Cats.

My parents died when I was 15. but I grew up with dogs and cats with them. They were into show dogs… or at least were very proud of our St. Bernard dog being an "AKC Registered" dog. Mac’s Lady Twinkles was Twinkles to me. She weighed 135 pounds – she outweighed me all of her life.

When my parents died, my mom’s brother was named by my dad’s will to be our guardian (I have a younger brother). He had all of our animals "put to sleep" – Twinkles, my brother’s dog, another dog, Schnapps, and my cat, who was then only a couple of years old.

(I should mention that my father’s estate was stolen and that we, my brother and I, were pretty much left to fate. And you wonder why I don’t have much regard for "Family"?)

I grew up with a cat. Her name was German and meant "Little Devil". She had been given to my parents when they married in 1960, and lived 16 years; she died in 1976, less than a year before my mom and not long before my dad died.

Before Tuefulkin (Yeah, I’m not sure of the German spelling of her name) died, I got a kitten from a pet store for "my very own" cat. I called him "Pittance" because he was a small kitten (but grew up into a good sized cat) although in my 14 year old voice, he was "pitti cat".

There was nothing wrong with him; he was healthy and well-cared for, and I think anyone can understand my hatred for the man who killed him.

Burn in Hell, motherfucker.

***

My life has been less than stable; it was a long time before I felt I could have "my own" pet. My first cat in my second life was named "Lucky". I called him that because I was a window truck delivery driver, and one night, late, I got back to the plant and found a black kitten under one of the trailers I parked next to. I thought then that his mom got scared away by my truck and I left him there, thinking he would be ok.

I got to work the next morning and found that the black kitten was still there and that some of the window loaders were teasing the kitten and abusing it. No fucking way was I going to let that happen, so I took the kitten away from them and went home with it.

Fuck the job; I’ve got a life in my hands. God damn your asses, motherfuckers.

I went home to find my wife hadn’t left for school yet; she was a high school teacher here. That black kitten was obviously a little young to be on his own, so I went to the pharmacy downstairs and bought an eye dropper – we fed the kitten milk with it for a couple of weeks.

That little bundle of black fur grew into a twenty pound BIG black cat. My wife and I split up; I took the cat with me to my new apartment. A year later, my wife announced she was going home to Japan and asked what I was going to do. I said I was going to stay; that things were going pretty well for me. I came to see that as a mistake, and asked my wife if I could come to Japan too.

With my huge cat. I took him to the vets and got a certificate that he was a domestic cat. I bought a dog carrier for him, he was so big. In fact, the airport Customs and Immigration people were so fascinated by my big cat that they did not look into out luggage or at anything but my giant cat – who was still woozy from the drugs I gave him for the ten hour flight.

Lucky moved into an apartment around the corner from my wife’s parent’s home. My wife never lived with us, but when Lucky got sick, she had time to take him to the vet’s while I went to work.

I came home one night and found Lucky dead, in a box, by my front door.

I was beyond heartbroken; the cat who had helped me when my marriage fell apart; who moved with me to a foreign county, had died at just over 4 years old.

***

He was my first black cat. I missed him horribly, and the fact that my marriage was foundering was not a good addition to the pain.

But, Chance came my way. A black kitten had begun hanging out in my neighborhood and had been eating the cat food I put out. I opened my door to him and he adopted me as his new home. He slept on my bed, he purred for me; he loved me. I called him "Chance" because he was another chance to get it right, to give my pet the best life I could.

He had a girlfriend cat, who I called "Calilicat" – she was a calico cat.

Two weeks later, a 7.1 earthquake at 5:46 am wrecked my city. And, my apartment became uninhabitable. I had to move, and I couldn’t take my cat with me. Everyday, I went to the place where he had been hanging out – I put the dog carrier out for him after my apartment got wrecked on a spot nearby.

Chance wandered away, looking for a new home. My ex-wife tells me that she sees black cats in the nieghborhood; Chance went on to have a life without me.

Callie Cat died that

summer, in 1995.  I went to Oregon for smmer college classes.  My wife called me to say that Callie had died.  She was Chance Cat’s girlfriend; I hadn’t become very connected with her, but I felt her loss.

The quake was in 1995; my wife and I got divorced a year later. It seemed clear that things were not going to work out. I left Japan in 1996.

I came back to Oregon. A series of poor choices led me to crash my car on a bridge and to nearly die. I was in hospitals for 59 days and then in an Adult Foster Care Home for nine months.

It became time for me to move on and I moved into this Housing Authority building. A home!

I got a kitten from my friend’s neighbors. She lived less than a year and I was heartbroken again. I had been taking her to the Vet’s office nearest my home; one of the girls there told me about a family of kittens who needed a home,and I went to see them.

There were three kitten left; two white ones – all white, they were Beautiful – and a black kitten. I kind of wanted one of the white one’s – I had had two black cats by then, but the black kitten crawled into my cat carrier and came home with me.

He lived for 11 and a half years, just short of the average for house cats. Some kind of tumor grew up in his belly; his last days were not pain-free. He died December 10, after three days of terrible illness; I can still hear those pitiful wails if I think about it too much.

(the last three days of his life were not easy; my hair, which has been going grey for awhile, went grey overall)

My friend’s cat is over 18 years old – I saw him last night, my "first Oregon cat", a cat whom I have known since 1996. I hoped my Blacky Cat would live as long, but… he died within the lower tier of a Domestic Cat’s average life-span.

I am Cat-less for the first time in 12 years. I feel that emptiness; I hear that quiet.

I miss my cats and most especially my Blacky Cat.

 

*****