Dad

I really can’t recall ever not having a cat. My first cat, Pepper, a black calico was born when I was three and had litters and litters of kittens over the years. She was a kitten belonging to Fluffy. And, as is the case on many farms, cats run free and reproduce almost as often as rabbits. One of Pepper’s kittens was Caramel, a white calico. And, one of Caramel’s kittens was la petite Caramel, also a white calico. By this time I must have been studying French.

My dad’s mother always had cats, all pure white. I preferred the darker fur, especially tiger stripe. Cats are usually good mousers. I’m certain this is why farmers are often okay with having so many cats on the loose. However, unless there are children, cat lovers by nature, these farm cats are often not accustom to being handled.

Growing up we really weren’t suppose to have animals in the house. We did though. Matter of fact, Caramel gave birth to a litter of kittens while we soundly slept one night, right under my sister’s bed! And even though mother cats keep a pretty close eye on their kittens, especially until the kitten’s eyes are open, our mother cats even occasionally gave birth while we children watched. Absolutely amazing!

I do recall though, watching the mother cat carry her kittens one at a time, her teeth clinched at the nape of their little necks, as she transported them to the south end of the barn. This was a safe place from us and fun training ground for the kittens, a bed of wild lavender, purple and white clover. In no time it seemed, she would lead them back across the drive to the lean-to shed and our anxious, loving little hands.

What I did not realize was Dad “never really cared for cats”. Wow! All those years growing up I never knew this until just a few years ago when he and Mother were visiting us. Two of our cats were rarely ever seen by anyone but us. Trixie, however, was a people cat, very curious and had a calm kind of courage about her. In no time at all she somehow discovered Dad. Brazenly curious she intentionally perched on the edge of the round table, eye level with Dad, as he sat in the Queen Anne wing chair right beside it. I held my breath for a second wondering just what might happen during this encounter. I warned Dad as he put forth his hand to pester her that she was not declawed. Fortunately no altercations; blood or otherwise occurred. Oddly enough this was the first time Dad had ever mentioned his disinterest in cats. Who knew?

A few months later we had opportunity for an extended visit with my parents on the farm. Of course, our three cats came with us. Before we came to visit I discussed our cats with them. I wanted them to understand that our cats never go outdoors and are truly part of our family. I needed to be sure they really would be okay with our cats in their home and that they too would respect our cats’ needs, especially understanding how they were never to be let outside. Two of our cats do not have their front claws. And besides they have always been indoor cats. Especially considering their ages (Trixie being sixteen, Heidi and Megan both nine) it would simply be too much for them to even accidentally be let outside on the farm. Mother and Dad discussed my concerns. Mother said yes, they were fine with the cats just as long as I “take care of them”.

It was fun to observe my parents as they interacted with our cats. With Mother’s vision being severely impaired I sometimes wondered if she only thought she was talking to Trixie and not an inanimate object. It was easy to see she really liked cats which is probably why we were allowed to have so many cats during our childhood, and why it never really was a big deal when they occasionally somehow did end up inside the house.

Dad was the fun one to watch with our cats, especially Trixie. Our son adopted her when he was five and she was only eight weeks old. She very easily fit inside his little Winnie the Pooh ball cap. My husband said our son cried when the adoption agency explained how he could not take her home for another week, surgery and shots, etc.,…To say Trixie was spoiled by all three of us would certainly be a true statement, but a choice we freely made. Our cats have brought us so much joy, it only seems fitting to spoil them a bit.

Trixie has always done whatever she pleases whenever she pleases. And with her advancing in age we really have no business thinking we were going to now begin teaching an old cat new tricks; so to speak. Just the same after years of letting her and her alone demand to be given a drink from the bathroom faucet, we figured this would be a good opportunity to discontinue doing so. The tiny surface area of our bathroom sink in our cape cod was slightly slanted and with her aging, occasionally she would slip and fall. Needless to say Trixie continued to jump up on the bathroom counter at my parents’ home and would patiently wait in hopes someone might oblige her. We didn’t give in, though I’m not so sure about Dad.

One morning I heard her meowing. Thinking she was waiting for me to open the bedroom door, I quickly called out to her. To my surprise Dad answered my call and said she was with him, with him in the bathroom! I have yet to ask just what was going on in there and maybe I won’t ask. At any rate, cats are very independent and will do as they please whenever it pleases them. Their independent behavior is a little baffling to Dad as he often asked me just why my cat is doing what she is doing. Cats are cats and have their own ways just like any other animal. So, Dad would continue to ask me and I would continue to give the same response each time. “Why does your cat drink out of the toilet? Why does your cat drink out of the flower pot? What’s your cat doing in there?” She’s a cat, Dad. This is just what cats do.