My Last Cat

A year ago, when I adopted Jenny, I wrote a blog post about her (find it here). The last line is: "Because I don't want another cat." Please understand, I've been saying that since 1992. I'm a dog person. I am. I really am. But... cats have been in my life continuously since 1972. No kidding. No break from cleaning litter boxes or being the victim of periodic maulings if I petted incorrectly. Sheesh.

I have to say, though, Jenny has turned out to be quite the sweet little buddy. (In most cases, she is kind enough to retract her claws before batting my hand away because she doesn't like the way I'm touching her. Sheesh! Cats!) She generally hangs out wherever I am working--on the yoga mat if I'm doing yoga (or under it), on the table or my desk if I'm writing, on the bed, diving under the covers if I'm trying to make it. You get the picture. She's just a zany girl.

She is still very kitten-ish in her behavior, zooming around the house with her tail crooked and her fur puffy when she's excited--which is usually about the time I'm getting in bed, so I can hear her galloping around the house, jumping on and off furniture (and sharpening her claws on it--garrrr! Cats! Sheesh!!), and knocking things over.

Her favorite activity, though, is finding a new place to curl up and sleep, one I am wholly unaware of, so that when I realize I haven't seen her in a while, and I start looking, I can't find her. I can remain pretty calm for the first ten minutes as I walk through the house, calling her name. (Of course she never responds when she's hiding. Because she's a cat. Sheesh!) After twenty minutes, I get concerned. After thirty minutes I am worried, backtracking in my mind, wondering how she might have gotten out or whether she somehow climbed in before I started the dishwasher. Panic rises slowly in me, but I do get there eventually. One day I finally found her sitting in the driver's seat of the truck in the garage. I'd left the windows down in it earlier, and somehow she'd climbed in and gone to sleep. Another time, after I'd searched every hidden corner in the house and under all beds and inside every cupboard three times, I happened to walk through the living room and I saw the fringe on a throw blanket move, almost imperceptibly. I lifted it. Yep, sleeping cat underneath. Several nights ago I couldn't find her, so I headed out to the garage to see if she'd climbed into the truck again. Didn't have to look that far. She was asleep on the hood, up on the vent. I'd driven the truck to pick up the mail earlier, and the engine was still warm.

See, this is the difference between a dog and a cat. If you call a dog, he jumps up and runs to you, wagging his tail and lifting his ears and eyebrows because he wants to know

Are there treats?
Are we going for a ride?
Are we going for a walk?
Is it dinner time?
Do you want to pet me??

And he's sincere about all that. He's excited to accommodate his human because he is one hundred percent loving and devoted. That's why we love our dogs so much. Because... so much love is given to us.

Jenny will come when I call her

If she thinks I have treats
If she's not sleeping
If she's not hiding
If she's not mad at me because I refused her some service or petted her incorrectly.

CATS! SHEESH!!

But... she makes me laugh every day. When I talk to her, she talks back, and not in a snotty way. She just likes to make conversation. And when I nap, all I have to do is call through the house, "Jenny! Blankie!" and she will come--eventually. When she's ready. In her own good time. Then she jumps on the bed, marches on the blanket for an inordinate amount of time, curls against my side, and purrs me to sleep.

A year ago, when I brought her home, I crossed my fingers that she and Purrl would get along. I have to say, this little girl is persistent. Purrl hated her. Chased her, growled at her, hissed at her, and scratched her. Jenny just tried to stay out of her way, occasionally checking--"Do you still hate me?"--then jumping away when the Claws of Death were unsheathed. After several months, though, I found them hiding under the bed together when a loud person came to visit. And then, just a few nights ago--a year and a week to the day after Jenny came home--I watched as Jen climbed onto the couch and curled up next to Purrl. Purrl sat up and glared at her, unmoving, for a full five minutes. Jenny ignored her. Purrl gave up and curled around again. And they slept like that for hours.

Cats. Sheesh.