How to Acquire a Cat. Or Not! 

This also appears in Growing Up Eldon 

    When the girls were young there was always a certain amount of pressure to get them a pet. There was always talk of a horse, or perhaps maybe they would settle for a big dog, and when they finally got around to maybe accepting a cat we were ready to thank our lucky stars and agree to one. Of course, that was their strategy all along. 
    When they were about nine and we started looking for a cat, or I should say a kitten. Now it seems strange that people would actually go looking for a cat. At that time we did not realize that the mental waves from any kind of positive feelings about cats in general would get us on the hit list of approximately thirty-seven people who had pregnant cats. 
    Anyway, we started watching the papers and reading these ads for cats, kittens, and other things. I finally saw a likely ad and called the people who with tears in their voices said that they just had to part with their cat as they were moving to a country that did not allow cats and were looking for a good home for Tabby. Hopefully one with small children as Tabby just could not exist without small children. (Later I was able to understand that comment.) 
    I bought into all this and showed up on their front porch for a look at this prize. They asked me to wait a minute and they would say good-by to Tabby in the privacy of their back yard and then bring him to me. I heard them go out into the back yard where there were some loud noises like people running around cursing, something that sounded like a small body being thrown up against the backyard fence several times, more cursing and a few muffled screams, and more cursing.
    The couple appeared in the front doorway each, desperately it seemed to me, cradling one half of the cat in their arms. Mrs. explained the four parallel gouges running from her left temple to the point of her chin, from which blood was dripping down her cleavage, as the result of having fallen against the screen door. I looked at this big white cat and my first impression was that it did not have any ears. Their response to my question was that it did have ears, but when it was having an extreme amount of fun or when very sad, like when changing owners, it would sometimes lay its ears back so far that they tended to disappear. 
    When I reached for the cat they quickly suggested that I let them put the cat in the passenger seat of the car as it would be the last time they would get to hold it. They seemed to have a funny light in their eyes as they said this and I thought, boy, how can anyone get this attached to a mere cat. I didn’t realize just how attached they were until I climbed into the front seat behind the wheel and saw that the cat still had Mr. What’s His Face’s shirt front in its front claws along with some rather large patches of pinkish stuff with hair on it. I looked out and Mr. What’s His Face was standing there with his arms folded over his bare chest and tears running down his cheeks, but what a brave fellow, he was smiling all the same. 
    I said a few appropriate introductory comments to the cat, started the car, and pulled away from the curb. Then feeling that it was time to reassure the cat with more than words I reached over to stroke its silky white fur. It calmly took a hunk out of my right hand then jumped up on the dash, did a 180 and went to the back window deck via the top of the passenger seat. It then tried with loud thumps and hissings, to exit the car through each window in turn, all of which I had mistakenly left closed, then went again to the back deck. This all happened in a couple heartbeats. 
    It hesitated back there just long enough to hiss at a passing child then landed on the back of my neck, took a swipe at my left ear, which seemed to irritate it for some reason, landed on the dash, then dove to the floor where, for a brief moment, it got tangled up with my feet and the pedals. 
     I was a little annoyed when the thing surfaced on the back of the passenger seat with part of my brake pedal between its teeth. It then repeated, in quick time, the whole thing about ten times. 
    I was hoping that this cat was able to control its bowels when in this high state of excitement. I finally pulled up in front of our house and timing myself, so as not to get in the way of one of its flying leaps from front to rear, reached over and opened the passenger door. The cat was out in a flash and the last I saw was its tail going around the corner of the neighbor’s house. After about an hour I tried to call the people who had given me the cat, but got a recording saying that their phone was no longer in service. Luckily the girls where not home at the time of my arrival to witness my humiliation at not even being able to bring home a simple house pet. Soon thereafter we became the dubious owners of a very small grey tom cat which we named Smokey. 
   (The comment about Tabby not being able to exist without small children---I’m assuming from this perspective that Tabby ate them, whenever possible.)