Ode to My Cats

I friend of mine recently lost his beloved dog (RIP Bojo you were quite the character) and it started me thinking about all the animals I’ve loved over the years. My friend told me that he only lasted a few days before he got another dog, and he received a little grief from friends who thought it was too soon. Too soon? I don’t think so. I think the grieving process is harder and longer when you walk into an empty house day after day after years of being welcomed by a wagging tail or, in the case of cats, a demanding meow to feed them. When I was in my teens we had cats and I don’t think we lasted more than a week after losing a cat when one just mysteriously shows up. Someone would come home with a new kitty under their arm. I’d come home from school and there it was! No one really discussed getting another cat but it was a bit of a joke to see who cave in first. These were two of my favourite cats during my teens:

First there was Dusty or Rusty; I can’t remember what name stuck. My stepbrother Phil brought him home. He was a red tabby and I think we called him Dusty but dad liked to call him Rusty. So he went by Dusty/Rusty all his life. He was a bit of a tomcat, a little aloof but always there in the kitchen where dad liked to sit all day when he was off the ship. (He worked two weeks on and one week off). Dad used to pretend that he didn’t really care for cats but for some reason Dusty/Rusty was always at his feet while he sat there drinking coffee. One day I figured out why. I left the room but hung around behind the door and I dad started talking to him. He would croon to the cat, “That’s my Rusty, daddy’s little son-of-a-bitch,” and Dusty/Rusty would roll around purring oblivious to dad’s words. I quickly dove into my bedroom before dad heard my hysteric laughing.

Then there was the Queen of Sheba, our Burmese. She originally lived a cousin and her husband who had two other cats. One day my stepmother and I went to visit them and the minute we sat down, Sheba jumped off the TV and sat on my lap. They were very surprised because Sheba was naturally aloof and spent most of her day on top of the TV. We weren’t home more than 5 minutes before the phone rang; it was my cousin asking us if we would like to come back and pick up the cat. We had just lost Dusty/Rusty a week before. We were over there in a flash and Sheba became part of our lives for a long time. Apparently she was a one-cat-per-house cat aka The Queen of Sheba who liked to rule her domain because she sure took over our house. It’s funny but I always say when you’re getting a cat, it’s not you who picks the cat, it’s the cat that picks you.

Sheba was very vocal, much like Siamese, and a good chaperone much to my dismay. It was her habit to sit between me and a current beau any time we were down in the basement watching TV. I think my stepmother taught her to do that. She had this funny habit though; she would lie on her back in front of the fridge with her legs sticking out in a very un-lady like manner. She loved laying on the kitchen carpet (yes it was the 70s) and the heat coming from the fridge.

So when is the right time to get another animal? When you feel its right, even if it’s the next day, the next week, the next year; it depends on the person. But there are a lot of animals at the shelter that are just waiting for a good home and I think it’s a good way to honour the love you had with your deceased pet to pass it on to another deserving one and be damned the people that pooh-pooh your decision.

I also think the rule applies to people too and they shouldn't get grief from friends either. That's why widows/widowers with a good marriage tend to get remarried quickly. They have too much love just sitting there to give to a deserving person and it feel alien not to share when you did it for the majority of your adult life.