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Who is your favorite cat?
Being a cat mom of two, this question is just plain old mean.
I know who asked this question, you silly man.
It' as mean as asking me, "What's your favorite crazy pill?"
But I did promise to honor your questions, so here it goes.
I flat out refuse to pick between my own two cats, so I researched other noteworthy cats and chose a favorite.
Meet Casper.
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Casper is famous for riding the No. 3 bus in Plymouth, eleven miles round trip, into the center of the city and back, every day. He would patiently wait at the bus stop and hop on and sit in his favorite seat. Seriously, how fabulous is that? So fabulous he inspired the book, Casper the Commuting Cat.
I have met some random cats in my, almost, thirty-three years that have quickly captured my heart.
First there was Captain.
He roamed the streets of Laguna Beach and especially hung around the outdoor restaurant (the name has slipped my mind) and would sit at an empty seat at my table. Never fail. Every time I ate there. He would actually sit upright, like any other human patron, and I would always order him the shrimp.
This is not Captain.
He had much better manners.
Next was Dirtball.
That was not his real name, but he was dirty. Man, was he dirty. He roamed the grounds of my apartment complex in San Antonio, and sat on my lap as I sunbathed at the pool. One ominous day I decided he needed a bath. This dirty madness had to stop and I was just the one to put an end to it. I lured him into my apartment and gave him, quite possibly, the worst ten minutes of his life. Afterwards he was so lovely, gleaming white, no longer a dingy brown. The hubs didn't approve. He kept shouting, over the sound of running bath water, "I can't believe you are giving someone else's cat a bath!" After his bath, I never saw him again.
This is not Dirtball, but his bath went something like this:
So what does this have to do with being crazy?
Sometimes when you are crazy you order entrees for stray cats, and give them bathes. Hey, some one's gotta do it...
Until next time...
P.S. Take your pills.
From the ages of about 11-17 I walked home from the bus stop each day passed a neighbours house. To start with their cat hid behind a bush or next to the front door.
ReplyDeleteOne day he was brave enough to come and say hello. From that day on, nearly every afternoon at 3:45pm he'd be sitting on the wall outside his house, waiting for me.
Now Sparky was not the most attractive cat, he had one eye and a half torn off ear. But I didn't care. My bus journey home often left me close to tears and the situation I would find when I reached home was often none to pleasant either.
So those 5-10mins spent saying hello to Sparky saved my day on many occasions. Sometimes I think he knew this and would even follow me down the road to my house (rewarded with a saucer of milk).
Sometimes his owner would pop her head out of the door and ask how I was. When I was 18 and almost off to university, Sparky died.
I was pretty sad but of course he wasn't even my cat so I told myself to stop being so soft!
I'd not thought of him much since then. Just a brief nod in the direction each time I pass the house.
But thank you for reminding me, I'm even going to try to dig out a photo of the two of us together.
Sometimes I guess it's good to remember the unsung feline heroes in our lives (surely everyone has at least one right?!).
To Sparky (and to you for bringing a smile to my face at being able to remember something from my past for once!)
Take care,
As a child my cat, tigger, picked me up from the bus stop every day. Thanks for reminding me of that!
DeleteI have three cats and a yellow lab right now and will not pick my fav from them.
ReplyDeleteThe best cat ever though, was my 20 pound huge, black male named George. He was the size of a mouse when I got him, too small to be away from his mom, I think. He grew into this gorgeous panther of a cat that talked, followed me everywhere, played mouse hockey and fetched, lied on my stomach like a hot water bottle when I had horrible menstrual cramps, and did this amazing flop thing whenever I walked into a room, wanting to be belly rubbed. When he was fully grown, I brought him up to my cottage in the woods. He took off and would not come back in the house no matter how I called. Then a massive thunder storm that had trees falling down all over moved in. I was awake all night, imagining him out there in that crazy wind and rain. At first light, I went outside and called him again. He slinked out of the woods staying close to the ground,obviously quite tramatized. He then spent the rest of the day curled in my lap, unwilling to be away from me. That bonded us forever. I was his person, until heart disease took him at the early age of 8. My beautiful, big black boy. Love you, Georgie Angel !
Thanks for the chance to remember my beautiful buddy, B.
Here's to be being a cat lover ! Cheers !
Cates rule!
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