Cats happen

Reader beware: For animal lovers only. The following post contains sappy memories and mild anthropomorphism.

I adopted my cat, Peanut, when I was in grad school. My then soon-to-be-ex boyfriend sputtered, "Why did you do that without asking me if I like cats?" I learned something valuable with that conversation, that any partner of mine would have to take a package deal: me and my cat.

After we got married, Zed (who doesn't love animals but tolerates them) and I rescued a cat whose sister was adopted without her. Miss Parker and Peanut became friends in their own cat way. When our first baby arrived, Miss Parker became a nanny cat, and protected Taryn from Peanut, who kept trying to head-butt our infant.

Miss Parker taking her turn watching infant Taryn.

Taryn pulled herself up and surprised Peanut.

Years later, after the deaths of these much loved feline family members, I promised myself that I was done with pets. It is too heartbreaking to say goodbye to these little souls. Miss Parker had feline leukemia and died too soon. Peanut stayed with us for a good, long time, but her kidneys eventually failed, and all four of us were devastated after her death.

No more cats. 

That arrangement lasted for four months, until a cat arrived in our lives: we agreed to foster a stray who had wandered through my friend's neighborhood for a while. Fostering turned into forever after Taryn and Kathy fell in love with Eli. I loved him, too, but I let the girls mount a campaign to talk their daddy into keeping the cat. It's harder for him to say no to them than to me!

One cat was enough.

Then our dear friends announced they were moving out of state and needed some help. Could we watch their cat for a couple of weeks until their house was sold? It was fun to have a second kitty in the house. Eli followed Ginger around, trying to get her to pay attention to him. When she drank from the bath faucet, he sat on the side of the tub and watched. When she left the room, he left too. When the canned food was good enough for her, it was suddenly good enough for previously picky Eli. Ginger charmed the humans, as well. She rearranged the girls' stuffed toys, leaving them in a pile on the landing. She howled in the night, perhaps a love song to the toys she had herded. Our friends moved away* and took Ginger with them.

We missed that second cat.

Our solution was to adopt two kittens. The older one was the last of his litter to be adopted -- saving the best for last -- and the younger one was that rare cat singleton. Tank and Rascal became brothers in their foster home, and wanted to stay together. They fit right in with Eli, who, at seven years old, is experiencing a second kittenhood. He rumbles with his new brothers, chasing them up the stairs and being chased back down. He grooms them and cuddles with them. He wrestles with them and is generally gentle.

Tank, Rascal, and Eli love their wet food.

Three cats watch the falling leaves together.

So now we have three cats. 

Our spending at PetSmart has, predictably enough, increased. The vet bill is only slightly horrifying. The girls are thrilled. Zed reminds me that it is my turn to clean the four litter boxes. 

I woke up last night with three cats keeping me warm. I'm pretty sure they just wanted to wake me up to feed them, but I am choosing to believe they were purring their love for me.

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*We miss our friends, too! But that would be a separate post.