I Hate Cats With a Passion

Growing up with six siblings, we had a cat once.  Her name was Cleo Jane.  Mama told me millions of times during my formative years that she had to get rid of the cat because all of us loved to carry it around by the tail and it just wasn't built for that.  I'm sure it hurt the good feline judging by pictures of her with her new owners.  A Siberian Tiger was smaller than she was, fully grown.

But that wasn't Mama's real reason.  I know that because I am just like her.  She hated the smell of cat.  Everything about it.  The litter, the way the coat smells, everything.  In fact, Mama gave Cleo Jane a bath twice a day.  That cat became so used to water that she would jump into the tub and stare up at you with a pleading look on her face, begging for a scrub.  But, being that Mama was a single mother with seven children under seven years old, with a cat that she felt needed to be cleaner than Queen Elizabeth II's wine glass, the work was just too much and we gave the cat away.

Kristine, my wife, had grown up on a farm where owning a cat was like brushing your teeth in the morning - a bygone conclusion.  After ten years of marriage, we had tried a few times, but I always struck out with my keen sense of smell.  I didn't like the litter and I could smell it from the street.  I also didn't like cats crawling all over me.  So, we tried and failed.

Until a few weeks ago.

I arrived home to two litter-trained kittens.  Kristine and Renaya (10) both assured me that I would never have to clean the litter box or feed the cats.  For the most part, they have stuck to the deal though the first week was really hard on me.  But, I'm one out of eight and I am seriously outvoted, which is good, because the entertainment is now priceless.

The other night, I was sitting on the couch, doing computer-y stuff, minding my own business, when I felt Scratchy (yes, I named them Itchy and Scratchy) jump up on the back of the couch.  I hear him purring loudly and look behind me, right into his face.  He's staring at me inquisitively.  I turned away.  Then, I felt his sandpaper tongue start licking my neck.  He did that for about ten minutes, then settled down and fell asleep. 

Analisse (2) carries a cat around, hugging it's neck, with the body of the cat swinging back and forth below her folded arms.  They love her to death.

Then, this morning, Felicity (5) burst into the dining room yelling, "Mommy!  Mommy!  Look at this squeaky toy!"  Kristine turned around and saw that she was holding Tom (Itchy...yes, their real names are Tom and Jerry).  Then, Felicity laid Itchy on his back and with both hands, pushed down on his belly and chest.  Sure enough, Tom squeaked like a squeaky toy.

Yep.  I think the cats are growing on me.