Cats

I've always been a cat man. Never a dog man.

For as long as I can remember cats have been a part of my life. They range from the unimaginatively named 'Tom' I met as a toddler in my grandmothers house about 1958 to the equally unimaginatively named 'Pussy' who lived with us in Seddon in 1966. We moved from Seddon to St Albans (both Melbourne suburbs - maybe 5 miles apart) at the end of 1966 and 'Pussy' went with us. Within a week she disappeared but she came back six months later. We don't know for sure but we speculate she went back to the first house, couldn't find us and came back.

There were other cats in the late 1960's at St Albans. I no longer remember all their names but I remember the one who found a roast chook (chicken to non Australians) awaiting carving, grabbed it and made it to the back fence before being caught! To put things into perspective, my mum wiped the dirt off the chook, carved out the bit mauled by the cat and served it anyway. I'm here 35 years later (and so is everyone else who ate the chook apart from the cat) to tell the tale so it was obviously not harmful .

And then, in 1976, I shared a house with my younger sister in West Footscray. We adopted a cat but couldn't decide on a name. She was a dark tabby; I wanted to call her 'Black Jesus' (don't ask). My sister demurred - she had a point - could I see myself at the back door calling 'here Black Jesus, here Black Jesus'? We compromised and called her Bruce. Bruce lived to the ripe old age of 18 years with my sister.

In 1980 I started living with Sue, my first wife and still a good friend. We had at various times cats called Katzen, Kirsche, Jane, Pooter and Broey. We also had a number of transient visitors who found the cat door and helped themselves to a free feed. One in particular hung around for over a year and I christened him Voskoboinikov. I remember winter nights in the early 80's with myself, Sue and 4 cats all under the covers; two at the foot of the bed and two fighting with us for pillow space .

In the late 80's Sue and I divorced; I wound up living with (and eventually marrying) Peta. Of her, the less said the better (I'm entitled to my opinion!). We had two cats we adopted from the Lort Smith Lost Dogs Shelter. Those two kittens were sure lost! Manon and Kafka. Manny is an english shorthair black and white; Kaffy was an American Calico. Kaffy died on September 27th 2000 and I don't mind admitting I cried like a baby that day. She had throat cancer and taking her to the vet to be put down was, frankly, the hardest thing I've ever had to do. (I'd always sworn that I'd never do it but it was so obvious that she was in a great deal pain and equally obvious that no cure was possible.)

Manon was as frisky as ever at the age of 16 when it was time for me to move from Australia to the USA. But she freaks at travel. Even taking her half a kilometre to the vet makes her panic - how would she cope with a 15,000 Km journey? So, reluctantly, I asked Sue, my first wife, if she'd adopt Manon. She agreed (it turned out not to happen that way but we won't go into the subject - suffice it to say that Manon had to travel 70 Kms instead of 15,000).

And here in the USA we have 4 and one half cats. Two of em lived here before I arrived. Cleo and Roo (short for Kangaroo - named before I got here). I call her Rooster. Then we have Kitten. She was bought for the kids Dad as a very young and not housebroken kitten. Guess what not housebroken kittens do? Yep, they shit where the need takes em. So Dad (who is not me ) decided to lock Kitten in the bathroom. Now I ask you, is that a fit place for a kitten? I thought not. We adopted her and cleaned up the poo. It's not that difficult a task. And we have Ginger. He walked in one night, fully grown, and meowed at me. What he said (translated) was 'this looks like a good place for cats - I want to live here). We did the neighbourly thing and posted notices on trees about a ginger cat one year old and his owners claimed him. Next night he was back and curled up on the bed. We did the neighbourly thing again and they didn't want to know. He's lived here ever since - about 15 months. His orignal people moved out and...

And now we have the half a cat to account for. His name is Einstein. He eats here and he lets us pat him but he's not yet ready to claim sleeping space. I suspect that as we move into January and even colder (it STILL feels unnatural for January to be cold) we'll find Einstein sleeping here. He's more than welcome.