into the rag tag bunch of ferel felines on that porch, we will never know. But I saw him as a one of a kind and snatched him up to live with us.
Just like that, Elle and I had doubled our happy little family.
It has been three years now. We have had our ups and downs as they say, including, but not limited to escape attempts, the ruination of every carpet edge in the house and a tail detachment misshap that had us running to the vet . . . and me allowing Elle to curse, just this one time, because, as Mama said, "Sometimes you just have to."
but that is another story for another day . . .
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