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Cats of My Childhood

First, I admit that these creatures will not get their due in this post. Not all of them. There were too many to sort them all out individually, and I sadly have forgotten details. It has seriously puzzled me how people could be so casual about such creatures. Even worse, there are those who brag of their disdain for them. I don’t fall into either category but it’s like recalling details of a day that I never wrote in a journal. Twenty four hours, seemingly lost despite that they were full and meaningful.

And then there are the side takers who believe that you either like dogs or cats, so choose.

We had both, when I was a boy. More cats, by far. In the end, I found that each serves a seperate purpose in the pet world and it’s just a matter of what you’re looking for in an animal.

Cat’s are not programmable to any useful degree whereas a dog can be  a highly disciplined.

In the end, I am on record as generally preferring cats in my situation, probably because of the lower amount of maintenance. Feed them, pet them sometimes, and let them sleep. Dogs can not be discounted. They can be genuinely useful for someone who wants to put in the time to get them sorted out and trained and then will play with and exercise them.

We had several cats of the variety known in our home as “momma cat” or “momma kitty”. They came in grey or black and had moody personalities. One was named Bitchy, for reasons the name explains fully.

Those were appreciative, purring when petted. They were also psychotic and too frequent hissed during times of purring and while being treated well. I was sent out to find these cats on the nights when they didn’t feel like showing up for food. Mom insisted they be located and fed, but the effort was wasted every time. We lived in rural Oregon where other food sources abounded. We could call all we wanted but if she didn’t feel like making an appearance, then she stayed wherever she was.

When I was adult, I did not accept that the only way to call a cat was to get high voiced and call “kittykittykittykittykitty”. I asked a Ukrainian woman how they called their cats, seeing as how they don’t use the word “kitty”.  She said, “Tss Tss”. So that’s how I’ve done it ever since. Far less embarrassing and fails to work just as well. When they want something from you, they take it to mean that you are ready to deliver and perk up.

There were many kittens because of our association with the string of mama cats. Always cute, always adorable, always playing. I loved their enthusiasm. They were such suckers for yarn or any other thing that could be made to travel that they could pounce on. One winter when I was ten-ish, we taught a litter to leap on the back of our coats then climb up and purr in our ears, standing on our shoulders. How fun that was! When spring came and we got leaped upon while in tee shirts, our attitudes abruptly changed and the practice was removed from favor.

For a brief spell, we were favored with the always happy little manx  named nudenik. There’s probably a story behind that name, but it was never told me. That cat was born with a sunny disposition. Somehow she ended up under the wheels of a Sunday School Bus and when the unaffected driver made a dismissive comment about the life that moments before came to an end, we knew we’d never board again. It was the last straw for the bus that also  transported a little switchblade wielding thug named Louie.

A few years later, we lived in a trailer court with our big stripped purr ball named Yellahair. Unfailingly pleasant, he spent most of the day curled up somewhere dreaming. He loved attention and was completely harmless.

Some of the Cats of My Childhood

Some of the Cats of My Childhood

 

 

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