Cats are curious
creatures. Well, of course, they are. Who hasn’t seen a cat nose into things
better left un-nosed. But what I am referring to is that cats are curious creatures – peculiar,
remarkable, bizarre little animals who can be at the same time both needy and
independent. They can be affectionate one moment and ready to take your hand
off the next. Cats enjoy being unpredictable, a trait that I firmly believe that
they cultivate from kittenhood. They are also wonderful little pets that the
world would be a sadder place without.
As some of you may remember
at this time last year I had three little cats. They started life under my shed,
born to a feral mother. I adopted them as outdoor kitties. Alas, two met unfortunate
ends within weeks of each other leaving me with Mrs. B.
Dear Mrs. B. started life
as a little male kitten known as Bigglesworth.
When the vet informed us that Bigglesworth was not a he, but a she, she was
renamed Mrs. Bigglesworth and, as is usual with longish names, soon became Mrs.
B.
Mrs. B. is now fifteen
years old. Translated into human years she’s a grand old lady of seventy-six.
Interesting how the computation is made. Cats age most quickly in their youth. The
first year of a cat’s life takes her all the way from infancy to mid-teens. Second
year she jumps up to mid-twenties. Then she ages four of our years for each additional
birthday celebrated.
I have recently come to
understand one of the more mysterious things I have seen cats do. Have you ever
seen a cat jump up, run into the middle of, say, the driveway clearly with a
definite purpose in mind, only to stop dead, sit down and clean his ears? I finally
figured it out! They are doing what I do all the time. I am at the kitchen sink
and need clean towels. I leave the kitchen for the purpose of getting clean towels.
I get upstairs only to find that I have no idea why I am standing at the top of
the steps. At which point I sit down and clean my ears. Not really. I go back
to the kitchen and stand at the sink until I remember what I had forgotten.
Maybe cats do the same.
At any rate poor old Mrs.
B. is now into her dotage and getting a bit senile. And I can certainly sympathize.
She’s a little greyer and a bit slower. She complains a lot. Her meow has
changed. It’s a throaty meow that sounds as if she is coming down with
laryngitis. She cries for food after she’s just eaten because I’m pretty sure
she’s forgotten that she just ate. She’s a bit lonely. I think she still misses
her siblings. With any luck Mrs. B. will be around for another few years. I
hope so. Each morning I walk out the kitchen door and say, “Good morning, Mrs.
B.” and she comes running from the deck to get her breakfast. I dread the day
she doesn’t.
