It arrived in the mail yesterday.
Isn't it fabulous?
Muerto gato will be displayed prominently in memory of my three cats, but it also got me thinking about them today since it happens to be National Cat Day. I won't reminisce too much here; I actually wrote a post a few years ago that tells you their story. So here is the reprint of that post for Dia de los Muertos, National Cat Day, and just because I remember them fondly and often. (by the way - if you're interested in seeing more of my friend Yolie's art, check out here website HERE!!!)
Home Is Where The Fur Is
(originally printed July 12, 2013)I've always lived in a house with pets. My mother could never turn a stray away from the door - so our home became the Delta Street chapter of the ASPCA. And since I developed my love of animals from my family, my home includes a revolving supply of lint-rollers, carpet cleaner, paper towels, air freshener, litter, plastic baggies, pet food, treats, toys and fur...lots and lots of fur. I'm pretty sure that the longest stretch of time I've ever gone without some type of animal hair on my clothing was about 6 months. My dry cleaner hates me.
And I couldn't imagine my life any other way.
I grew up mostly with cats. One cat in particular we had from as far back as I can recall. She was sweet and aloof, she would curl up and sleep at my feet or walk by and ignore my very existence. We had to call the fire department to rescue her from a tree once only to find out she had already rescued herself and was sleeping comfortably under the bed by the time the firemen declared they couldn't find her from the ladder. We moved across the city and in a show of anger and defiance at being relocated, she promptly disappeared. We searched high and low - but to no avail. She finally came back about a week later, hungry and dehydrated, but on her own terms. She never left the house again after that day. There were multitudes of cats we picked up around the neighborhood - some strays we would bring into our home - others that just lived in peace out on our patio - but she was the Queen Cat, and she made sure everyone knew it. She lived to be about 21 years old - and when she finally passed, we consoled ourselves by saying that she tried to hold out until all the other cats in the house bumped off so she would have it all to herself again.
When I moved across country (the first time), I found myself rather homesick. My boyfriend at the time encouraged me to go to the animal shelter and pick out a cat to help keep me company. Inside one of the cages was a mother cat and her 6 kittens, all looking very sweet and demure and very adoptable, except for the two in the back corner causing a ruckus and fighting with each other.
Yup. Guess which ones I brought home.
Tigger and Taz were with me from that day forward. I dragged them from state to state, home to home. I added another "brother" to the mix after about the fourth year - Moofasa. What I loved best about my cats is that each had his own little quirks and personality. For example, Tigger and Taz would both jump into the bathtub after you stepped out of the shower. Taz would drink from the sink faucet if you turned on the water. Tigger loved to lick the condensation off of anything - bottles, cans, cups - it didn't matter. He also liked his coffee black (yes, the cat would drink coffee). Taz was the only cat I ever knew who had an "early warning" system when he was about to hoark up a hairball. It was the most horrendous meow you would ever hear - but as soon as he started it, he was scooped up and swept off to any room with vinyl flooring (thus saving my carpets much wear and tear). Tigger went through a brief stint where he loved drinking out of toilets. Meanwhile, I'm pretty sure I didn't get a full night's sleep for about the last 10 years of my life - Taz would inevitably wake me up at about 2am every other night because he was lonely or hungry or...something...and Tigger loved to sleep on top of my head on the pillow - thus pushing me further and further down the bed. Moofasa, on the other hand, has always been the "low maintenance" guy of the group. He's huge; that's probably his distinguishing mark on our household. And by huge, I don't mean big. I mean HUGE. But he lets me sleep, he doesn't hack up hairballs, doesn't drink my coffee and is overall a pretty easy going gato.
Tigger and Taz both passed away in 2012, each at the age of 18 - Moofsa passed away in 2013. You tell yourself that you know the day will come eventually - but until it actually gets there, you can never prepare for it. And although I'm not woken up in the middle of the night with strange yowling sounds, I have the pillow to myself, no litter boxes to change, and my own cup of coffee - there is still an empty place in my heart and home where they're all missed each day.
It's funny how something so small can become such a huge part of your life. I could never really see myself having children - but my pets...somehow my life would be incomplete without them. Some would say "but they're just animals." Maybe. But when you consider how they're waiting for you when you get home, they don't judge you, they don't care if you just want Pop Tarts and beer for dinner (they're getting whatever comes out of a can anyway), they never say anything mean or make you feel badly, you get back the feeling of love you give to them, and despite their small size they somehow manage to make your home seem full, isn't that really all we're looking for in our lives anyway? A little love, acceptance and companionship? OK - so maybe you have to scoop a litter box or clean up some hoarked up food - but it's a small price to pay, right?
I once had a guy tell me he felt lucky he saved me from becoming "the crazy lady on the corner with cats...."
Funny...the cats were around longer than he was....
