Feline Times Four
They say that curiosity killed the cat. In my case, domestication must have bred them. Since as long as I can remember, I have counted a cat as a member of my household. When I was the ripe age of one, my parents bought me my first cat Miranda, of course I was completely coherent enough to appreciate their sentimentality. Yeah, sure. After and including Miranda, a long line of feline family members came in and out of our lives. There was Portia, my sister's first cat, a regal feline with a stunning silver gray coat. Portia disappeared shortly after our return to Aiken, I believe I was around four years of age. Then there was Rosie, a black and white cat with a lovable personality who gave birth to a litter of kitten on our porch, then proceeded to venture off into the woods behind our house, abandoning her kittens and home, never to heard from or seen again. Out of the the litter of three kittens, only one survived, the unanimously declared runt of the litter, an all-white beauty that my sister named Bianca. Bianca was a kind yet cautious cat who claimed Sarah as her sole-provider shortly out of kittenhood, yet shortly after warming up to the rest of the family was struck down at the hands (or better yet wheels) of our careless neighbor down the street. Sarah never quite forgave him, I don't think. In order to save Sarah from unneeded grief, it became my parents first priority to find a replacement for Bianca. Such a replacement came from the home of my middle school guidance counselar whose cat had just had kittens three months prior and could not afford to house them all. The rejected kitten was brought home in the arms of my sister, a skiddish thing, long hair and elegantly coated with silver, black and white fur. The sex of our new addition was of some question for the first week or so of our ownership. Due to the kittens long coat, it was hard to distinguish whether it was male or female. It became a daily flip of the coin of whether the kitten was Oliver or Olivia, finally with the official diagnosis of our veternarian declaring that it was indeed the latter. Only about a month after welcoming Olivia into our home, a stray kitten found by one of the students of my mother took up permanent residence at 1001 Hilton Street, under the name of Isabella (in honor of the day of her arrival = Columbus day). It was a house full of women, with my dad being the sole presence of testerone until August of 2002 when a scrawny, obviously malnourished orange tabby arrived mysteriously on our doorstep. His ribs jutted outwards, pressing upon the skin that hugged tightly around his body. For a few days we fed him, with my dad always shouting in the background that this one would not be staying. A week later, my dad had fallen in love with the little orange wonder. I had named him Chauncey, of which the only connection comes from the coincidence that it was also the name of my mother's father. Around the same time as my father was being sufficiently wooed by Chauncey, my mother and sister adopted a tiny orange tabby from the SPCA for me as a Chanukah present. He was tiny little kitten with a larger than life name....Michelangelo, and I fell for him even quicker than my dad did for Chauncey. Michelangelo became my companion, my best friend, my confidante. It helped that he couldn't speak English...he would have had quite a few secrets to spill. Unfortunately, Michelangelo disappeared in January of 2005 and my heart was broken. Following in the footsteps of my family, I chose to attempt to numb at least a portion of the pain by adopting a kitten from the local SPCA. Although she was not my first choice, I settled on a creamy butter-yellowish tabby (whose original name was the nauseuating "Sherbert) who I named Dylan (origin self-explanitory). There were days that I thought I had acted to soon. She was and still is quite a handful, but I have grown to love the little rascal, as crazy (and I mean CRAZY) as she is. And now as I settle into the comfortable realm of domestication with my hetero-life-mate, her cat Wicket, and the two cats (Artemis and Vesta) that we are watching for our landlords, yet have truly found a cozy spot in our hearts, I find peace in the presence of felines.