My Cat Love Goes Way Back

 

It all started when I was a little girl.  I lived (and still live) in an isolated part of a large, populous suburb of Cleveland.  Come summertime, when I was no longer in school, I didn't see much of my friends.  I couldn't walk anywhere since the street was so busy and my mother didn't drive.  My dad worked all hours--being a policeman.  Consequently, I got lonely.  I had my sister and our friend who lived next door, (who we are still friends with) but I still spent a lot of time alone.
   But we had cats.  Specifically 3 Siamese.  They were named Rima, Ping and Pong.  Rima was temperamental and taught us kids manners around cats--but never with her claws out.  She would swat us but never hurt us.  The two boys were always gentle.  I used to hang out with Pong; all the time.  I followed him around the house, and we took walks outside.
   A stray found our house.  He was friendly, but my dad didn't want another cat.  He hung out for a week--and then disappeared for a day.  When he came back, he was limping.  My dad melted, and we got another cat.  His name was Catnip.  I followed him around the house and took him for walks.
   I loved them all.  They were my best buddies. 
   All that time around the cats, just watching them and playing with them taught me so much about cats.  I am very good at reading their emotions and understanding them.  Because of it, I do well with temperamental cats--and I like the challenging cats.  My boyfriend has two cats.  Fall is a sweetheart, but Arbez is known as "The Queen of Mean."  She's not mean with me--I am the only one who can pet her besides my boyfriend.  She is always on my lap, purring.  I get along great with Princess, the barn cat.  She is the most horrible cat I have ever met.  She loves people but has no patience for us.  We never know when she will attack, so most people ignore her.  She loves me and comes when I call her--follows me everywhere--sits on my lap all the time--and hisses at me when I remove her.  I can tell when she is going to "the darkside" and avoid injury.
   I befriended a feral black tom cat that lived at our barn.  He was caked with dried mud, and he let me remove it all--and he was devoted to me from that day on.  I still cry about the day he died... I named him Blackster, and someday, I will have my own black cat and I will give him that name.
   I can sure go on about cats...