Cat Tales

A first-time pet owner finds that two kitties make a surprising difference in her days

I have my childhood friend Sarah to thank for Hank and Clyde, the two cats that now rule my home-and a big piece of my heart. First, Sarah lured me to her house with the promise of a cutting from a hydrangea bush. Then, without so much as a twinge of conscience, she left me at the mercy of her four precious children, who had been charged with finding homes for their new litter of kittens.

"Ple-e-e-ease!" they begged. "We don't want them to live with strangers! And you need to take two so they won't be lonely." That's when their dear mother-supposedly my friend for the past 32 years-chimed in: "I'll throw in some free food. You can even borrow my pet carrier."

So there I was, a suburban-dwelling, on-the-run professional type, standing on my deck with a canister of dry cat food in one hand and a meowing pet carrier in the other. What had I done? Why hadn't I listened to Daddy when he told me that pets were nothing but trouble and I shouldn't get one. (This from a man who daily feeds a horse, a stray dog, and a herd of cats-but that's another story.)

The first order of business was naming my boys. That was easy. Hank is, of course, named after Mr. Hank Williams, Sr., and Clyde is after my late great-uncle, who used to affectionately call me his "old maid niece."

Next came veterinary care. Having grown up in rural Alabama, where dogs and cats seemed to make it just fine on annual rabies shots, I was stunned to find that my city animals would require several booster shots, blood work, and prescription flea medicine. My sympathetic vet assured me that kittens are expensive only during the first year and that I might want to consider insurance for them. Would I like a brochure?

"Well, I have invested an awful lot in them," I replied. "Maybe life insurance wouldn't be a bad idea."

"No, Ms. Fraser," she said with a laugh. "It's medical insurance, not life insurance." I could hardly believe it.

On one point, I was absolutely firm: The cats would live outside; they would never be allowed in the house. The three of us still laugh about that sometimes when Hank and Clyde are lounging in their favorite rockers and listening to me play the piano. (Clyde loves gospel quartet music, but Hank prefers more formal anthems. I suspect he's a Presbyterian.)

My family and next-door neighbors now buy the kitties Christmas presents. I leave the TV on for them when they're in the house alone (family programming, of course-nothing risque or disturbing). I have, in short, become a cat person. I love the way they run to greet me when I come home. I love the way they completely relax in my house because they know they're safe. I even love the way they punch at my computer keys with their paws when I'm trying to write.

So thank you, Josh, Jessica, Katie, and Karlee for helping your mother persuade me to adopt Hank and Clyde. It wouldn't be home without them.

VALERIE FRASER

Copyright Southern Progress Corporation Jan 2004
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