Cleokatra, aka "Butch Kat-sidy", aka "Cleetus"
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In
Memory of Cleo |
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I once heard
it said that back in the days when
there were many hoboes riding
the rails, that when one of them
found a house where there was an easy
hand-out of money or food, the hobo
would mark that house by drawing a
hand pointing towards it on a nearby
railroad tie. That way, other hoboes
would be able to take advantage of
the person’s kindness.
Sometimes I think that those of us who are prone to take in stray animals are marked in a similar way, perhaps by a cat’s or dog’s paw scratched on some rock or tree, pointing out our house as a prospective new home to other lost and lonely strays. hat’s certainly how it seemed when, in August of 1996, shortly after the demise of my cat Manx, an orange cat showed up on my porch. She quickly made herself at home, apparently having already adopted me as her new human. I have no idea where she came from, perhaps from some neighbor who wasn’t showing her what she considered to be the proper attention, or maybe she’d been dumped on the road nearby by someone who no longer wanted her. Whichever it was, Cleo let it be known that she had chosen me and my home as hers, and that she had every intention of staying. What could I do? She was certainly charming, and I certainly had room for her. So I got her the necessary shots, had her spayed, and she’s been with me ever since. Her most ingratiating trait is to lie down at my feet, wherever I may be standing—or sitting, for that matter—and rub her face all over my toes. Sort of a self-petting thing. She is especially close to my dog, Shep, and usually sleeps curled up next to him. If not there, her next favorite spot is on my bed, just touching my feet. There’s that foot thing again. Ever heard of a cat with a foot fetish? Well, meet CleoKatra. Written by Jim- |
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