Masters and staff
The old saw is that dogs have masters and cats have staff.
The Legal Genealogist has only ever had two dogs, in long-ago childhood days, so can’t really speak to the former.
But I have been owned by cats essentially all of my life, and can certainly attest to the latter.
The first pet my family ever had was an AKC-registered collie named Doc. I was too young really, when we had him, to remember Doc, but I sure remember one of my mother’s favorite stories about him.
Because he had such a good bloodline, my parents decided to … um … there isn’t any delicate way to put this … put him out to stud.
So the plan was to put the pretty little female dogs out in the backyard, and bring Doc out to meet them through the kitchen of our Colorado home.
It didn’t go quite the way it was planned.
The story goes that, when we moved away from that house, there were two physical reminders of the breeding effort. First, the claw marks across the floor where my parents literally had to drag Doc — resisting every step of the way — across that floor to get him out the back door the first time there was a female in the backyard. And, second, the new screen door they had had to install when Doc launched himself enthusiastically through the closed door the second time there was a female in the backyard.
But my own pet memories begin, and will end, with the cats that have owned me.
The first cat I can remember is a black-and-white furball named Friskie. She came to live with me when I was in elementary school and was with me until I went off to college. She was one of the culprits in the Great Thanksgiving Massacre. The family went off to Virginia to have turkey with the grandparents; the cats stayed behind in a house with a cage of canaries. They decided if we were having bird, they were having bird.
The birdcage got moved then, and again when I ended up home briefly after college needing nursing through a bout of pneumonia. I brought my cat Tiger with me and, within minutes after arriving in the house, she had climbed the front of the birdcage, had the door open with one paw and was swiping into the cage with the other.
Except that the bird flew out and away and the cat cried because she couldn’t get down. The cage was moved after the fourth or fifth time that we had to “rescue” the cat.
Junior and Missy came next — in 1972 — and were with me through some of the biggest changes of my life. A pair of tiger tabbies, he was generally referred to by the full name “#$%&@ it all Junior get down!” and she by the moniker “Missy Prissy Fat Fanny Pee Pants PoohBear.” The nicknames alone will tell anyone who’s ever been owned by a cat all you need to know. They were with me for nearly 18 years.
After I lost them, my mother’s cat had kittens — and several of the litter were solid white with light eyes. That’s a likely indicator of deafness. They’d have no chance out in the country where my mother lived, and it wasn’t likely that they’d be adopted. So, in 1990, two of them came home with me. Mist and Snow, both solid white, both congenitally deaf.
I learned quickly that yelling at a deaf cat is the ultimate in futility, so I bought a plant mister to use to try to convince them not to do whatever it was they weren’t supposed to be doing. Snow soon began to run as soon as I picked up the plant mister. Mist, on the other hand, would curl up, cover her face with one paw and swipe at me with the other.
Mist is also the one who acquired the nickname Fang. As a kitten, she managed to get inside a rocker recliner where she’d gotten her leg tangled in an upholstery cord and was hanging upside down, screaming. I cut through the upholstery to get to her and had one hand to hold the cord away from her leg, one hand to use the scissors and no more hands to hold the cat, who was frantic. By the time I got her out, there was blood all over the place (and on a solid white cat, even a little blood looks like a lot). I threw her in the cat carrier, flew to the emergency vet, they cleaned her up, looked at her, looked at me, and solemnly advised, “Ma’am, there’s nothing wrong with this cat.” All the blood was mine, where she’d bitten me. I still have the report from the emergency vet: it says the cat was given a muscle relaxant and calming agent, and the owner was sent to the hospital for treatment of cat bites…
My most recent pair are called Clancy and Ciara. The boy is a ginger tabby and was screamingly red as a kitten, so his name had to be Gaelic. Clancy means red warrior in Gaelic, despite the fact that he’s lover, not fighter. I needed a Gaelic name for the little girl, a tiger tabby. Since she has black paw pads, a black tail tip and a black nose, I went with Ciara (pronounced KI-ra), which means black-haired.
They’ve been with me for 10 years now, and we’re working our way at the moment through a medical situation with Ciara that’s desperately worrisome. What we thought was “just” urinary tract or kidney issues turns out to be far worse: she has a pituitary tumor and will need radiation to control the tumor and buy her a bit more good time for pets and cuddles.
After my usual “when in trouble or in doubt, run in circles! scream and shout!” stress reaction, I’m getting my emotional feet back under me and doubling down to give her the care she needs for the best life she can have for whatever time she has left.
Because the fur babies — the pets who’ve owned us — are also a part of our family history.
And sometimes the very best part…
Oh my word, LOL. I am currently owned by [number deleted for privacy reasons] cats. I understand.
Anybody who’s owned by a cat will… 🙂
I do understand! My current furbaby count stands at one dog and four cats.
🙂
Now I know you are OK, Judy. A cat lover! My old boys are gone now but the grand-cats come to visit every so often…when our kids go on trips.
Always a cat person! 🙂
Love your cat stories! My current old ladies are both 21 and still ruling the roost.
I found my Tippy when I was 6 or 7, someone had dumped her in our back lot (a 100 acre farm so mean a good 10 minute walk from the house) She was a beautiful Calico who had a cream colored tip on the end of her black tail. Her white, orange, and black were all very well defined so this tip being an off white led to her name. She was my best friend growing up and with me 18 years! Have long thought of getting another but until recently I have decided against it as I fear no other can compare to her. Needless to say I can’t wait till I get owned again by a sweet kitty.
