Weathering the Storm with a Cat at My Side

We are a family of cat lovers. Dogs are perfectly fine for other people, but I am drawn to the beauty, independence and inscrutability of felines. I have been the proud owner of many cats, and they have enriched my life with their distinct and fascinating personalities.

My very first cat was Penny, a black domestic short hair with white paws that my parents gave me when I was about six years old. My next cat, a Siamese named Fluffy but always called Kitty, lived with me for at least 10 years, throughout my Junior High and High School days. When I married and moved out at the age of 19 (way too young, but that’s a story for another post), Kitty disappeared from my parent’s house. To this day I don’t know if someone took her or she wandered off looking for me and never returned.

Sugar lived with me for the longest amount of time. She was a beautiful solid white cat with the sweetest disposition; she loved me and only me. When I divorced I took her with me to my new apartment, and Sugar kept herself occupied by thoroughly inspecting every man I dated. They all lost. She hissed and spit and generally made a pest of herself until they got the message. When I brought Dwight, my second and forever husband (27 years now and counting) to my apartment, she jumped in his lap and started purring. She knew he was the one for me long before I realized it. Sugar was a very smart cat.

We kept Sugar until she was about twelve and we had our first daughter, Rachel, who was born two months premature and had a variety of health concerns in her early years. Living in a cat-hair-filled home was not the best environment for Rachel, so we found a loving family with a farm who was willing to adopt Sugar, and I reluctantly told her goodbye.

We had our second daughter, Christina, three years later and lived the next six years or so without a cat in the family. When they became old enough to start whining about wanting a pet, I suddenly realized how much I missed the sweet companionship of a cat. So the girls and I went to the local shelter and came home with a darling calico kitten that Christina named Callie.

Callie grew up with our daughters. Christina dressed her in baby bonnets and pushed her in her doll stroller; Rachel, a born artist, took hundreds of photos of Callie and drew her picture for many art projects. We all loved her dearly. Callie hated storms, however; at the first hint of rain she would run downstairs and hide behind the washing machine, cowering through the thunder and lightning. Jerry Tracey and James Spann could’ve put her on the payroll and done away with all their expensive storm predicting equipment. We always knew when the danger had passed, because then and only then would Callie emerge from her hiding place.

Callie was on my mind last night as Dwight and I spent most of last night in our basement, apprehensive and worried, watching weather alerts on television and listening to the eerie sound of tornado sirens. Callie passed away several years ago and our new cat, Muffin, a Maine Coon-tortoiseshell mix, doesn’t possess her predecessor’s storm-predicting abilities. Muffin is unbelievably calm about storms; it is mind-boggling, actually. She slept peacefully at my side throughout the long siren-filled night, and I awoke to a calm day and the reassuring sound of Muffin purring in my ear.

I am thankful for many things this morning; that the storm has passed, that my friends and loved ones are safe, and that I have a sweet kitty to keep me company as I start a new day.