The Cat Gene

I am what many people would call a Crazy Cat Lady. I love animals in general but have a special affinity for cats, which is a good thing since attracting cats seems to be in my DNA. So much so that, in my family, we call it the cat gene.

During the Depression era, hobos left markings on fences, bridges, sidewalks, etc. to let others know what to expect in that area. It doesn't surprise me at all that the symbol for a "kindhearted woman" was a smiling cat.

Symbol for a Kindhearted Woman. Image from Pinterest.

I'm a sucker for a cat in need and they know it. I'm pretty sure cats have their own version of the hobo symbols and the symbol they use for me means "a sucker lives here". It got so bad that we started calling it the Cat of the Year club. For several years, once a year a new cat would show up - usually in June or July. We rescued a kitten from the church parking lot where it had apparently hitched a ride in the engine of a car. Another we found in the middle of a busy highway - when we straddled it with our car. Fortunately for that baby, traffic wasn't heavy at that time. When we pulled onto the side of the road to make sure it was okay, it came trotting up to us like "There you are! I've been looking for you." Over the years cats did everything except parachute into our yard or get delivered by UPS.

Finally, the influx of cats slowed and it seemed that the power of the cat gene had passed to my sons, especially my youngest. We moved three years ago this August and there don't seem to be as many feral/free-roaming cats in this area. (Thank goodness!) Not long after we moved in, our neighbor brought us a kitten; fortunately, our oldest son and his family gave her a home. All was good until the end of May when I got a call from my youngest son which began "Dad is going to hate me." His next door neighbor had rescued a kitten that had been trapped in his wall and my son was bringing it to us since he knew it would be better off with us than with the neighbor. So, we now have a kitten named Bear. (My husband named him Little Bear; don't ask me why.)

 

 

 

Meet Bear

Bear was only about 5 weeks old when he was brought to us; he was young enough that it was difficult to tell for sure if he really was a "he". (He is.) Bear is busily claiming our house as his own. As of yesterday, he has officially conquered the staircase to our master bedroom which means there is no longer a kitten-free refuge for us or the other cats. Sadly, Bear is also a morning cat; he gets up with the sun and is now making sure that we do as well. My husband and I were both awake by 6:30am this morning. (Unlike Bear, I am not a morning person. Now that I'm retired, 6:30am is far too early for me.)

Of course, having a Bear in the house makes for amusing conversations such as:

Watch out for the Bear!

Where's the Bear?

What happened to you?
It was a Bear attack.

Hopefully this will be the last new cat for several years. (We already have a clowder and don't need it to grow any larger.)

I hope you have a safe, bear free, and appropriately social distanced Independence Day celebration!

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