My parents had barn cats. They were never named. My husband’s parents had two Siamese cats. Thaili and Ping. Thaili adored my husband’s father, a retired Navy Commander who once oversaw 7000 men in Tunisia during WWII. Thaili sat in his lap and purred happily. When it was time for my husband to cat-sit, Thaili would spit, growl and claw with fierce animosity. I never got near Thaili. My husband resorted to using a baseball mitt when he had to coax her from her preferred spot.
Years passed. Both the Commander and Thaili died. I always liked having cats around, although I was allergic to cats. Shortly after we were married when my husband decided we needed a cat, I took shots for months so as to reside at the same address. And so it went. We have always had a cat. Some adopted us. Some we acquired. Most nobly was our cat Homer who lived a long and distinguished life. When we had our first child, Homer had to adapt and he did so with grace. He adopted our baby girl and for years thereafter enjoyed playing with our other children. He was a most wonderful cat. After his passing, I thought I could not bear to own another cat. But there came several. Oreo, Alice, Harry-O, Gratz, Paxton, and so on.
Currently we have a cat named Sheba. She came to us from the woods behind our house. She is round, portly, and close to the ground. Her legs are so short, she is always “low to the ground.” A year or so ago my daughter, who lives nine hours away from us, acquired a cat for my granddaughter’s birthday. They named him Rudy. For months Rudy ruled their home and enjoyed being an indoor-outdoor cat.
However, a nearby old lady got cranky because in the night Rudy would wander over to her house and peer in her patio door at her “4 boys” (her four INDOOR cats, one of which is a Main Coon cat she calls her “Baby”). It seems her “4 boys” would get excited about seeing Rudy, and it triggered the woman’s ire to such an extent, she threatened to “trap Rudy and throw him in a field.” She ordered traps from Amazon. To make a long story short, the local sheriff was called.
After a number of back and forth appeals, she had the county rules before her, which stated any dog or cat that causes a public or personal nuisance can be confiscated. So, it was decided Rudy would take an extended vacation. And so he came, cat food, cat litter, cat toys, and all. Rudy is lean and long and as narrow as a fence rail. He is a sweetheart. He and Sheba touch noses and play and have a great time. He spends most of his days outside but comes in at night to sleep. Sheba resides in the garage at night.
Rudy is adapting to his Indiana environment. He has explored the neighborhood and gotten acquainted with the other cats that wander here and there. On my deck the other day sat six cats: Sheba, Rudy, “Mop-Flop,” a black cat that looks like Sheba’s clone, another larger black cat my daughter calls “the Black Panther,” and yet another neighborhood cat that sports a red collar, so we call him/her “Red Collar.” We assume all are spayed and neutered. They tolerate each other, stare at me, then go on they way.
Did T.S. Elliott have cats that inspired his book which in turn led Andrew Lloyd Weber to write his musical “Cats?” I bet he did. Those cats have wonderful names.
Years passed. Both the Commander and Thaili died. I always liked having cats around, although I was allergic to cats. Shortly after we were married when my husband decided we needed a cat, I took shots for months so as to reside at the same address. And so it went. We have always had a cat. Some adopted us. Some we acquired. Most nobly was our cat Homer who lived a long and distinguished life. When we had our first child, Homer had to adapt and he did so with grace. He adopted our baby girl and for years thereafter enjoyed playing with our other children. He was a most wonderful cat. After his passing, I thought I could not bear to own another cat. But there came several. Oreo, Alice, Harry-O, Gratz, Paxton, and so on.
Currently we have a cat named Sheba. She came to us from the woods behind our house. She is round, portly, and close to the ground. Her legs are so short, she is always “low to the ground.” A year or so ago my daughter, who lives nine hours away from us, acquired a cat for my granddaughter’s birthday. They named him Rudy. For months Rudy ruled their home and enjoyed being an indoor-outdoor cat.
However, a nearby old lady got cranky because in the night Rudy would wander over to her house and peer in her patio door at her “4 boys” (her four INDOOR cats, one of which is a Main Coon cat she calls her “Baby”). It seems her “4 boys” would get excited about seeing Rudy, and it triggered the woman’s ire to such an extent, she threatened to “trap Rudy and throw him in a field.” She ordered traps from Amazon. To make a long story short, the local sheriff was called.
After a number of back and forth appeals, she had the county rules before her, which stated any dog or cat that causes a public or personal nuisance can be confiscated. So, it was decided Rudy would take an extended vacation. And so he came, cat food, cat litter, cat toys, and all. Rudy is lean and long and as narrow as a fence rail. He is a sweetheart. He and Sheba touch noses and play and have a great time. He spends most of his days outside but comes in at night to sleep. Sheba resides in the garage at night.
Rudy is adapting to his Indiana environment. He has explored the neighborhood and gotten acquainted with the other cats that wander here and there. On my deck the other day sat six cats: Sheba, Rudy, “Mop-Flop,” a black cat that looks like Sheba’s clone, another larger black cat my daughter calls “the Black Panther,” and yet another neighborhood cat that sports a red collar, so we call him/her “Red Collar.” We assume all are spayed and neutered. They tolerate each other, stare at me, then go on they way.
Did T.S. Elliott have cats that inspired his book which in turn led Andrew Lloyd Weber to write his musical “Cats?” I bet he did. Those cats have wonderful names.
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