The first cat I remember was a cheeky tabby. I called her Bobby after my grandfather, even though she was a girl. "Oh well," said mum "It can be short for Roberta."
The second cat I remember was a fine looking tortoiseshell called Kate. Kate was Bobby's sister. They fought like cats and...er...well like cats I suppose.
The third cat I remember was an aggressive, smoky coloured cat called, quite originally, Smoky. Smoky often sat on the top of the TV with her tail hanging down over the picture. If anyone tried to move her she was extraordinarily defensive.
The fourth cat, Tymmy, was my very own pet. I had to pay for his cat food out of my pocket money. He was slim and ginger haired and miawoed like a simese. He choked to death in a house fire on Christmas Eve. I was eleven years old. It was devastating.
My fifth cat was Tyger, a stripey tortoiseshell. But I had a Tymmy shaped hole in my heart and could not love Tyger as much as I wanted to. So Tyger ran away.
Now please give a big round of applause to my parents for allowing me the opportunity of living with cats.
Awww..... yeah to your parents. Thank you for sharing. My life would be with birds. Easy enough, named them all Chipper. Blessings.
ReplyDeleteWell done on being such a grateful person in this post, Amber :)! I love your kind words about your parents.
ReplyDeleteThanks for your encouragement Just Be Real and Sherrin.
ReplyDeleteMay God bless you both.
Amber
However it comes about that we get to share our lives with companion animals, it is wonderful. Enjoy the cats.
ReplyDeleteYes. To your mother! (Raises glass.) Mine thought cats were only a tiny step away from rodents and wouldn't allow them in the house. Now on my own, I have two of them. George and Lucky. George is mine. Lucky belongs to my daughter. He worships her. She is his god.
ReplyDeleteVery thought-filled.
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