Cats

Some folks think cats are too aloof, too independent. I like that independent streak most of them have and don’t mind them staying out of my face most of the time. My big things are that they allow petting and they don’t climb the curtains. Take this poor little thing here, Tima. She was booted out of her home for some reason, away from all she knew. Then she got left at the dog pound AKA the Animal Shelter and placed in a crowded room with all manner of strangers. There she languished for four solid months and was slated for death. Animal Shelter people are wonderful and I appreciate them immensely, but I also know they get far too many animals and can’t care for them like a home can. What did it hurt me to take her in? She’s definitely one of the aloof ones, but golly she’s no problem to have around and anything that snuggles up with a teddy bear is okay in my book.

My original cat is Krink Pestercat. I was coming home to the cabin at twilight a dozen years ago and saw little squirming things in the middle of the gravel road so I stopped. There were two tiny kittens so young their eyes weren’t open yet, dumped by some &*#$# in the road and they were so covered with ticks I had a hard time seeing what color they were. Of course I scooped the wormy things up in a box and took them up to the cabin. I picked the ticks off and bathed them and had to risk worm treatment. I kept them warm and held them, petting them gently like a mama cat cleaning, as often as I could. After a couple weeks their eyes opened and they seemed like they would make it, but the little boy died. Krink, with one ear folded backwards, has been my closest sweetie since.