It all began on my daughter’s 12th birthday. I watched her as she stood at her best friend’s car after school. She would attend a new school the following Monday. We’d recently moved into an apartment across town while waiting for our newly acquired house to be ready. With tears she walked towards my car carrying a small bundle along with her backpack.
“Mom,” she croaked. “This is my birthday and going away present.”
She peeled back the cloth to reveal…a tiny fluffy orange tabby kitten.
I sputtered. “You know how your dad feels about animals. He’s going to have a fit.”
A new round of shuttering tears erupted. “Bu…but it’s a gift from Megannnnnn.”
Dad very reluctantly agreed to keep him. It’s that daddy wrapped around the little finger thing, I’m sure. Bootsie became a member of the family.
Next came Coonie.
She showed up on our doorstep. By then, I was smitten with kittens. I was sure she was just on the chunky side. After all, she wasn’t a year old yet. My children, however, rolled their eyes at me.
“Mom, she’s pregnant!”
She gave us three balls of fluff, Mowgli, Bagheera and Spot.
We moved once again, lock, stock and barrel of cats. Our neighbor found a white kitty complete with collar wandering in his yard and assumed it was ours. Hubster protested loudly as I pleaded with him to house said offender while we found his owner. After all, he wore a cute little collar with puff paint fish. Surely someone missed him.
Signage, phone calls to the animal shelter, neighbor interviews… nada, nothing.
Angel was added to the menagerie. He’d lie on my chest and suck his paw.
When we babysat my mom’s cat, Kittybabe, we housed and fed 6 felines.
As with all living creatures, their clock eventually strikes midnight and they are gathered to their people. Mowgli left us first after only 5 years. Bootsie grew old and followed.
My mom passed and we adopted Kittybabe.
Dear Daughter is now 35. The cats, they came. The cats, they went.
We now have only one bag of fluff. Kleinah.
Kleinah needs serious therapy. We think she’s OCD. We hope it’s just a passing phase while the weather is hot.
She follows Hubster, our son, or yours truly into the bathroom, stands at the sink and waits for water to be dumped on her head and back. No matter how short a time between “showers”, she’s there waiting.
Cats. You either love them or hate them. But they provide hours of entertainment for the whole family.
Marta Burden devotes her time to her love of writing contemporary fiction, devotionals and short stories. Her motto is: “say what you need to say”.
Drawing from her many visits to Israel, Marta seeks to bridge the gap between the Christian and Jewish world.
Marta lives in Northern California with her husband and spoiled cat, Kleinah. She enjoys spending time with her two grown children and eight delightful (grandmothers can say this) grandchildren.
You can visit Marta at: verbalismbuffet.blogspot.com