“Time spent with cats is never wasted.”  ~Sigmund Freud

Laugh if you will, snicker, roll your eyes, or even label me as a “crazy cat lady,” (which very well may be true) but, animals, yes even cats, as unpredictable as they can be, can teach us life lessons, (although, I will admit, some more than others).

“What greater gift than the love of a cat?” ~Charles Dickens

My very first pet was a black cat I named “Inky.” According to my mother, Inky was my one year old pronunciation of “kitty,” and seeings how she was a sleek, jet-black feline, the name stuck. Inky lived to the ripe old age of seventeen years, pushing the outer limits of her “nine lives” and exceeding the average lifespan of a domestic housecat which tends to be around fifteen.

During those seventeen years, Inky was my bedtime buddy. Even from the get-go, my mother explained that, no matter how hard she would try to keep that cat out of my room, Inky would always manage to find a way in, and with the agility to jump into the crib and cozy up to my sleeping-baby body. Contrary to all the old wives’ tales, after seventeen years of sleeping with a black cat nestled up to me, my breath was, thankfully, never “sucked away.”

“A cat has absolute emotional honesty; human beings, for one reason or another, may hide their feelings, but a cat does not.” ~Ernest Hemingway

After Inky’s demise came “Wheely” and “Meely,” two gray Persian cats that my mom had gotten from the same litter. These two were undoubtedly my mother’s cats in every sense of the word. They were quite unusual, these two felines, and would always be together. They had a habit of constantly staring at me with their sinister cat glares and sly sneers while twitching their tails in a devilish synchrony. They kinda always reminded me of Cinderella’s step sisters. They both walked among our house as if they were the royalty who lived there. They did love my mom though, only purring within her presence.

I would say that Wheely was a lot more tolerable of my dad and myself than Meely. In fact, I would go as far as to say that Meely downright hated my father.

It was years after living with these two posh princes, that my dad began to find cat poop in his shoes.

The episodes started with his bedroom slippers. I remember I was awakened early one Sunday morning by a loud vocal exclamation mixed with both alarm and profanity coming from my dad one floor above.

This would later be documented as, “Meely’s first surprise.”

Evidently, my dad had gotten up just before dawn to use the facilities, and as he slipped his foot into the bed shoe his skin made contact with the soft, warm excrement that was slowly beginning to ooze and form in between his toes resulting in the early morning swear alarm.

My mother’s excuse of a one-time accident was proven wrong as the “cat commode” didn’t stop with my dad’s slippers, oh no, it continued in his work shoes, his dress shoes and his running shoes. Our shoes, my mother and I’s, always remained feces-free. Of the two, Meely was eventually found to be the culprit.

I do believe that Meely had the potential to be far more lethal to my dad than just defecating in his shoes. Often times my dad would wake up in the dead of night and find himself eye to eye with Meely who would be perched on his chest watching him as he slept. Perhaps Meely knew that the psychological effects of taunting my dad in this way might be far more damaging than actually committing the heinous act of the old wives’ tale itself.

Meely, although very wicked, was like most cats, pretty smart.

“There’s nothing quite as sweet as a little girl and her cat.”~ My mother

Once my own daughter was just shy of turning two years old, my husband and I decided to get her a kitten. Ironically, her name of choice for the cat was also “Kitty,” which she pronounced correctly.

Kitty was a very sweet and very pretty cat. She had ice blue eyes, a white face, and her ears were tipped with brown, showing her definite Siamese ancestry.

We really should have just stopped there, but we didn’t.

Somewhere along the way, we were suckered by a three year old, that Kitty was “lonely.”  Had Kitty herself known what was about to transpire, I’m sure she would have convinced us otherwise.

It was around this time, that my daughter and I were driving home and passed that bewitching sign that tends to lure in cat lovers the same way an enticing worm hides the sharp metal hook that will soon pierce the lips of the naïve fish as soon as he lunges towards it.

“Free Kittens.”

We stopped.

“No matter how much cats fight, there always seem to be plenty of kittens.” ~Abraham Lincoln

As we walked into the house of the elderly “cat lady,” we saw what seemed like hundreds, if not thousands, of cats roaming throughout. I had no problem inserting the prefix “crazy” before the title I had just given her.

Among the herds, my daughter spotted a sweet little bright-eyed gray kitten sitting by itself in the corner. We would later find out there was a reason for this…

“I want that one!” She pointed as she ran towards the kitten and gently picked it up.

The cat lady insisted on us having a seat and “getting acquainted” with the kitten to see if it was a good fit. As we sat among the cat chaos, my daughter looked up at me with an enormous grin of affection as she held and fell in love with “Daisy,” the cat from hell.

