The Cat

We’ve had cats before….two, to be exact.

Our first cat was Smokey Dawn, an exotic shorthair Persian show cat. My secretary raised pedigreed Persian cats, and when her mother became terminally ill, she needed a distraction, so she started breeding them. After her mother passed away, she found herself with 30 cats and wanted a break, opting to give away the ones she couldn’t sell. Smokey Dawn was a beautiful cat, 5 years old, and the mother of several show litters herself.

Smokey Dawn won many awards for her beauty. I displayed her trophies on our étagère alongside Hubby’s Emmy and my plaque for most improved bowler. She was a joy. She loved Hubby. She would give me the evil eye if I went near him when she was snuggling with him. However, she always waited for me diligently when I returned home after work.

Two interesting stories:

We found a free coupon for a visit to a local vet. Since our cat hadn’t seen a vet in five years, we thought taking her in was probably a good idea. The visit cost us $3,000! It turned out she needed dental work, and the anesthetic nearly killed her. She wouldn’t eat, which is a serious issue for a cat! No matter what delicious treat we offered her, she refused to take it. I decided to take matters into my own hands. I put a piece of tasty cat food on my finger and gently pushed it down her throat—a heroic move! After that, she began to eat again and lived many more years.

Another incident was quite upsetting. I was painting the metal hatch covers on our houseboat a bright red color. Suddenly, Smokey jumped onto the wet paint, which wasn’t water-based but high-gloss enamel! I screamed as she took off, scampering everywhere—up and down the dock, on other boats, and even on ours. What a mess! If you’re looking for a challenge, try removing red paint from a furry cat!

When Smokey Dawn became terminally ill and crossed the Rainbow Bridge, we cried. We missed her. To this day, I still think about her.

Gypsy Rose was the next cat to come into our lives. She was a feral kitten whose mother had left her behind a bush in our backyard. When I found her, I picked her up and considered making her a house cat. However, when I saw her mother pacing frantically nearby, I realized that bringing her inside wouldn’t be the right choice. A few months later, something happened to Gypsy’s mother, making her an orphan. We began feeding her daily, which is generally frowned upon, but we were careful. We took her dish inside as soon as she finished eating to avoid attracting raccoons, coyotes, or other wild animals.

When she turned one year old, we had her trapped, neutered, and returned to our yard. She was vaccinated, and a microchip was implanted. The vet then clipped the tip of her left ear to indicate that she had undergone these procedures. The local humane society provided all of this free of charge.

Regrettably, we unintentionally trapped the neighbor’s cat and subjected it to the same procedures. Following that incident, we kept a low profile in the neighborhood.

Ten years went by. Gypsy Rose usually came by every day, but never allowed us to get close to her. Like all feral cats, she didn’t meow. During our happy hours outside, she would sit nearby. She would gaze at us through the sliding glass door when we were inside. There was a bond between us. We sometimes wouldn’t see her for several days, and worried about owls and coyotes. We always felt relieved when she returned. We loved watching her; she made us laugh as she leaped from a tree, jumped over the hedge, or chased a lizard. Birds never seemed to catch her attention. I don’t know why—maybe she was never that hungry!

One morning, something unusual happened. When Hubby opened the door to feed her, she walked into the house. She meowed loudly and allowed us to pet her. After about an hour, she went back outside, and we never saw her again. We later learned that when a feral cat alters its behavior this way, it often indicates that the cat is ill and unable to protect itself. They are seeking a safe haven. Had we known this, we would have taken her to the vet. Unfortunately, we didn’t realize it at the time. She lived for 10 years, which is exceptional for a feral cat. I couldn’t believe how much I missed her. Sometimes, I thought I saw her jumping from our tree, but it was just leaves falling. When I noticed movement behind her favorite bush, I hurried outside to check, but she wasn’t there. Both my husband and I often looked outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.

