I tend to speak about canines as I own two English Cocker Spaniels.
Who am I kidding?
They own me.
But I love all animals so I will speak about the first cat that I owned.
We were living in Tucson, AZ and his name was Spork (named after the multi-functional plastic utensil). I have no earthly idea where or why I came up with the name, but he seemed comfortable with the arrangement, so Spork it was.
He was a grey Tabby with crazy yellow eyes. I used to play and roughhouse with Spork as I would any male dog, and he was a badass. He always fought back and won with his sharp claws and needle-sharp teeth. I had a squirrel tail that I rigged up to my fishing rod. I could and would spend an entire day casting and teasing my boy Spork. Of course I was stoned and getting drunk most likely, too.
Spork was ruggedly handsome (like his Dad) and attracted many cats in the neighborhood.
I used to watch from my La-z-Boy chair in my front room from across the street as Spork would stalk birds that would seek shade from the lower branches, He could take up to ten full minutes to complete his hunt which almost always ended up with a mouthful of bird. I dubbed my son “The Terror of 9th Street.”
One day, Spork was laying on my bed on a lazy Sunday afternoon.
“Hello my best friend of all who populate the animal kingdom,” I cooed to my feline friend. “Hello Spork.”
As I pulled the down comforter back to tidy up the bed before my girlfriend got home, a tiny furball popped out. I looked and saw four more little puffs of fur.
My “son” Spork had five kitty-kats!
I realized right then and there that my son was really my daughter.
Since I love all kids (no matter the species) I say it’s all good.
So I had five “grandchildren” all of whom I made sure went to friendly, loving environments with plenty of nap time available with sleepy time and time to just plain laze around as well. It was very difficult to pry the last of the remaining litter from my hands to empty the nest.
Spork didn’t seem to care much. It seems like as soon as the last of the kittens had been sold, she went back to business as usual.
Now I know why my daughter was so popular with all the cats in the neighborhood.
Spork was officially adopted by the good people in the neighborhood I lived in.
She was no longer my cat. Spork would spend days at a time away from her (our) house and I could even see her as I drove through the neighborhood. She would be playing with children and being spoiled even more rotten than I had spoiled her if that were even possible.
My life journey would take me to Las Vegas and I had to leave my “son” Spork. I felt really confident he was in good hands in his ‘hood.