To All the Cats I've Loved Before...

You know how there was that email floating around a while back explaining how to find your stripper name by taking the name of your childhood pet as your first name, and the name of the street you grew up on as your last name? So my stripper name would be: Buttons Buchanan. I like it. It has alliteration. And Buttons is a damn adorable name.

I actually had very few pets growing up. I have a vague memory of a fish. And then there was Buttons. I got him when I was six. A cute little black and white kitty. However, I wasn't taking care of him, and one day I came home and was told that my parents took him to a farm. He was my first heartbreak.

Then came Dustin and Sunny 10 years later. My cousin had two cats, but got a job that involved a lot of travelling. So she gave me her cats. Dustin was black and super fluffy. If you patted your chest, he would jump from the ground up into your arms so you could cradle him like a baby.
Sunny was a snobby white cat who could stand to lost a few pounds. My brother would chase her around the house to give her some exercise. (This is funnier to picture when you realize that my brother was 28 at the time).

However, Dustin and Sunny missed my cousin. They started peeing. Everywhere. My Dad finally had enough and one day I came home from school to find that these pets were gone too.

Then my Dad got re-married. I moved in with a cat named Casey at age 18. She had no tail - some sort of accident had happened before I ever met her. Her and I got along great. My stepsisters moved out, and she adopted me. One year my Dad and Stepmom went to Europe and I noticed that Casey didn't smell very good. And she got sick on my parent's bed. I called and told my step-sister's about it.

And again, I came home to a house void of cat. My stepsisters had taken her to the vet and had her put down. (As an amusing aside, they told me to avoid the parents' call ht next day- they didn't want to me to tell them while they were away. But they figured it out when I didn't answer the phone. They got a hold of one of my step sisters and she immediately confessed).

But then my heart shut down for a while. My parents got a new cat. We had a very democratic process for the naming of this new little grey furball. We all got votes and though I preferred "Czarina" my second choice of "Ember" won out. But I simply didn't really care. Ember was very sweet, but I was tired of having my heart broken.

I moved out and decided that was the end of my cat career. Until I realized that I couldn't control the actions of my roommates. My first roommate brought "Puddy" into my life. Puddy clawed my chair and couch.

My next roommate brought in another cat whose name is completely escaping me. But that cat scratched up my chair even more.

Then I agreed to cat-sit for a good friend. Enter Jacques and Jasmine.
They each had very distinct personalities. Jasmine was aloof and not terribly bright.
Jacques? Well he was a demon cat. I'd never actually heard a cat growl before or since. I was concerned that I had made a mistake agreeing to take this project on for the summer. But I realized that I couldn't live in fear in my own home. So I laid down the law with Jacques and eventually won him over.

My friend came back from her trip to Australia and found that she needed a place to stay so I agreed to let her live with me. We go on remarkably well. And the cats? Well they were fine in the beginning. Until they began to break things. Le sigh. And then they peed on this massive pillow I had that was as big as a mattress. You could actually use it as a guest bed for someone. There was no getting that smell out. I called my friend at work. She was welcome to stay, but the cats had to go. Not surprisingly, she went with them.

And that was it. I was done. Cats had clawed my furniture. Peed on pillows. Swatted things off shelves and shattered them and broken my heart more times than I could count.

When I had a roommate last summer, I threatened to throw him out in the street if he dared bring a cat into my condo.

But every once in a while I feel a little twinge. Maybe it would be nice to cuddle up with a little furball at night. Maybe it would conquer the occasional twinges of loneliness. It's not like owning a dog, I wouldn't have to rush home after work everyday with a cat.

Maybe. But not yet. I really don't want to be known as the crazy single cat lady. Yet. I want to wait a few years until I can really appreciate and revel in that title.

xo