Over the years Jon and I have had some cats we loved dearly. They have been sweet, playful and loyal and really just great companions. Before all these little dogs came into our lives we were considered cat people. But for me, this was not always the case.
I only had one cat when I was growing up. My father had very strong opinions and a deep rooted hatred of the creatures. We could have dogs, rabbits, chickens or goats, but he would not live with a cat.
When I was in the sixth grade, our house was destroyed by a tornado. We moved into a rent house while we were rebuilding, and our dogs stayed at the old place, where they could run and play and watch the property. We went to feed and play with them every day, so we were not just abandoning them. Anyway, with the dogs in a different location I thought this would be the perfect time for me to get a kitten. I begged and pleaded with my dad until he finally gave in.
My brother's friend said he had some new kittens and we could have our pick. Now, I had this picture in my mind of a sweet little white kitten, named Chantal, after Sandra Dee in my favorite Bobby Darin- Sandra Dee movie. She would sleep curled up on my baby blue bedspread beside my baby blue princess phone and my world would be complete.
When my brother, Jerry, and I went to pick out my kitten we were sent to the barn. We picked the one we could catch. It was yellow and dirty and MAD! I thought, "Oh, you just need some warm milk and a bath". The milk was a good choice, but the bath didn't go that well. You know how sometimes you look at an old scar and wonder why your parents didn't take you to get stitches? Well I wonder why mine didn't insist on skin graphs.
Chantal turned out to be a very large male cat. He hated us. He would hide behind furniture or in the hallway and attack when you walked by. We lived every day in fear. All of us except Mom. For some reason he loved my mother. She called him Precious, and when he meowed you would swear he was saying Mama. He was a real Tom Cat, staying out all night only to come in when Jerry, another Tom Cat, came home.
One night our house was finally finished so we packed up as much stuff as we could and started the big move. After the final load was ready we had intentions of spending the night in our new house. Someone said, "Where's the cat? " We looked around quickly, agreed we didn't know, jumped in the car and drove to safety. The next morning we went to get a few more things and clean the rent house. The screens were torn from the doors and windows, but there was no yellow monster cat in sight.
I know this sounds awful, but we had been through so much with the tornado and all. I felt sure Precious had found a new family to terrorize. Who knows, he may still be frightening children in that same neighborhood today.
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