These are the thoughts of a Texas transplant in West Michigan who makes his living as a newspaper reporter by evening, and a struggling novelist by day.

Thursday, July 14, 2005

Meow, Purr, Meow

Cats are cuddley types of creatures who come for pets and strokes at their own leisure and convenience. It's all up to them and on their terms -- at least that's the way it is with one of our cats, Katrina (a bratty, domestic short-hair).
I've been enamored of cats, though,only since I met my wife's now eight- year-old cat Kit, who is probably one of the shiest cats in the history of cats, in 2001. Before we got 'Trina (three years ago this September), no one would have ever guessed my wife had a cat. He refused to come out when company dropped by the house. He often skulks low and then hurdled himself (as much as his 15 pounds will allow him) into the bedroom and under the bed.
But Kit took to me like nobody's business. Dawn was surprised how he came out and started wrapping his tail around one of my legs (and even let me hold him upside down like a baby). We struck it off very well and became buddies.
A few months after we got married and were living in Alice, I found 'Trina (or should I say, she found me). I went out one night to through the trash and heard a small "meow" on one of the stairs. It was dark but managed to see a small kitten (probably six or so weeks old) looking at me. I looked at it and then walked down to the Dumpster, tossed the trash in, and noticed a tiny figure running toward me from the stairs. It was the kitten. I picked it up and looked at it, carrying it back to the apartment.
I opened the door and said 'Hey Dawn, look what I got here." That did it. The brat cat was in our lives. We fed her that night, she became part of the family, and even decided to sleep above my head on the pillow. Her purring, roaring motor was at full-throttle -- but it was oddly comforting.
After a series of name changes (Joie among them, blah), we settled on Katrina (it's a name quite suitable for her, although princess and queen would also suffice).
So we have a bratty three-year-old, who has only finally become mostly domesticated and refrains from playfully biting (although Dawn's leg was at her wrath about a month ago) and a more serious-minded middle-aged feline, who's decided he's not having anything to do with his new senior food we've bought for him and 'Trina.
They are fun to watch, sometimes interacting and at other times not. They will chase each other throughout the house, 'Trina ripping around a corner and Kit's loud thumps as he's closing in on her. At other times, they'll be by each other and one or the other will swipe at the other's face with a paw. They're such good pals.
If I have any complaints about my two felines its this: Kit has a hairball problem that drives me nutso sometimes. Nasty little deposits, they are. And 'Trina, well, the brat decides that she enjoys rolling around the cement walk out back. She scoots out the door when we open it and then flops down and rolls on the dirty cement like a lunatic animal.
Other than that, hey, I can't complain. They're good company, Kit provides the rational in of the two and 'Trina provides the odd humor only an adolescent could achieve. Good combination.


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