52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks 2023: Week 18 (PETS)
I have frequently written about the pets in our family so wasn't sure what to write about for this week's prompt PETS.
My husband and I have agreed we are downsizing through attrition in anticipation of retirement. When a pet dies we will not get a new one. If I could have only one -- a cat or a dog -- I would choose cat. If Chris could have only one -- a dog or a cat -- he would choose dog. We have compromised by having multiples of each over the 30+ years we have been together.
Since we became a cat-free home I have realized that I am allergic to cats. My head is so much clearer. I am also allergic to dogs since my symptoms are not fully gone. I don't know if I have always been allergic to dogs & cats since I have always lived with them so didn't know any different.
When I looked at our 23&Me results for dog and cat allergies we both have typical likelihood. BUT Chris' is in the very low area of the typical and mine is at the top. It seems our plan to head into retirement pet free is a good one for my health, but my heart is struggling with the decision.
In considering the subject of this week's blog I decided to write about 'all the cats I have loved before'.
Sadly I don't remember the first cat I had. I don't remember if it was a boy or girl. I don't remember it's name. I don't remember what it looked like. BUT I know I was only a few months old when I got my first cat since my mom told me that she explained to my dad that every child should have a pet so they got me a cat. When my dad was transferred from Quebec to Alberta they found a new home for my cat.
When we arrived to the military base in Edmonton our neighbour's cat had kittens. I wore my parents down, and they let me choose the one I wanted. To be honest I think we chose each other. He was a white short haired kitten with blue eyes. My mom wanted me to name him snowball, but I was adamant his name was Herbie. Herbie was a tough cat in the neighbourhood. He was a scrapper, and didn't like anyone except me. As soon as I got home from school he didn't leave my side. I carried him everywhere, and he slept on my pillow.
I have no photos of Herbie because my parents divorced when I was 8. Family breakdown resulted in the loss of my father on a daily basis & on the artifacts of our life pre-divorce. When my mother left my father (who was in the military & away on maneuvers) Herbie was given away to a new home. I will never forget Herbie. I felt his loss deeply.
Our next cat was a long haired beauty named Morris that my step-dad found while canoe racing in a neighbouring town in Ontario when I was 9. To this day I'm not sure he was actually a lost stray cat that dad found or if he was a friendly cat wandering his neighbourhood that dad decided to bring home to me after listening to my sad tales of the lost white cat I loved. Morris was a beautiful cat who refused to live outside or in the barn as my dad intended. He made it known he was a pampered house cat, and chose my room as his personal space. He chose me as his human. A few months later my 6 year old brother came downstairs yelling that Oscar was pooing mice in my drawer. Morris became Morrisina - the proud mother of 4 beautiful kittens.Morris was given to the family who moved into the farm house when we moved back to British Columbia. I have no photos of Morris aka Morrisina.
At our new house we adopted a 1 year old purebread chocolate point siamese cat named Mo. He was part of a litter that was named Eeny, Meeny, Miny, and Mo - our Mo was the 4th born in his litter. Mo had been declawed by his previous owner. At some point one of those claws grew back,, and he shredded furniture with that one claw. This was the first cat that moved with us. He moved with the family back and forth across Canada, and lived to a ripe old age of 19. Mo and I remained attached even after I moved away from home - he would sleep with me whenever I spent the night. When I first moved out of the house I moved into a basement suite that allowed me to have a cat or small dog, but I worked long hours and hadn't made the decision to get one on my own.
My younger brother was about 8 when he brought a small grey kitten (in a tiny cardboard box) home with him on the school bus telling my parents he adopted it. After about a week my mom asked if I would take the cat because Mo was being mean to the kitten. When this tiny ball of grey and white fluff was dropped off to me I was smitten. I named him Einstein because I thought he looked wise. He and I quickly became family who were inseparable.
He loved human food - lasagna was his favourite. When the movie Roxanne was filming in Nelson Einstein & I lived next door to the firehall. If you watch the movie carefully you can seen a small adorable grey cat walk through one of the scenes. The movie folks didn't think he was that cute, and asked me to keep him in the house during filming. Sadly Einstein couldn't accommodate them. He was about 4 when he was hit by a car, and the vet couldn't save him.
After about a year without a cat I decided to adopt one from the SPCA in Vancouver. I had never been in an SPCA, and all the cats looking for homes broke my heart. How could I choose one? There in the middle was a tabby cat using the litterbox. After Einstein's death I had decided an indoor cat was for me. This cat clearly knew how to use a litter box so my decision was made. I filled out the paperwork to adopt Seco, but the description didn't match the cat and he had long lost the paper collar that had his details on them so they made their best guess.
Over the years his name evolved to Tiki. On the few times he ventured outside he would dash back into the house to use the litterbox - he never did learn the outside world was a big litterbox. We never did know how old he was when I adopted him, but the vet guessed 3 making him minimally 16 years old when he died.
While out at a park a few years later there was a black and white tuxedo cat who was limping, meowing, and immediately heading my direction. He sat down at my feet looking adoringly at me. The folks that were there said he had been limping around the neighbourhood for about a week, and no one owned him. I took him the the SPCA after my companion pointed out there might be a little girl crying for her lost cat. I told the SPCA that if he didn't get claimed I wanted to adopt him. They reassured me they would get the vet to check his leg. 10 days later the SPCA called me saying he hadn't been claimed, and asking if I wanted to adopt him. I headed off to pick up my cat who I named Charlie. When the SPCA said they hadn't had the vet look at the leg, but it seemed to be getting better, I was upset - he was still clearly in pain, and it wasn't better. Immediately to the vet we went receiving the bad news that his hip was dislocated, but due to the length of time that had passed it no longer could be re-located. He was put on $100 a bag growth kitten food to assist with healing the joint to make it functional. He also let me know Charlie was about 5 months old. Charlie's hip healed enough to minimally impact him until arthritis set in when he was older. He was 12 years old when he died of a heart attack laying in the sun on the back deck. I was Charlie's human - he slept with me every night (often on my head).
On a morning between meetings I was dropping our older son off at a summer recreational program when I noticed a box with a kitten in it that said 'free kitty last day'. A lady I knew asked if I wanted a kitten. I said we had 2 older cats so really didn't need a kitten. She said 'too bad because if he doesn't get a home today he's going in the river tomorrow'. I stood and looked at her for an awkward few minutes and then said 'give me my damn cat we're going home'. I was late for me next meeting because I had to deliver him home. When I walked in with him sitting on my shoulder our younger son was ecstatic, but my husband not so much. He was named Oliver for the boys' favourite movie - Oliver & Company. We were a 3 cat household for only a few month when Tiki died. I was Oliver's human - he slept with me every night. After Charlie died Oliver began sleeping on my head. Oliver died at 18 1/2 years old.
Remembering the cats I have loved before reminds me that I really do love having a feline family member. I also realize our cats live very long lives, and are not a commitment to take on lightly. Added to my realization that I have allergies it does seem that heading into retirement as a cat-free home is for the best.
The tiny paw prints marking my heart.
This is why I search -
Cause ...
You can pick your friends, but you can't pick your family you know!
***Any errors are my own. Please send me any updates or corrections via the comments at the bottom of this blog post***
Links:
Amy Johnson Crow, 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks Challenge
https://www.amyjohnsoncrow.com/52-ancestors-in-52-weeks/
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