Ten things I know…

I don’t want to spend too much time on this, but I feel that I should encourage potential pet owners to adopt from your local shelter. The Humane Society of the United States estimates that 3-4 million cats and dogs are put to death every year in the United States alone. Stop for a moment and try to imagine that: that is a number larger than the population of many major world cities. You do not need to pay huge amounts of money to breeders (many of whom breed and raise animals in very inhumane conditions, no matter what they tell you) for a purebred animal; an animal that comes with papers will not love you any more than an animal from a shelter. Besides, the HSUS also estimates that 25% of the dogs in shelters in America are purebred.

Please also consider trimming your pets’ nails instead of having them declawed. A little research will show you that declawing is a crippling operation, and an improper declawing procedure can cause your pet pain and trauma for life.

The pictures in this post don’t do Missy justice, especially to her huge, lovely eyes. I grabbed an ancient digital camera and snapped off a few shots, but she wasn’t in a photo taking mood.

I’m a dog person, through-and-through. I always have been. That’s not to say I don’t like other animals, because I do. I grew up in South Florida and, as I often joke with my girlfriend, in South Florida, if you want a pet, you just open your door and wait for one to come in. In fact, I’m back in South Florida after a sixteen year hiatus from the state, and my girlfriend and I have already acquired a second cat using pretty much the method I mentioned in the last sentence.

Anyway, I’m a dog person. I’ve owned literally dozens of cats, dogs, birds, and fish in my life, but I’ve always bonded most closely with the dogs, enjoying their warmth and open affection. I like having an animal companion who seems genuinely happy when I come home, even if it’s not feeding time. I like having a pet who wants to romp and play and who sleeps at the foot of my bed just to be near me. Given my ‘druthers, I’d have a dog, and a big one at that. I like Collies and Irish Wolf Hounds and other strong, bulky dogs, the kind of dogs that walk you.

I have a cat. Good Lord, I have two cats. For now, we’ll only talk about Missy.

My girlfriend never had a pet as a child, at least not a furry one; her mother kept some fish, but fish aren’t terribly cuddly. My girlfriend often expressed her desire to have a cat after we moved in together, but the time never seemed right. Our first apartment was a dive and we were barely scraping by. Our next apartment was much nicer, but by then, the whole idea of adopting a cat had become intellectual; we’d discussed and rejected it so many times, that we’d forgotten it was a real possibility. Besides, I’m a dog person.

We were fighting, who knows what about. We’d been having one of those stubborn silent periods where we just huffed at each other and infused our movements with anger, never simply picking up an item, always snatching it. Those of you have been in long-term relationships know exactly what I mean. I have no idea what possessed me to do it, maybe it was a subconscious effort at reconciliation, or maybe I just wanted an animal around the house, but I grumpily offered to head down to the shelter and have a look at the cats. She grumpily agreed and we had a few more petty exchanges over how fast the other was moving, or whatever lame things we could think of to argue over, and we headed down to the local no-kill facility.

By the time we got the the animal shelter, I was actually feeling a tiny bit excited. I do love having pets, and it had been years since I’d had one of my own. In we went, and, while the place was nice enough, it’s almost impossible for me not to feel a little depressed in these pet prisons. I actively avoid pet stores because the cramped conditions for the animals really bother me. After a brief discussion with the staff, we went into the cat room to have a look around. I’m a big boy (north of 6′5″ if I’m in thick-soled shoes, and north of 300lbs all the time) and this was a small room. My girlfriend and I could just fit in the aisle between the cages that lined the walls. There were all kinds of cats, but no kittens. Kittens and puppies are like blond-haired, blue-eyed babies in the adoption world: long on demand and short on supply. There was a cat with one eye, who we may very well have taken home out of pity and a fear that no one else would have him, but the shelter staff assured us there were other people interested in him. There was a cat with an incredible jet-black coat of long, glossy fur. There were fat cats, and a few skinny ones; cats that were sleeping, cats that were meowing, cats that were prowling restlessly around, and cats that were sniffing other cats through the bars. There was only one cat who reached her paw through the cage bars and grabbed my sunglasses and belt loop, though, and she’s the one we took home.

