I believe I have always had a cat. I LOVE my soft furry creatures. I remember when I was little, one of my first cats was a black cat with gold eyes; his name was Pedro. We rented out our house and moved away for a year when I was 6, and when it came time to pack up and go back to our real house, Pedro was nowhere to be found...we think a neighbor lady stole him and kept him in her house until we were gone (so my dad says he thinks happened). I know that whenever I have been sad or lonely I turn to them first. Their constant purring is very comforting and relaxing. They say it will bring down blood pressure, I can attest to that.
There have been many kitties over the years, mostly due to the fact that they didn't stay in the house all the time and they weren't very street smart, to put it mildly. Since Nick showed up at my doorstep on Christmas Eve 1992, I decided there would be no going out. They can stay active indoors and live a little longer. Nick is now 16, and Cooper is 4. I figure they can enjoy the birds from the window, and I don't have to worry about finding a flat cat or receiving treats of birds or mice at my doorstep, thank you very much. My husband could tell you how frantic I am if one sneaks out. Nick slipped past our feet at the door one day and we spent quite a while outside searching for the little stinker. One night, Nick pushed open the screen at the kitchen window that was only open 3 or 4 inches. I looked all over the house for him in the morning, not aware of his escapade. When I looked outside, he came crawling out from under the shed; straight to the bath, you filthy dirty cat, but still alive thank goodness, and at least the skunk didn't find him first. I don't think he learned his lesson though; he will still try to sneak out. When the grandchildren are here, my first instructions are "be sure and close the door so the cats won't get out." I hope that's not all they remember when they visit.
While I am sitting here at the computer, my feet are kept warm by Cooper, who always seems to shadow me. He follows me to whatever project comes next. If I am sewing he will lay at my feet or right beside me; sometimes he will stand at the window and cry for me when I go out in the yard. Is there a greater love than that?
2 comments:
Yay! I'm the first! Of course, my dad always said, 'First the worst..." but anyway, welcome to blogland! Here you shall find your voice and meet new friends who love you and validate you for the wonder that you are. Love!
Hello! Your first post falls on the anniversary of my first post! Funny!
We always had cats when I was growing up too. I always brought stray cats home. I'm not sure why, but I did. I have a vivid memory of one in particular that I lured home with a dish of milk, when I was in 2nd grade. The poor people who it must have belonged to! I would love to have a cat or 2 now, but for now, I'd rather just deal with the responsibility that my children bring. Maybe later down the road Josiah and I will adopt a kitty.
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