|Our present cat, Tiger, a Manx cat|
The little tabby, long-haired with a snub nose like a Persian, reminded me of a fancy feline I had seen in a magazine. She had never been handled by human hands, but she sat quietly in my lap as we drove the short distance home. In that short time I found my arms crawling with fleas. I hate fleas! I detest fleas! And here I was bringing fleas to my house.
Barry brought the flea powder, and I dusted it over the cat’s coat, rubbing it into and under her fur. She took that treatment for only a few minutes, and then she scrambled out of my grasp. She ran a short way and stopped. She began licking her coat and soon bubbles frothed from her mouth.
“Oh, God,” I yelled to Barry. “I’ve poisoned her.”
The flea powder was meant for a dog, not a cat. I panicked. What was I to do? I filled a bucket with water from the outside hose, it was cold, and plunged the foaming cat into its depths. She screeched and all four paws extended claws that climbed my bare arms. With blood running in the water, I let her fly.
“She’s gone back to the barn,” I said, disappointed. She had been given a rude and frightening welcome to our house.
But a short time later, I saw her curled on the grass out front as the sun dried and warmed her coat. I was a big fan of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s so I named our new family member - Cat - like the stray she had in the movie.
Cat gave us a second chance and I’m glad she did. She birthed five kittens before we were aware we needed to spay her. We kept one of her litter and the mother and daughter, Queenie, lived long lives at our house.
Are you a cat person or a dog person? Why do you prefer one over the other?