Tish, best described as a close blogger friend, has had a string of poor luck lately with her two dogs. Every post lately is about them developing or being diagnosed with progressively worse conditions. Tonight I read that Cruella, a cute little dalmatian, is going to UT Veterinary Hospital for post-op problems after removing a 5 pound tumor.
George Carlin said "Life is a series of dogs." You can recall events and places in your life by going over each pet you've cared for. Tish's posts have put Carlin's words in my mind of late, and I, who have always favored cats, have been remembering them all.
Taranch would technically be my first, a black feline, but really that was the cat my parents had when I was born. I remember we lived in Ohio when someone poisoned her, and the next cat (also black) we got I named Oscar. I remember once telling mom I really did want to have Grape-Nuts for breakfast, despite her instance I wouldn't like them. Mom was right, and they ended up going to Oscar - who only drank the milk. I guess neither children nor cats are the target market for Grape-Nuts. Oscar didn't live long, ended up being poisoned as well. After that, all cats would be indoor cats.
Sweety was the next cat, a Siamese or descendant of. Her eyes we not the shade of blue of a pure Siamese, but other than that she was pretty close. A very independent cat, she didn't seek lap time very often. When our front screen door became torn, she began using it to take trips outside, further tearing the screen until Dad cut it out completely. For a few days the weather in Texas was nice and we just left the door with no screen. When Dad replaced the screen, he did so with Plexiglas - much to a leaping cat's surprise. Sweety wanted to be outside more and more after than, and eventually she disappeared (the neighbor's college age son had been seen several times tormenting pets).
The next cat was another Siamese descendant, only with very long hair, and I found humor in naming him Luigi. We got him about the time I got into computers, so he found there was a great lap for attention (I would scratch him as I worked out programming problems on my Tandy 1000 Ex). He would play rough with me - or was it I would play rough with him? Either way I had claw marks up and down each arm constantly. When I went into the Air Force he attached himself to my brother Denny. After Denny died he stopped cleaning himself, and not long after found a place he could rest. We buried Luigi behind my house, and he was the first cat that I owed who lived a full life.
While in the Air Force, in Korea, I picked up two cats; a Bengal I named Javert and a black and white stray my ex named Watson. Despite playing rough from the time he was a kitten, Javert never clawed or bit back. He doesn't chase mice or bugs - he may pursue a cricket, but only to watch. Watson on the other hand bordered on psychotic - he didn't play with the crickets, just ate them. They both also carried a deep hate for Koreans and when in the base kennel (waiting to fly back to the US) they attacked a poor Korean man who came to feed them - slicing his finger open from the base of the second knuckle, around the tip, and back down to the first knuckle. They were both declawed at the time.
Watson, having violent moments and the in ability to use a litter box after 3 years of trying, had to be given away when Rachel was born - we just couldn't take the risk. Javert allowed Rachel to touch him until she grabbed a fist full of fur - then he decided he would hide from all children. She's 6, almost 7, and he will only come near her if she's sitting still, near me, and Hannah (four) is nowhere in sight.
Both my daughters first words were "cat" and Javert's shyness lead us to get a black female cat Rachel named Shadow after the character in Bear in the Big Blue House. I smile as I write this, because I named Oscar in just such a way. Javert's pacifist ways were tested daily by Shadow, and sometimes they gave way to some pretty high octane brawls (both declawed). Shadow did end up becoming an outdoor cat however; the vet botched her neutering causing her to not use a litter box and go into a partial heat state several times a year. She now lives on a farm with my ex's boyfriend.
Javert is still with me; 11 years old now. Like all Bengals he's playful and has an odd fascination with water, though in his old age he tires quickly. While still a pacifist, he will tell you vocally if there is something he doesn't like - be it a door closed in the house, or his food bowl is a day old. He's also become a very good programmer's thinking aide.
Posted By Mike On Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Filed under life |
Comments (3)
Daryl
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Wednesday, March 14, 2007
12:37:21 PM
Vasectomies are for male cats only (females don't have vas deferens to be snipped). Enjoyed reading this.
Mike
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Wednesday, March 14, 2007
1:04:44 PM
Yes, you are correct - updated =p
Tish
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Thursday, March 22, 2007
2:19:42 AM
Awwww. I really enjoyed reading about your cats. Hearing such stories always warms my heart.
Thanks for the mention of Cruella and Molly, and I am flattered that you consider me a close blogger friend! You're the best, Mike! :)