Thank you for sharing this with us Judy!
You know Tippy would want you to share your home with another sweet kitty.
Big Hugs, Judy. Thanks for sharing the pet stories, and making sure we don’t forget them as part of our family history stories.
Thanks, Sue. They sure are our babies, aren’t they?
I have been owned by cats since I was 2 and currently have two that I work for -Quill and Salola, named for two of my sibling ancestors. For those of us without children, these furry kids are indeed our babies.
Definitely our babies.
This makes me laugh and cry all at the same time. Dealing at the moment with a 17 yr old with kidney issues. Owned by my fur babies forever!
My profoundest sympathies… and best wishes.
I am owned by a 14 year old lab who is so much a part of my family that I included him as my only “child” in my father’s obituary.
Love it. 🙂
I’m reading this early in the morning. Thank you for all the laughs upon wakening.
Our furbabies do make us laugh…
I’ve added “pets who’ve owned me” to my personal story to be written! I’ve always had canaries for over 70 years (beautiful rollers), and started with cats after marriage (short, 4 children, divorced). So every cat had to learn to leave them alone. Pop cans with pennies everywhere seemed to work along with twist ties on the cage openings. And because the cats were usually rescue, maybe they were more easily startled/trained-? No canary lost. Happy cats. Happy me! We lost one to feline leukemia decades ago, another to a severe thyroid problem, others to long life (over 20). Love takes so many forms…
We thought we had ours trained as well… we sure learned…
Absolutely true about them as family. I cried tears of laughter at your animal antics stories! Sending pet mother empathy re Ciara.
Thanks so much, Pauleen. I just hope we have more time… good time.
Jade always kept me on a short leash and under unbending discipline! I do hope the angels in cat heaven do not mind that she is shaping them up!
My current count is 2 cats (1 raised as a bottle baby at the vet’s–he’s not sure if he’s a cat or a person), a 10-year-old Chihuahua mix who runs the house, and a 2-year-old rescue doggie. Oh, and a goldfish that lives in an aquarium that the cats enjoy.
From one “owned” to another, thanks for this one. Here’s hoping KI-ra has a few of those “9” left, so she can enjoy her “hooman” for a many more to come!
I forgot to mention that in a family album from my mother’s side of the family, that spans years between the 1860s and the 1890s, there is a photo of two dogs (and it includes the name of the photographer’s studio). Did the photographer come to the dogs, or did the dogs go to the studio?
Could be either! 🙂
Our nearly 12-year-0ld cat, Slider, passed unexpectedly last week. Our only indication of any problem with him was asthmatic breathing, but our vet never reported anything alarming.
Long ago, we brought him home from the county shelter because he stuck a paw through his cage and was the only (very young) kitten who seemed willing to engage with us. He was advertised as “short hair” but turned out to be a Maine coon cat–very large with long, sheddable, and frequently knotted hair, that resulted in our purchase of all manner of cat hair removal devices in order to keep our home even remotely presentable.
Slider was quite the personality. One characteristic of Maine coon cats is a trilling quality to thier meows. It often seemed that Slider was multi-syllabic because he could voice his happiness/outrage/concern in several different tones. We are convinced he could tell time: DH has our cats (now singular) on a fairly strict schedule (4:30 a.m. (when I get up), 8:30 a.m., 4:30 p.m., and 8:30 p.m.). Trust me when I say that if we missed any of those time by more than a few minutes that Slider would be voicing a very loud complaint about the matter.
DH’s daughter sent a condolence card to commemorate Slider’s passing. The front says “Cats have a way of finding a person who will love them forever, because that’s who they’ll be waiting for at heaven’s gate.” The inside continues “Your little friend will always be a part of your heart… May it comfort you to know that the wonderful bond of love you shared will live on forever.” Fanciful thinking, I know, but who among us wouldn’t want to be reunited with our furry friends if that is somehow possible.
From your post, I’m guessing you will have quite a welcoming committee when you arrive at heaven’s gates; DH and I are certainly looking forward to the same with the several cats who’ve “owned” us during our years together.
May we all be fortunate enough to see that welcoming committee… 🙂
Oh boy, I both laughed and cried reading your story. Had 2 cats, one after the other, and both had cancer at about 8-9 yrs. Haven’t been able to work myself up for another yet. Thinking good thoughts for Ciara – hope she still has a couple of those 9 lives left.
They do wrap their furry paws around our hearts, don’t they?
Such precious memories… tears, laughter, and love.
I have a tin-type of my grandmother (age 6) holding a cat. It followed her down to the depot where the traveling photographer set up his camera. The “cat gene” appears from her all the way down to my great-grandchildren.
Oh, Judy, how fun to read about your animal stories. I have had dogs all my life and we currently own three Australian Shepherds (11 yr and 2yr old females and 7 yr old male) which I run agility with and take my daily walks with. They are so much fun and keep me young. Your story of trying to get Doc to mate was too funny. Cats may own us but dogs definitely have their quirks. Our boy is not much different than little human boys–they can be so silly at times but so loving! Anyway, our 11 yr old was just recently diagnosed with canine kidney disease. A change in diet has worked wonders so far but wanted to suggest you also find a FB group that might give suggestions on how to cope with your baby’s condition. I have found the folks on FB groups can be informative as well as emotionally helpful when these crises occur. Good luck! There’s never enough time to give them all the love we have for them.
Let’s just say that the number of cats enjoying the destruction of my furniture at this time is 150% above the legal limit.