By Kay Luckett
I have chosen to celebrate the season with something loved by every culture on the planet: cats. As Charles Dickens said, “What greater gift than the love of a cat.” Cat: purring, soft, cuddly, furry, mostly unpredictable, and the sweetest of love. Admittedly, cats are royalty and for me. Honored to be owned by one of them, I remain a very happy slave.
My first cat was Tiggy, who lived with my family where I grew up in Los Angeles and, to my memory, the ultimate cat. This cat is celebrated by the Metropolitan Museum on plates and tea towels and is called “The Favorite Cat”.
A glorious Tabby cat, it was he who slept with me during my formative years and was the saving grace in my life. Ah, but the credit goes to my mom who cut up fresh beef-heart for his meals each day and served it alongside of a bowl of milk. Before you go crazy about this, please note that this was in the 50’s and 60’s.
All cat stories are not great in that they all end with the heartbreaking loss of a cat. We know it’s true that they dn’t live long enough. It’s believed that when they cross the Rainbow Bridge, they are forever looking down upon us with blessings of love and omnipotence. And, no, we cannot replace but are privileged to add to our menagerie by adopting another and then another—or do they adopt us?). That is the happy-holiday recipe for all concerned, and it includes dogs as well.
My next cat era began in the San Franciso Bay Area during the wild 70’s with a pair of litter mates named Mellow and Gorilla. Mellow was a ginger cat, and Gorilla was a black cat who came to live with two youngsters playing around during those trippy days. They surely did not get the care they deserved.
The best I can remember is that Gorilla roamed our Novato neighborhood and casually dropped by to eat, while Mellow got adopted by the disapproving woman next door. No cat of any caliber would have wanted to listen to our offerings of full-blast 24/7 rock music of the era. It was the 70’s, after all. So I was there but not there, if you know what I mean.
Next on the celebratory list comes Sugaree, a pregnant girl who gave birth on my bed while living further south in San Anselmo. This is where I awakened to the fact that it was time to clean up my cat karma.
Sugaree had six babies, each a different color and style, and that probably meant there were 6 different fathers, but we will never know for sure. However, I did clean up my cat karma by making sure each kitten went to a stable and caring home.
As soon as the babies were safe, I dropped everything and hitch-hiked to stay in a communal octagon house near Petaluma, California.
Growing up was filled with some more interesting years which included a commune in Taos, New Mexico. There, we raised goats, corn and weed, and celebrated various Native cultures in our own hippy ways. The end result was the birth of my son, Eric, in 1975. Only feral cats were in the picture at that time, but we drank fresh goat’s milk every day, and my son grew into a strong, cat-loving boy.
We moved back to Los Angeles and were once again chosen by a furry baby who came to our front door. He was a tabby-cat named Kiki who came to live with us while my son grew from a kitten himself into an unpredictable teenager. Eric is now married with two kids and two cats.
Kiki picked a great home because by then we were settled down and pretty stable (at least on the surface). She stayed for my son’s childhood, just as Tiggy had stayed for mine. In the wake of Kiki’s trip across Rainbow Bridge, my son left for college, and I was an empty-nest victim.
A spiritual solution came along in the form of Jones and Princess—who needed a new home and stayed for eleven happy years—along with a tiny, one-month-old tabby boy who camped out at our back door, charged into our lives, and became part of a family of the three-and-me: Jones, Princess, and Tiggy. By the grace of a loving cat-higher power, all three cuddled and slept and hung out together.
Later on, when I moved from Orange County to Prescott, Jones became an indoor cat at the age of twelve. Later on, we got to live with two more cats called Butch and Maggie, whom my ex had adopted from Miss Kittys Cat House. What’s amazing about these little Buddhas is they all fell in love with each other, so it was a happy, joyous free for all.
Along came Bubbles when my chiropractor became allergic to cats. Bubbles was a tabby who loved to lie on her back while I petted her belly. A senior, she stayed for two happy years and got me through being single again.
After she was gone, I did the best thing ever: I went to Miss Kitty’s Cat House and adopted Buttons, who stayed for almost ten years. She came with Ryan, a volunteer from Miss Kitty’s who visited her for all her years with me and gave Buttons a monthly pedicure.
Buttons crossed the Rainbow Bridge last Spring. That was my most difficult good-bye because she had been a special-needs cat and thus our bonding had been sweet and sacred. But the beat went on when yet another cat-loving friend called to suggest I volunteer at Miss Kitty’s. That’s where I met my now dear, senior black cat named Shadow.
She arrived quietly, but upon entering my home last April she managed to open two heavy laundry-room doors and hid in the dark for a month, only coming out to eat each night.
Shadow has been out of the laundry-room now for months and has taken over the house. Her house. She howls like a wolf when she wants something, and I have to guess what it is. If I walk to the kitchen and she follows then, great: home run. Otherwise, I have to try petting, playing, dragging feathers across the floor, lying down while patting my tummy, or just blinking back at her. You cat folks know the drill.
Happily together this holiday season, we will celebrate being at home together and to meditate on those great feline vibrations coming from the Rainbow Bridge above. If you’re quiet now… shhhh… and just breathe… that’s right… you’ll receive love from cats and dogs near and far, and from every culture beyond.
Remembering a quote by Hamilton Wright Mabie is my way of wishing you a great pet holiday every day: “Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love.”
Meow.
