Lately I’ve been lamenting the lack of cats in my life. I’ve always had a cat around and still tend to watch out for a flighty one at the door whenever I come in from outside. Cats just seem like cats when you meet them at first but really, their personalities and routines are always so different, just like people. Their simple companionship, innocent selfishness, extreme energy highs and lows and their ambient presence are things that make dealing with feces on a daily basis so worth while.
The Cat Inside by William Burroughs is a pretty perfect capsule of what I’m talking about. In the book he recounts his relationships with different cats throughout his life and how they’ve managed to fulfill his days. In the meantime, while i’m yearning for a little friend yet the ongoing potential for uprooting exists, I have my little photo collection of kitties to cherish.
This is Betty Sue, a bit of a sad case. She was found by a friend, nearly dead one evening in a rain storm. We took her in but only had her for a few months before she passed away. We later found out that her real name was Peanut and she was 20-years-old! She was a tender and loving dear. RIP Peanut.
Meet Hunter. He’s my family’s cat and lives in the country with my mom. He definitely lives up to his name, as he hunts rabbits his own size. His purr is high-pitched and squeaky and gets louder with every head scratch.
This photo is of me and a few of my siblings on our back patio. I’m the little one with a death grip on the terrified cat. She was my first cat, Trientje. I had her until i was a teenager. She was a saint of a cat for letting me drag her around and put hair clips in her fur. My sister is holding Aaltje, but I don’t remember her much since she disappeared when i was still quite young. He’s not a cat, but Bello the dog holds a special place in my heart too. He ate chicken poop!