I admit it—I am a crazy cat person. Well, maybe not totally crazy as I don’t have a dozen cats. I just have two, but I am crazy about them—especially the two that own me now.
Some people are dog people, and some are horse people. I even know some rabbit (bunny) people and chicken people. Other people connect to various combinations. However, cats seem to fit my life and personality better with their independence and general low-maintenance nature. Becoming crazy about (my) cats is a discovery of my adult life.
I grew up with barn cats. I did not know anyone who had a cat in the house, but we relied on our barn kitties to keep down the rodent population on the farm. These cats came and went. Taking any of them to the veterinarian for shots or spaying/neutering was not something any farmer did. There were always new cats coming in to replace the cats that met a fateful demise.
About 40 years ago, however, my whole attitude changed about cats when I came to know the house cats of some friends. One of the cats eventually came to live with me and I have not been without a cat ever since.
DJ, that first cat that lived with me was a gray tabby. She and I seemed to get along fine, although she really hated other people and other cats. I think she liked me at first because I was so indifferent to her. She and I came to a truce and pretty much agreed that we could live together as long as neither of us expected much from the other one. When she begrudgingly passed away at the old age of 18, I cried for days.
Shortly after DJ passed, I got a white kitten. Raising a kitten was so much fun and Dover and I bonded immediately. I called her my puppy kitty because she followed me around the house just like dogs tend to do. She lived a long life, too, but not nearly long enough as everyone knows who has ever loved a pet.
I now have 2 kitties. Mog is another gray/brown tabby with an attitude. She has international roots as I understand that in England and Australia, cats are sometimes called moggies. The M represents the ears, the O is the head, and the G is the body and tail. I call her MOG with a long O since Americans have such a harder language than does anyone with a slightly British accent.
M
O
g
Mog’s sibling brother is completely gray and not at all like his sister. I think he is partly wild cat but perhaps his name, Gitch, which has no particular meaning, describes his gitchy manor. Mog’s demure meow and Gitch’s relentless yowls highlight the difference between the two, and what makes me crazy about both of them.
The cats and I have rituals each day. In the morning Mog jumps on the bed first thing so I can give her pats and chat about our night’s sleep. Before I go to bed, she uses the litter box when I brush my teeth, and then crawls into my lap while I read. When I turn over to go to sleep, she finds her spot at the edge of the bed. Gitch usually sleeps elsewhere but wakes me up in the morning by sitting in the recycling box shredding paper until I yell at him to “STOP!”
I love my cats. I know they understand my moods and react to my feelings. I cannot deny, like most know who have ever loved a pet, they make me smile and feed my soul each day. I like being a CRAZY. CAT. PERSON.
Thoroughly enjoyable blogs Karla. A comment on the 1st blog, re: hair; I started graying about 3 years ago after my hair darkened from a dirty blond with highlights dependent upon the season. I am proud of every gray hair that appears. Each strand is a badge earned through a life experience regardless of whether the experience was one of joy or sadness.
Karla~ I’m loving reading your posts. Keep them coming!
Karla, I can so identify with your blog about cats. I am also a crazy cat woman. I am actually a cat in a woman’s body. My first cats were strays that lived on the roof of our home where I grew up in North Hollywood, CA. I fed them every day and could pet one once in a while. I naturally loved them all. Later, my folks got me my first home cat, a Siamese, and I’ve never been without a cat since except during the eight years I was married. I married a man who didn’t like cats. Obviously, he wasn’t a good choice for me for other reasons as well. My current cat, Max, is of course my best buddy. I’ve had wonderful felines over the years and miss them all. They’ve always been my family. Thanks for your wonderful blogs.
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