Eighteen years ago, when my parents were mere spring chickens of 65, the most recent in a long line of family moggies padded off to the big litter tray in the sky, and they swore off cats, they said, for good. 'No, no,' my father said when it was suggested they might get another. 'We're too old to start another cat.'
Shortly thereafter my sisters trundled back to my folks' place from the RSPCA with a large and rather scared grey tabby who'd been brought in by a man whose father had died and left his cat, then age 2, to be dealt with. 'Ah,' said my friend D when informed of this new development. 'An adult cat. With habits. And eccentricities.'
Tiger saw my mother through her last six years, and my dad through three bedridden months after he fell off the roof, then widowerhood, then remarriage and finally divorce before he and one of my sisters finally took her off on that last sad trip to the vet a couple of months ago.
I went to visit him today. 'Come and see the Christmas present I bought myself,' he said, and opened the door to his bedroom. A small, lithe kitty, cafe au lait, chocolate and white with bright blue eyes, leapt up off the bed and came to meet us, twining and purring.
Cecil is a rescue cat, who'd been brought in as a stray and had had a hard time before that, brought back to health and condition by the dedicated people at the Animal Welfare League. He's a snowshoe cat. Cecil is seven. My dad will be 84 in February.
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16 comments:
Kerryn, what a comforting, warming post to read on a cool Melbourne evening. Many thanks.
Those wondrous cats, they keep us going.
How lovely that he wants another cat, and how beautiful this particular cat must look - lucky, lucky Cecil to have found someone who will appreciate him so much.
[clutches heart]
I just looked up snowshoe cats. Wow! What a great find. I heart your dad, more now than ever. Have you got a plan B for eventualities (like you taking Cecil? :))
Lovely, just lovely.
Treasure your Dad, PC.
Duckie, I did indeed consider eventualities, but he is nothing if not a realist and he had thought this through -- he knows (because we told him, during earlier discussions of the pet situation) that one or other of the three daughters will come to the party Cecilwise should the need arise. The way he's looking at the moment, he'll probably outlive Cecil as well.
What Ampersand Duck said. I love Cecil's name too.
Cecil came with his name attached, and there's a rule in my family that you can't change a pet's name once it has one (hence Tiger). My dad keeps calling him Cyril and Cedric by mistake, but I'm sure he'll settle down eventually.
If Cecil looks anything like the Snowshoe cat in the Wiki article, he is a very beautiful moggy indeed. What a find!
Cats wind their paws into your heart strings don't they. Thank you so much for sharing that - it brought a tear to my eye.
Aw! Thanks for sharing. I was just reading the online papers and a few blogs and a bit of twitter and a squizz at facebook and was feeling flat and overwhelmed by a pile of poo - your post just erased it all. Thanks!
Cecil looks a bit like my late cat Spike, who died in his sleep when he was about 19. (Spike had darker points, but the same white feet.)
lovely, lovely, lovely.
thank you for sharing
Ahh the kitty cats. My last cat was given to me by someone whose landlady would not allow animals. Sufi, (I did change her name- I know you shouldn't change a boat's name but did not know the rule about cats) is a much loved member of household. Realised the other day she was getting quite old!
Lovely story and glad your Dad has a newbie.
Since he still can't remember whether it's Cecil, Cedric or Cyril, he's thinking of changing the puss's name after all. We await developments.
Buddhist jumping cats http://www.tribaltextiles.info/Galleries/Nga_Phe_Kyaung.htm
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