The Only Good Cat is a Dead Cat
by Marijo Phelps 12/09/2009 / Pets
"The only good cat is a dead cat."
This out of the mouth of the man I was going to marry and spend the rest of my life with. I was suspecting right then that where were not going to be any felines in my life for their own safety and my peace of mind.
Time passed and we did not have the cat discussion. It was several weeks before our second anniversary and Mick was looking really weird.
"Come on, we're going to get your anniversary present"
"Why do you look and sound so strange, honey?"
"Because we're going to the Humane Society."
Several hours later his old roommates would never have believed the picture. Mick, asleep on our bed with a 10 week old kitten asleep on his chest!
He picked her the charcoal gray one with faint buff and white markings chasing her tail at the back of the cage while her two cage mates came clamoring to the door.
"I think we should get that one who can entertain herself with both of us working and all," out of the mouth of a foremost dog lover who is now a cat expert.
I decided to go along for the ride on this one. How could we go wrong, after all we were picking out a CAT.
This little charcoal kitty with white paws came home and hid, then she hissed at a teddy bear in a basket near the floor AND at that CAT in the mirror reflecting back HERSELF.
At first she didn't play like most cats but we found she did like to chase string and shoe laces. Pretty soon she discovered the money jar a large glass terrarium that we dumped all our change into. For months she would jump up and dive in and spend time batting the coins around until one day she had grown she jumped in and couldn't get out. "Mommy" had to turn the jar on its side and help extract her by sliding one shoulder out first. After that the change pot stayed in the closet.
Soon this was the kitty who loved moving with us. My husband is a builder and we build and move and do it all over again. Mitzi loved the condo we lived in while building out first home it had a window that she could reach way up high by taking a flying leap off the landing part way up the second story. Once she got up there we couldn't get her down without a ladder but she loved it there.
We had a scare when we found the previous tenant had put out Deacon - no, we didn't find any rodents but were concerned that Mitzi might have sampled the grain with the blood thinner in it (WATCH what you use to kill mice if you have pets or small children!). She was ok on this one.
We had moved into our very first home built with our own 4 hands (and one carpenter's helper). I had a neighbor over and we were talking and talking in the entry while her 2 year old son chased after Mitzi. Sometime later we realized both had disappeared. We found them in a back bedroom. No telling what had happened but Mitzi's little personality was never the same after that episode in Woodbridge.
She was definitely "daddy's girl" and I don't think she ever hissed at or swatted him. I was not so fortunate.
After we moved to Colorado we realized that she wasn't ornery, she was pretty much a 'fraidy cat. We had all the relatives to visit sleeping bags all over the house. I was brushing my teeth one morning when I felt nudged of the Lord to put my mug full of water on the floor. Mitzi charged up and drank. And drank and drank some more. I got to thinking, no, I hadn't seen her out of our bedroom for the three days since all the relatives arrived but assumed she was going downstairs to her box and food at night.
It then dawned on me with her thirst that she hadn't been out of our bedroom since they all arrived three days before. There were no messes on the floor and we must have had a half dead kitty. We brought her food and box upstairs and I bet no one was as happy as Mitzi "Boo-Boo" when they all packed up and went home.
This little lady lived to the ripe old age of eighteen and survived the addition of two half grown kittens (she is mentioned in their stories too, the ones about Katy Dancer and Stormy Blue)
She passed away peacefully, at home and is now out in this mountain meadow by our big spruce tree with her little buddy Katy kitty. Maybe they dance in the moonlight. Maybe they even relate? It has to be better than it used to be now that they are in "kitty heaven" or wherever it is that our beloved felines go when they are with us no longer.
(C) Marijo Phelps all rights reserved. Use with proper credits.
Saved by His grace in 1974, from 9 years of professing atheism into His loving arms. RN for 23 years, missionary with YWAM then statistical analyst for Every Home for Christ over 9 years. Living with my husband in the middle of a mountain meadow. GRIN! Wanting to spread the good news