posted on Mar, 31 2010 @ 09:34 AM
When I was very little, like, toddler age, I thought I was a cat. For about a year my mother tells me, I insisted on acting like a cat. Yes, i was a
strange child- but my love of felines has endured. I used to study the feral cats in my neighborhood, trying to figure out their behaviors and social
interactions. I was always leading them back to my house and begging mom to let me keep them.
One stray liked me so much it crept into my mother's bedroom window one night, crossed the hall, and climbed under my blankets. my mother came to
wake me up the next morning and screamed, seeing 4 black legs sticking out of the side of the bed. Yes, she let me keep him.
As a teen I found an ad in the paper for "Two White House cats". My mom was intrigued, she thought these were special presidential cats. We had to
go see them. They were owned by an elderly woman who was moving to a retirement home. They were siblings, the only two born to their mother.
They were pure white, except for black markings on the tops of their heads down to the nape of their necks. Missy and Mister. Gold eyes. Missy was
long haired, Mister short. Besides how unusual they looked, their size was impressive. They were 3 feet long, not including their tails. Huge.
So we took them home, and learned their personalities. Missy was a diva. Touch her and you got a look that killed, followed by a good hour of her
grooming the affected area. She was first to be fed, first to pick a favorite spot, first to the door, etc. Not affectionate, she was too good for
that. Humans were beneath her. But she loved her brother, and would take it upon herself to groom him when he was sleeping. Or eating. Or using the
litter box. She would follow him around until he submitted to her ministrations. She was kind of a bitch.
Mister was more of a quiet sort, acted very much like a dog in that he liked to be walked, on a leash. He followed me everywhere I went, and insisted
on sleeping with me. He was always on my lap or my shoulder.
Two years after they came home with us, something unexpected happened. I started my morning routine of feeding them ,expecting Missy to come racing
towards the food bowl. No Missy. I found her under the table, awake, with her legs at an odd angle. Her legs felt cold, and she couldn't get up. I
called my mom, and we went immediately to the vet, bringing Mister with us. Apparently they both had heart murmurs, and Missy formed a clot in her
legs. There was a possibility of her being saved, but we would have to take her to the University of Pennsylvania, and there was no guarantee it would
help. It would also be extremely expensive.
I held her as they put her down, my mother hysterical at this point. Mister got to say goodbye to her before we went home. After this, Mister stopped
eating. He was lethargic, and slept under the table, the place we found Missy. After two weeks, he disappeared--from the apartment, he was an indoor
I always was on the lookout for cats with that distinctive marking, but never found any. I figured it was a fluke genetic thing. Fast forward to 14
years later, 2009. I finally got my husband to cave and let me adopt cats. Plural, I am of a mind that cats need other feline companionship. I also
have the opinion that animals should be adopted, not bought, and as kittens and puppies seem to be most popular, I only adopt older animals.
I also have the strange idea (per my husband) that animals choose their owners, so going to a shelter and adopting the one i think is cutest doesn't
work out well. It took three trips to the shelter before Westley found me. He was in a top tier of cages, so I could only hear him. He was very vocal,
and he bapped my head with his paw whenever I passed him. So of course I asked to see him.
He was very dirty. Apparently he had been left in a sealed box outside the shelter door, in Mid December. In Massachusetts. He was pure white, except
for black markings from the top of his head down to the nape of his neck. He had golden eyes. He was short haired. He climbed onto my shoulder and
settled down to nap after sniffing my ears and face. He began to purr and I took him home immediately.
He talks alot, I know there is siamese or burmese in him somewhere. he has a wedge shaped face, and is delicate. Small bones, small physique overall.
He follows me everywhere. Literally everywhere. He sleeps curled up between my neck and shoulder, much to my husband's irritation. He responds by
name, only for me, and is never far from where I am. We can communicate without words, and he responds to my moods.
We have two other rescued cats, each with their own personalities. My husband's cat is as much his as Westley is mine. Funny how that works. Looks
aside, Westley is not Mister; but it made me wonder.
Animals are far smarter than we humans give them credit for. Cats are special. They have no need for the overly affectionate nature of some dogs, but
their bonds with their people are just as strong, if not stronger. They absolutely see things we cannot, and they sense things science is only just
I have a theory that those who love cats are sometimes seen as equally mysterious, or strange, as the animals they love. If someone hates cats, they
most likely don't like me too much. That is just my experience, but it seems spot on so far. It takes a certain type of person to understand and love
[edit on 31-3-2010 by cjcord]