At least, that’s what I always told people.
If you’d asked me twenty years ago whether I was a cat person, I’d have laughed. “Nope.” Dogs? Absolutely. Cats? Meh.
Well…
Apparently God enjoys proving me wrong. Over my lifetime I’ve had maybe three or four cats that weren’t really my cats at all.
They simply adopted me.
Usually they were strays.
Usually they were absolutely feral.
One of them, Zoomer, was the size of a small corgi and looked like he’d spent twenty years surviving bar fights. Half a tail. Torn ear. Forty pounds of muscle and attitude.
He was magnificent.
But this story really starts during COVID.
A sweet friend from church had a mama cat with kittens.
Before the kittens were old enough to be weaned, the mama passed away. Everyone wanted one of those kittens.
Everyone… except one.
There was a little Siamese left.
Derek and I went over to meet her. She took one look at me.
I reached down to pet her.
She responded by absolutely shredding my arm.
Not a little scratch.
A declaration of war.
I immediately informed Derek,
“Absolutely not.”
The tiny terrorist then calmly walked over…
Climbed into Derek’s lap…
Started purring…
And I looked at Derek’s face.
Yep.
We own a cat now.
Her name was Bella. Except…
She refused to acknowledge that she had ever been named Bella.
To this day she only answers to one thing.
Kitty.
Just…
Kitty.
She became Derek’s shadow.
She rode around on his shoulder like a pirate’s parrot. She talked only to him. Not normal little cat meows either.
She’d start with this deep, gravelly little sound that slowly climbed higher and higher until she sounded a yowl demanding customer service.
She wasn’t asking.
She was issuing orders.
And Derek obeyed every single one.
The funny thing is…
She never wanted to be inside.
From the time she was four weeks old she wanted outdoors.
Wild.
Independent.
Completely convinced she was born to hunt. We practically had to negotiate hostage exchanges to convince her to spend nights inside.
Turns out…
She knew exactly what she was doing. Before Kitty arrived, our property had a terrible vole and mouse problem.
Within two weeks…
Gone.
Every vole.
Every mouse.
Problem solved.
Then apparently she looked around and decided,
“The neighbors could use my services as well.”
One morning I was driving to work when I saw something way out in the ten-acre field.
Something white.
Bouncing above the grass.
Disappearing.
Then bouncing again.
It was Kitty.
Hunting.
Living her absolute best feral life.
I rolled down the window and yelled, “Kitty!”
She immediately came bounding across the field, crossed the dirt road, raced up onto the porch and looked at me as if to say,
“What?”
That was enough for me.
I knew she’d be okay.
The funny part is…
For almost five years we respected each other’s personal space.
She tolerated me.
I admired her.
We coexisted.
Then one day…
She climbed into my lap.
No announcement.
No explanation.
Just decided,
“I suppose you’ve earned this.”
Five years. Five years before I was officially adopted.
And somehow…
That made it even sweeter.
Then came Maverick and Penny.
Yes. Top Gun.
Because we are absolutely products of the ’80s.
Maverick is another Siamese.
Chocolate-colored.
Eyes so blue they almost don’t look real.
If Kitty is a dignified huntress…
Maverick is caffeinated chaos.
I’ve never seen anything like him.
He doesn’t walk.
He ricochets.
He gets the most unbelievable zoomies.
Up the walls.
Across the entertainment center.
Into the cat tree.
Over the cat tree.
Possibly across the ceiling if physics would cooperate.
The poor cat tree looks like it survived a tornado.
And he talks.
Constantly.
Meow.
Meow.
Meow.
Meow-meow-meow.
Sometimes I swear he’s speaking full sentences.
He adores Russell.
Loves, Trinity just fine.
But Russell?
That’s his person.
He follows him around with complete devotion.
He’s also fascinated with Marmalade.
He’ll sit and stare at that calf like she’s the most interesting thing that’s ever existed. He chases chickens that outweigh him.
The chickens don’t seem particularly impressed.
Then there’s Penny.
Our little Halloween kitty.
Jet black.
Bright green eyes.
When she meows…
It’s barely a sound.
More like a tiny little squeak.
The first time we let Maverick outside, Penny watched nervously through the window.
I thought, “Well…
Looks like we’ll have one indoor cat.”
I should have known better.
A few days later I couldn’t find her anywhere.
Then I noticed something strange.
All four of our Icelandic sheep were staring into the same willow tree.
I stepped outside.
Looked up.
And there she was.
Curled on a branch.
Tail hanging down.
Every once in a while she’d lazily flick it just enough to tease the sheep underneath before drifting back to sleep.
Apparently she’d discovered that if you nap in a tree…
You get your own audience.
She’s still more cautious than Maverick.
More cuddly.
More thoughtful.
And she absolutely adores Derek.
Just like Kitty always has.
Although…
Somewhere along the way…
Kitty quietly changed her mind.
After years of pretending I didn’t exist…
She decided I could be one of her humans too.
It only took half a decade.
Worth every minute.
People ask me if I’m a dog person or a cat person.
The answer is neither.
I’m simply grateful that somehow…
Again and again…
Animals keep deciding I’m one of their people, I am grateful.
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