Book 49 - kitty, kitty, kitty
My Cat Spit McGee - Willie Morris
Our family Dalmatian adopted me the moment I arrived from the hospital as a weak newborn. Born prematurely, I didn't have the lung capacity to cry loudly, so Dottie would lie under my crib and alert people when I was in need.
And so it began. I have no memory of my life when a beloved dog didn't play a central role.
Cats had their own odd part. In kindergarten, my teacher had assigned us to write a sentence that finishes the story, "One day I found a kitten outside. I took it in the house and ... "
I think I remain the only 5-year-old in history who had to talk to a shrink for writing, "and my mom grabbed it and flushed it down the toilet."
Clearly, like Morris, I grew up ensconced in dog culture. Cats were an annoyance and disgusting. And yes, my mother really did threaten to flush even a cute kitten, should I dare bring it into her home.
That I could be without a dog now, and actually share a home with a cat, baffles me beyond words. This is not the life I have ever prepared to live.
Morris, using the same lush Mississippi backdrop as his better-known "My Dog Skip," finds himself in that same puzzled space.
An affirmed dog man, he seriously debates whether to marry his second wife when he discovered she is a Cat Woman. She changes him, and readies him for Spit, the tiny kitten with one blue eye and one gold eye whose life he saves and shares.
I was right there with Morris as he tried to decipher cat moods, teach the cat tricks and finally figure out a way to convince Spit to agree to wear a leash.
But after a lifetime of cat hating, Morris veers into territory I've not yet seen with his sentimental recollection. I dont' see emotion or longing in my cat's blank stare, for instance. And I've never met any cat I would describe as bonded to humans the way any dog can be.
The second half the book takes on a more somber tone, as Morris gently begins to write as a man looking toward death. He brings Spit with him to visit his father's grave and finally say aloud that he loved the man. The leashed cat accompanies on visits to old haunts, as he talks to the cat about what might be ahead.
The book was published posthumously, but it reads as if Morris was aware his premature end was coming.
"Without wishing to sound histronic, the birth of Spit ... evoked for me a reserve of continuity, of the generations, of life passing on life, of the cycles."
Perhaps a dog is the boundless love that should greet you in this world, and a reserved cat should be there with you in the end.
Our family Dalmatian adopted me the moment I arrived from the hospital as a weak newborn. Born prematurely, I didn't have the lung capacity to cry loudly, so Dottie would lie under my crib and alert people when I was in need.
And so it began. I have no memory of my life when a beloved dog didn't play a central role.
Cats had their own odd part. In kindergarten, my teacher had assigned us to write a sentence that finishes the story, "One day I found a kitten outside. I took it in the house and ... "
I think I remain the only 5-year-old in history who had to talk to a shrink for writing, "and my mom grabbed it and flushed it down the toilet."
Clearly, like Morris, I grew up ensconced in dog culture. Cats were an annoyance and disgusting. And yes, my mother really did threaten to flush even a cute kitten, should I dare bring it into her home.
That I could be without a dog now, and actually share a home with a cat, baffles me beyond words. This is not the life I have ever prepared to live.
Morris, using the same lush Mississippi backdrop as his better-known "My Dog Skip," finds himself in that same puzzled space.
An affirmed dog man, he seriously debates whether to marry his second wife when he discovered she is a Cat Woman. She changes him, and readies him for Spit, the tiny kitten with one blue eye and one gold eye whose life he saves and shares.
I was right there with Morris as he tried to decipher cat moods, teach the cat tricks and finally figure out a way to convince Spit to agree to wear a leash.
But after a lifetime of cat hating, Morris veers into territory I've not yet seen with his sentimental recollection. I dont' see emotion or longing in my cat's blank stare, for instance. And I've never met any cat I would describe as bonded to humans the way any dog can be.
The second half the book takes on a more somber tone, as Morris gently begins to write as a man looking toward death. He brings Spit with him to visit his father's grave and finally say aloud that he loved the man. The leashed cat accompanies on visits to old haunts, as he talks to the cat about what might be ahead.
The book was published posthumously, but it reads as if Morris was aware his premature end was coming.
"Without wishing to sound histronic, the birth of Spit ... evoked for me a reserve of continuity, of the generations, of life passing on life, of the cycles."
Perhaps a dog is the boundless love that should greet you in this world, and a reserved cat should be there with you in the end.