I have no doubt that Daisy was a product of incest.

The cat never, ever purred. She had an eerie meow that was a mix of both a coyote’s howl and Linda Blair’s deep grumble from the ever-popular 1970’s horror flick.

Daisy had embarrassingly gotten us kicked out of our current vet hospital for mauling a vet tech. We then switched over to a mobile vet that would prescribe tranquilizers an hour before her scheduled home appointments. No dosage, including that which was enough to sedate a full grown German shepherd, had any effect on Daisy. We would continue to have to shut her up in a small bathroom as the vet would go in, armed with heavy gloves, and attempt to give her a single yearly vaccination. The noises that came from that bathroom were unimaginable. Daisy’s erratic behavior once scared a young part-time vet assistant who refused to go inside the small bathroom and opted to sit in the truck instead.

In her final weeks, Daisy began pulling out her own hair and eating it. Daisy, the sweet little bright-eyed demon cat, was definitely an exception to the cat rule. She lived to the surprising age of thirteen, a number that suited her well.

“Cats rule the world.”  ~Jim Davis

And then there was “Rootbeer” or “Rooty” for short. Not sure where my four year old son came up with this name for the solid white kitten that we rescued after being hit by a car, but Rooty managed to come when we called him.

Rooty was near death when we found him. He was walking, but dragging behind a barely attached, decomposing and maggot-infested back left leg. Doing my civic animal-loving duty, I took him to the vet, not expecting him to make it. Surprisingly, Rooty pulled on through his surgery, but losing the back leg. He then became part of our family. He was a sweet and thankful cat, and would run up and down our stairs numerous times every day as if he was in training to be in the cat triathlon. He was quicker than our four-legged cats by a long stretch. Rooty lived to be twelve.

The next was Fo Bear. Like Rooty, she wandered up to my work as a kitten. She was scared, hungry, and covered in briars which was enough criteria for me to pack her up and take her home. That was fifteen years ago and she currently sits lying at my feet as I type this. Fo, I believe, is your “typical cat.” She’s independent and does like some human attention, but only on her terms.

“It is a very distinct tribute to be chosen as the friend and confidant of a cat.”  ~ H.P. Lovecraft

And last comes Tom Tom, which I consider my “cat-dog.”

I first encountered Tom Tom on a greenway trail where I would take my frequent morning runs. For two years, he would faithfully meet me every morning and run alongside me for a small stretch. Of course, his morning breakfast that was brought to him by myself and another runner, I’m sure had something to do with his daily faithfulness.  He was, and is, clearly the most social cat I have ever encountered. He loves to be pet and scratched by any willing soul, this being true even during his vagabond greenway days.  He has been a part of our family for the past three years and even has his own book!

I can honestly say, of all the cats I have ever had, Tom Tom has taught me the most.

He starts his day by graciously consuming his freshly poured cat food and water, and then by using each of the cat boxes, (one right after the other), after I have scooped and replenished them with new litter.  I believe this is Tom Tom’s way of showing me his appreciation.

Much like a faithful canine, Tom Tom listens for my car to pull up in the driveway. I can sometimes see him jumping down from the upstairs bedroom window and hearing him running down the stairs as I’m unlocking the door, where he makes sure he beats me to the kitchen by the time I enter.

He follows me around the house, and often prompts me by a persistent meow to come and sit with him on the couch for a belly rub.

No matter how cozy he may be sleeping, he always comes when he’s called.

He likes to rough-house, attacking me and gently “biting” in a playful manner, but refusing to do the same with either one of the small grandchildren when they play in the same way, only pawing them gently almost fearing that he may injure them. Sound like a typical cat temperament? I think not.

So, within each of these “cat tales,” I have taken away a bit of knowledge that I believe each cat has passed along.

Inky: Persistence. Do what you have to do to be close to those you love.

Meely: It’s better to avoid those that you don’t mesh well with, instead of “pooping in their shoe.” Continuing such behavior may lead to devious thoughts that are best avoided.

Wheely: Try and be the better of the two.

Kitty: Be sweet and kind no matter what the family brings to the table.

Daisy: Everyone needs love, no matter their situation.

Rooty: Don’t let your disabilities harbor you; work daily to overcome them and continue to amaze people!

Fo Bear: Be yourself. Those that love you will understand and accept it.

Tom Tom: Let those that you love know just how much they are appreciated by your daily actions and gratitude.

Just a bit of feline philosophy to ponder over…

From the complex minds of my cats.