Missy was trouble from day one; she doesn’t squat when she uses the box, she doesn’t bury what she leaves, she sometimes pees and poops outside of her box even when the box is immaculate, and she ruined an entire bed by repeatedly urinating on it. Some of this improved when we discovered she had bladder crystals and got her a surgery to get rid of them, but the behavior never completely disappeared. Missy can also be downright ornery. Missy does not like to be picked up and is not a lap cat, which was very disappointing to my girlfriend, she doesn’t like to eat out of our hands, and she is not particularly inclined to playfulness. I’ve always had a way with animals and I treated Missy in the way that came naturally to me. Ever since I was a little boy, I’ve just expected animals to like me and they always have, and Missy is no exception. Over the weeks and months after we brought Missy home, I made it clear to Missy that I was the boss and wouldn’t be bullied and she eventually came to accept and even enjoy the arrangement. When we took Missy for her first visit to the vet, the vet’s assistant was impressed with the way Missy went from a frightened, spitting cat that wouldn’t come out of the corner to docile and purring just by introducing my presence to the room. “Wow, she’s daddy’s girl, isn’t she?” My girlfriend rejected all my advice on the matter of the cat and to this day doesn’t have nearly as good a relationship with Missy as I do.

Missy is a big cat, over ten pounds when we got her, although she dropped a little of that once she was no longer confined to a cage at the animal shelter. She’s also four-paw declawed, which is how she was when we got her. I didn’t think much of Missy’s looks when we adopted her; she just seemed like a fat cat with a standard black-and-gray coat and nothing special to make her stand out. When I look at her now, I can’t believe I ever thought that. For one thing, Missy has some of the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen on a house cat; huge, round eyes set into shallow eye sockets. Her whiskers are long and elegant, sprouting from an attractive muzzle. The little black spot on the end of her nose, which I initially thought of as a blemish, now strikes me as a beautiful feature that adds character to an already unique face. Missy’s body shape, which my girlfriend and I always jokingly referred to as “fat” now looks regal and strong to me.

Missy and I have evolved a pleasant relationship over the years. I leave her alone the vast majority of the time, and when I’m up late at night working on this computer, she perches behind my head and keeps silent company with me. Every once in a while, she comes down off the back of the couch that I sit on to use the computer, and puts her paws on my chest, kneading and butting me with her head. Then, she curls up next to me and I stop what I am doing to pet her, so I can hear her purr. Missy’s purr all by itself makes up for almost everything she’s ever done to cause me grief. Missy has a loud, deep purr that rumbles her whole body and can be heard from halfway across a room. I find myself petting Missy for extended periods of time just so she won’t stop purring.

I wrote this essay because, lately, I’ve been finding myself struck more and more often with how beautiful a cat Missy is, and how well she fits my personality. Yes, I still love a rambunctious dog who wants to play tug-o-war and wrestle and fetch, but I also enjoy the low-maintenance relationship I have with Missy. After nearly six years of Missy’s company, as she approaches her dotage, I am finally starting to really enjoy her as she is. I’ve also been struck very often lately with how much it’s going to hurt to let her go when the time comes. Missy has been in my life for so long, it seems like she’s always been there. Missy has lived with myself and my girlfriend in three cities in three states from the snowy midwest to the Nevada high desert and now on the Atlantic coast. Some awful things have happened in my life during that time, and some good ones, as well. Missy has been silent witness to all of it, always watching quietly from some corner of the room. Missy knows all our secrets, has seen us at our best and our worst. Whatever I do, good or bad, Missy just takes it in with those incredible eyes of hers and, when she feels the urge, she curls up next to me and purrs and makes me glad that she’s here.

I’m a dog person, through-and-through, but I love my cat.

This entry was posted on Thursday, April 3rd, 2008 at 4:29 am and is filed under Front Page Musings, Personal Essays. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.