A couple of months ago I
acquired a new cat. Her name is Ellie and she is a beautiful spotted Calico,
white with splotches of caramel and black. I’ve owned cats for over four
decades but just assumed that the cat who died about four years ago, was my
final feline. When I was in my early
twenties and still living at home, I asked my mother if I could have a cat.
Intuiting my underlying motivation she said: “Get yourself one on two legs.”
And I eventually did, a 6’3, 230 pound cat followed by three, two-legged
kittens, eager to be cuddled and stroked, like cats. When we moved to a house
in the country the children begged for a cat so I answered an ad in the local Shopper
offering “free kittens.” I had never owned a pet before and nervously asked if
I would have a problem raising it. The cat owner, noting my litter, laughed ”If you can raise three children, you can
definitely handle a kitten.”
The last of our family cats was a domestic
shorthair, Lily, beautiful but feral. She never allowed anyone to pick her up;
you could only stroke her at arm’s length. In fact, we never could get her to
the vet in the 21 years we owned her.
“The Vet? Not me!” and she would disappear for days until we gave up and
put the cat carrier back in the attic. However, she was there for me when I
needed her after my husband died, and, in gratitude, I do not begrudge her all
those years of Friskies. After Sam’s death, I would frequently wake in the
middle of the night, crying. She would hear me no matter where she was, rush to
my bed, climb in next to me and put her head under my hand so I could stroke
her until I calmed down and went back to sleep. Then she would leave, her job
done.
After Lily died, a decided
I didn’t want another cat. Too much work. And besides, given my age, what would
happen to it if I died or got sick, My friend Meg offered to take the cat if
the time came when I couldn’t care for it and another friend told me about a
non-profit cat adoption service a “saintly” woman runs out of her house in
Springdale. It’s like a matchmaking service, okCupid for cats. After you
contact her, she e-mails you photos of the cats she has for adoption. You pick
the one or ones you might be interested in and she will bring them to your
house to see if you are “compatible.” I chose Ellie from a half dozen
prospects; she came to visit and ended up staying, the best, most intelligent
and loving cat I have ever had, a perfect studio companion, napping inside a gilt
frame on the drafting table, watching me while I paint.
She and I recently had a
battle royal over whether or not she could go outside. It seems my next door
neighbor was accusing her of leaving paw prints on the top of his cherished
Mercedes convertible. He said that if she scratched the cloth top he was going
to make me pay $6,000 for a new one. Apparently, he had already called the
police about her and next time he saw her on his property, he would tell them
to cart her off to the Animal Shelter He also informed me that he owned a gun
for protection against “burglars” (was he referring to my cat?)
Like it or not, Ellie is
now an unhappy “indoor” cat, constantly racing me to the door begging to be let
out. We’re just both going to have to live with that. If I only could train her
to critique my art work, things would be perfect!
Paw up (painting good). Paw
down (get the turpentine.)
Renee Kahn
