 Past Cats: Cuddles, the Very First Cat  was six years old when I got my first cat, Cuddles. She was my first (and
so-far only female) black cat. In retrospect, I was not ready for a pet, and
she in fact bonded with my older brother and my mother. Because of her,
however, I've always found that life is better when you have a black cat. We
lost her when she was 12 years old.
Our next family cat was a domestic long-haired black-and-white female named
Sylvester. Okay, so we didn't know she was a girl when she first wandered
into our garage on a cold February morning. She soon became known as
"Vesty," and was a sweet, loving girl. We always said she was my Dad's cat, because he found her--but in truth, she only belonged to herself. She was a
wonderful pet for over 15 years.
My parents always say I found Barney, a little black kitten, before he was lost. It was a cold winter day and this tiny boy was ascending a mountain of snow at my bus stop. I took him home (missing the bus) and he got along very well with Cuddles and Vesty. We had him for much too short a time. He died at age three after complications of surgery for cystitis. I was devastated. My parents promised me another black cat to take his place--but kittens were hard to find in the dead of winter before the days of no-kill shelters. Many months later, Mom and Dad found Marty in a pet shop. At that time, we had two Scottish Terriers. Marty soon taught Mac and Buckie who was boss and often chased both dogs through the house. Marty had a lot of personality. He loved to sit on a warm TV, tail dangling in front of your favorite show. For some reason, he was always afraid of my father...that is until Dad retired and took over pet feeding duties. Then Marty became his best buddy. Marty was a good traveler and went back and forth between the city and the family cottage on a weekly basis during the summers. No doubt about it, Marty was king wherever he went. My first "grown-up" pet was a tiger kitten named Leela. A friend at work had taken in a feral mama and her kittens. That meant that Leela wasn't litter box trained. After two weeks, I was at my wit's end--in my first house (with hardwood floors) with a cat who constantly had "accidents." My Aunt Michele said, "Train her," and she did. Michele plunked Leela in the litter box, sat beside her and taught her to dig. By the end of the day, Leela got the message. But Leela's time with me was to be short. When I got her, she had a sore on her tail. When asked, the guy at work said, "Oh yeah, she got her tail caught in the screen door." Unfortunately, the sore developed into gangrene. The vet suggested amputation. So, I had a kitten with no tail. Leela didn't know about gangrene and continued to be a wonderful, loving kitten. But the surgery didn't eradicate the gangrene. I cried for three days after losing Leela. My brother Ian (pictured with Baby Jessie on the rent-a-dog page) was directly responsible for my getting Katie Cat. And that's another story....
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2218 Monday March 24 2008 |
