By Jackie Deal
I’ve been had! Shiny black hair, beautiful golden eyes. And a sparkling white tuxedo. Love and spunk in one adorable package. Yes, I have a cat…no, wait a minute. The cat has me! Amber, that’s her name, has taken over. In less than two weeks she owns my heart and home.
I haven’t had a cat since I was eight years old, so it takes some getting used to. The litter box! I swear she invites all the kitties in the neighborhood to play in her sand box. No ten pound cat could produce so many cow pies (you farmers know of what I speak!). All right so they’re “cat cookies”. That nifty little scoop with the holes to drain out the litter and retain the cookies! The person who invented that should have become a millionaire. It’s a much more valuable than all the “progress” made by politicians and they all become millionaires or billionaires!
As days go by, Amber’s full personality shines through. She wants attention on her schedule not mine. I try to walk across the floor and she throws herself full length in front of me. She stretches her front feet up over her head, her tail out straight and presents her fluffy white tummy. She loves a belly rub until…until…she has had enough. Then I see that look come into her eyes and if I persist she grabs at me with all four paws. Her expression says, “Who do you think you are? My ancestors devoured your ancestors without even chewing.”
In the evening she declares a love fest. I’ll be stretched out in my chair, feet elevated, practically vertical. With a thump she makes a two paw landing on the coffee table and parachutes into the middle of my book. She stretches her paws and face up toward mine and I must pet with both hands. Both hands. If I put one hand down she butts her head against it and forces my hand up over her head. Her half closed eyes and soft murmurings are reward enough for losing my place in the book.
Play time also comes in the evening. She throws her stuffed mouse into the air, pirouettes beneath it and gives it a good mauling. She also fights with the scatter rugs. They go sailing across the floor and she tackles the fringes until she gets her claws stuck. If I try to unhitch her she thinks I’m part of the game and those claws are sharp.
Cats, as you all know, are not like dogs. They don’t give you unending, unquestioning devotion. They give a little, they take a little, and they maintain an arrogant independence that reflects their Ming dynasty ancestry.