Cats (youngsters:non fiction, 1042 words)
Author: Lou Hill	Added: Mar 31 2002	Views/Reads: 4562/2509	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Recalling the cats that have been my owner.

CATS 

My family has always been cat lovers.  One of my favorite pictures of my
mother shows her and my Uncle Jimmy each holding a huge cat, wide grins 
on their faces.  My Aunt Doris stands between them, scowling, probably 
waiting for a cat-fight to erupt. 

Two cats, a calico and a tiger and white devil, currently own my wife,
Gwen, and me.  The calico is named "Cali", for her color, and the tiger 
is "Tinker", short for "Tinkerbell" because she flits from spot to 
spot. 

Tinker" is my cat I found her in a blackberry patch "up	 back" a few
years ago.  At the time we hadn't come back home to Vermont permanently 
nor had we built our house here in Enosburg.  Since we didn't have a 
cat cage available, we had to let her ride back to Long Island loose in 
the car.  For a while she lay on the seat between us, as calm as could 
be as if she went for rides every day.  Finally she decided that she 
wanted to see outside so she clambered up on my shoulder and rode the 
rest of the way perched there purring softly in my ear. 

My shoulder has become one of her favorite perches, she	 will jump there
at the most unexpected moments.  This frequently happens when I am 
enthroned in the bathroom, my favorite reading spot.  She will leap to 
my shoulder and curl around my neck, settling there, purring and 
knitting, until I get a stiff neck and shrug her off. 

We have never been original with names.  Most of our	 tiger cats have
been named  "Timmy", a name originated by my mother for our first cat 
and continued with little regard for sex. 

Several years ago, when we lived down in Bristol, we had	 Timmy IV.  One
of our neighbors had a mischievous little tiger kitten named Bambi who 
was a frequent visitor at our house.  Bambi's mistress had a liking for 
strong drink and frequently forgot to feed him.  Bambi would get 
disgusted with his accommodations and move to our house for a few days. 
My wife is a sucker for waifs. 

One bitter cold winter day I opened the back door to find Bambi on the
back steps.  I wouldn't let him in as the rest of the family was still 
asleep.  The two cats would have torn around and laid waste to the 
house if left un-watched. 

I went on out to water the horse and pony, following a path I had
shoveled in the deep snow.  I stayed out with the animals for several 
minutes.  As I started back to the house, I met Bambi on his way home.  
He stalked down the path, never looking left or right.  As he passed 
me, mumbling to himself in cat talk, I swear that he called me a SOB.  
A few weeks later Bambi moved in with us permanently. 

Of all our cats, my favorite was Timmy II.  This particular Timmy was a
little bob-tailed female, a gray and black tiger.  We got her when I 
was about ten years old. At the time we lived in the big three 
apartment house on the end of Orchard Street here in Enosburg.  The 
house had flat roofed porches both in front and in back.  My mother was 
a firm believer in fresh air while you slept so, winter and summer, our 
bedroom windows were always open. 

Since we didn't have screens, the open windows provided Timmy with her
own entrance and exit which she used to come and go as she wished.  She 
was able to crawl out of the window , step down onto the flat porch 
roof and climb down one of the trees growing next to the porch. 

Like most cats, Timmy's favorite time to prowl was at night.  She always
slept with me and would go to bed when I did.  When she got the hunting 
urge she would use her private exit and go out.  When she had enough, 
she would climb back up the tree, come in through my bedroom window and 
curl up on my bed. As I sleep like the dead and won't wake up unless a 
bomb explodes under my bed, she never disturbed me. 

One night Timmy apparently played with a skunk on one of	 her nocturnal
expeditions with the usual results.  My mother	 often told me about 
waking up and smelling this horrible odor.  She went into my bedroom.  
There I lay, flat on my back, mouth open, sleeping blissfully away, 
with an unhappy little cat, reeking of skunk, curled up on my chest. 


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