After Gypsy Rose had been gone for three months, Hubby said he wanted a cat. I replied, “We’ll see,” which, in my language, meant “No!” While I like cats, I wasn’t ready for the responsibility of having one. Hubby kept mentioning it, which was starting to get on my nerves. I never said yes, but since I hadn’t said no, he took that as a yes.

He began purchasing various cat things from Amazon. His first purchase was an advanced self-cleaning litter box that connects to our Wi-Fi. It provides notifications each time the cat uses it, tracks her weight, records how long she stays inside, and alerts him when to remove the plastic bag of collected cat waste or add litter. Hubby then purchased a pet bed, food dishes, a mat under the dishes, a scratching post, several toys, including a laser light cat toy, wet and dry cat food, and various types of litter.

We moved forward after Hubby solemnly swore to take primary responsibility for the cat’s care. We decided that the humane choice was to adopt a cat from a shelter.

We went online to browse photos of cats available at the Palm Springs Animal Shelter. I wasn’t fond of any, while Hubby liked them all. The day arrived for us to visit the shelter and choose a cat. I still wasn’t feeling enthusiastic. I kept repeating my wedding vows: “… in sickness and in health.” However, I don’t remember those vows mentioning an unwanted pet.

The animal shelter was impressive. The volunteers and veterinarians were all friendly and knowledgeable, and the animals, though caged, were well cared for: dogs, cats, and even birds! We were introduced to cats available for adoption, all of which had thorough check-ups, including neutering, rabies vaccinations, and microchipping. The first cat that caught our interest was Patches. She was attractive but very shy. The other cats were either too big, lethargic, or hyperactive. Finally, we met a young tabby/tortoise cat named Zebra, and we agreed she was the one to adopt. Surprisingly, we had piles of paperwork to complete. We were given free coupons and an initial supply of food. Finally, she was put into a nice carrier, and we took her home.

Once home, Hubby cut the top off a cardboard box for her to play with and twisted some brown paper for her to attack. He found a tennis ball while golfing and gave it to her. Later, he brought home a plastic doggie ball he found.After a few days, we decided we didn’t like the name Zebra. I suggested Zippy. That was fine for a while, but we kept calling her Gypsy after our feral cat. You know how it is when a name gets linked to another. To this day, I sometimes mix up my baby sister’s name with my son’s! We finally agreed on the first name, Gypsy, and a middle name, Dawn. Gypsy Dawn became our third cat and was named after both of our prior cats. At least she wasn’t a junior.

Gypsy Dawn is only a year old but very inquisitive and active. She loves Hubby and follows him around the house. I try to be nice to her, but she knows he’s her best friend.  She often sits on his desk while he’s writing. Not everything is going smoothly. She’s incredibly curious, jumps on everything, and has rearranged many of my belongings. One day, she lapped up the frothed milk from the top of my latte when I wasn’t paying attention. One of her favorite spots is the small sink at the bar, where I often glimpse her little ears peeking out.

Hubby has kept his promise and takes excellent care of her by providing food, litter, and affection. He also purchased a cat hairbrush and several items to help manage any unpleasant odors. Additionally, he took her to the vet to have her nails trimmed. Whenever his golf buddies start boasting about their grandchildren, he proudly shares Gypsy’s latest litter box usage patterns from that day on his iPhone.

Am I jealous? Of course not! So what if my litter box, my Toto bidet, cost a fraction of Gypsy Dawn’s? So what if her pedicure was twice the price of mine, and she didn’t even get polish? So what if my husband spends so much time mixing her food to ensure balanced nutrition, while I get prepared meals from Costco and Trader Joe’s? I swear, that’s all fine! What bothers me is that he keeps calling her “Sweetie.” Doesn’t he know her name is Gypsy Dawn? Last night, before going to sleep, he hugged me and said, “Goodnight, Sweetie.”

Who’s he talking to?

Have you had any beloved pets in your life? Did they show favoritism between you and your spouse? Do you have any funny stories? Your comments are welcome and appreciated!