Beloved Felines

Our household was graced with five cats during the last 30 years or so. The first one was called Black Panther. We acquired him a few days after he was born. The mother cat was killed and the litter dispersed to anyone who would give them a home. He survived by being fed milk through an eyedropper. My children and I would take turns feeding the kitten at least every hour or two at first. It was like having a newborn in the house. He looked so tiny and was quite comfortable in his little shoe box. It wasn't long before he was weaned off the steady diet of milk and started to eat regular cat food.

At the time we had a guinea pig named Honey, and little Panther would climb into her wooden box and sample the food. You would say they were best buddies and grew up together. That cat learned to like carrots, cucumbers and lettuce. It was humorous to see a large black cat sitting in the box with the guinea pig. I would remark, “You silly cat. That’s a rodent you are sharing space with”. The box was slightly larger than a milk crate and quite comfortable for the guinea pig. There was really no room for a large black cat. Honey seemed not to mind Panther’s visits, but sometimes objected to his eating her food. She would circle around inside the box, and then briefly snap at the cat to get him to leave her little home.

When Honey passed away from natural causes and old age, Panther became a wanderer who would disappear for a few months, then return home to us. He would meekly announce his arrival by crawling on his belly as if to ask for forgiveness. He would stay with us for a few months, and then disappear again. He did this so often I would wonder if he had another home someplace else. One day he just never came back. He was the only cat of the five that was never altered.

The other four cats, Mittens, Holly, Goldie and Crystal died under unusual circumstances. Holly was about five years old when she disappeared from the house. I had no idea what happened to her, and I was upset for the longest while. She was my favorite and would always stay by my side. She actually cocked her head when I talked to her. I swear that cat understood everything I said to her. She was the only cat that I allowed to sleep at the foot of my bed.

Mittens was a cute black female who wasn't yet six months old when she begged to be let outside one snowy winter night. She never returned. I suspect she strayed away and was picked up by someone who took her back to his or her home. At least that is what I hoped happened to her.

Goldie was a playful male, who grew up to be big and handsome. He also came to us as a kitten of 6 months. We had him neutered as soon as practical. Like his namesake, he had long golden hair and a large bushy tail. He suddenly developed Uremia at about 3 years old. We never suspected anything was wrong, and he died in my youngest son's lap as he was taking him to the hospital. He was one of the last two cats in our household at that time, the other being Crystal, who was a frisky 12 year old female, a Russian Blue. Goldie always wanted to play with Crystal, but she wanted nothing to do with him, and that made Goldie all the more determined to tease her. He would pounce on her when she strolled by or he would mischievously attack her tail as she slept.

Crystal was definitely an independent feline, who came into our household newly spayed at seven months old. She would come and go and did as she pleased. She was careful to stay out of the way of people traffic. Crystal didn't use the litter box, yet she never had an accident inside the house. She knew she was the Queen of her domain, yet she was never underfoot. She would suddenly come running from out of nowhere as soon as she heard the sound of a can of cat food being opened up.

Crystal knew she wasn't allowed on top of the kitchen countertops, and she adhered strictly to the rules. However, I knew I was being made the fool when I would hear her gently drop to the kitchen floor as I walked through the hall during the night to enter the kitchen. For some strange reason, she would never get any fleas, too, which was unexplainable, since Goldie would be full of them at one time or another. I could never understand why that was so.

Crystal showed some affection for my dear husband, who was very ill at the time. I would come home from work and find them both sleeping. Crystal would jump up onto his lap as he slept in a recliner. What boggled my mind was that my husband insisted that he disliked cats, yet he was concerned if harm threatened any of them.

About six months after Goldie's passing, Crystal was attacked by a pack of dogs and was literally torn apart right there on our property. I was heart broken and never took in another cat since. I still have the greatest affection for them, though.

June 16, 2002