OK
@Phyllis Sidhe_Uaine, my cat story.
Mom had cats growing up. Lots of cats, I can still name most of them. I can vouch a bobcat can mate, successfully, with fertile offspring...we had like two generations over time.
Mom wasn't a particularly good housekeeper. I take after my dad...I don't mind a little clutter, it makes a house look lived in. But I can't stand filth. 'Nuf said.
I appreciate cats, I'm not mean to them. Generally I can take them or leave them. But certain ones gravitate to me.
For a time I lived in a bus turned mobile home in my aunt's backyard. My aunt had cats. Outside cats. Many cats.
Three I remember, one was Popeye, on account he had one eye. Another was Gimpy, he had a broken leg mended. My aunt went to vet school, and was some sort of technician when she hurt her back. Grandma got her a good job later. Aunt had a menagerie of animals, more of a collection than a zoo. I did what I could, but I was struggling, had been pretty much my adult life to that point. I couldn't afford myself, how could I afford a wife and child?
Popeye was a hog, guarded the food bowl and gorged himself every day. None of the other cats ate until he had his fill. He ruled the roost.
Gimpy most days did pretty good, but on cold days he would get a limp. I could relate, I had broken my leg falling off a roof. I'd let Gimpy into the bus on cold nights so he could sleep by the little electric heater I had in the bus. He would thank me when I came home from work to one or two songbirds laid out very neatly.
I started driving truck, and one trip soon after he greeted me and I watched him go into the woods, like I'd seen him do a thousand times before. I never saw him again.
The third was a Russian Blue, gorgeous color, but the dear old lady, and she was ancient, well in her teens, had kitty alzheimers, that's what my aunt called it and I'm inclined to agree that was a pretty good estimation. She passed away not long after I came on the scene.
My cat was Coco. Actually, her
real name was Combat Operative, Cat Offensive. C.O.C.O. I taught her to take care of herself from a very early age. I had scars on my arms from playing with her. I didn't witness, but I was told she pounced on the back of an aggressive dog and rode that dog down the block. I believe it. I did see her stare down a Golden Retriever, she might have been 6 months old, give or take, and that Goldie didn't know what to make of it...cats are supposed to run. Goldie would have never hurt her or any of the cats she chased, she just liked to chase. After awhile the other cats caught on. But Coco stared down Goldie and Goldie eventually backed off.
Life Happened.
I was in a Motel room years later, staying there for about two months I think it was. Young black male started coming around, I let him in at night two times, and he was gone the next day. I think the landlords must have seen him come out of my room first thing in the morning. <shrug> I never knew his name.
That's the last cat I had anything to do with directly. I've told the stories of my dogs, well, some of them. Many stories I haven't told.
Oh, I forgot, I had Bear (German Shepherd / Chow mix), and my aunt had 3 or 4 other dogs, besides the cats. Bear was my dog before Cricket.
s with their emotional support items (one has an emotional support tube from a roll of paper towels!)
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