Cat Forever

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I live in fear of kittens.

Not because the little beasties seem to appear out of nowhere with their tiny needle teeth and claws and attack my ankles, but because we have a little seven-year-old girl at home who believes that every stray animal deserves a home and that that home should be ours. If she had her way, we would be ankle deep in the little furballs. And, she seems to nearly always have her way.

Sure, I make solemn pronouncements from time to time. "I swear, I will bring no more animals into this house..." my wife and my little girl raise their right hands.

"But Papa...."

"Swear it. I really mean it this time. No more animals!"

And they swear it, and they mean it. But next week there will be another cuddly bit of fur in the living room who was "just going to get run over. We couldn't leave it there. Besides, we will find a home for it...." And they do... another one for our collection.

I don't even pretend to be in charge any more, not that I ever was. I know when I have been defeated. I know the critters will just keep coming, so I find myself bargaining down, rather than trying to eliminate the little varmints altogether. The system is pretty simple.

On my preference scale, a cat is better than a dog. A rabbit is better than a cat. A guinea pig is better than a rabbit and a parakeet is better than a rabbit. You get the idea. Smaller is better. And if you don't have to get up in the middle of the night to let them out or in, perfect! I've been trying to get them interested in tropical fish... but no luck so far.

Fortunately we still seem to be in the "small animal" era, but I have no illusions that this too will change some day. I attribute this good fortune solely to the fact that you rarely run across a stray heifer down at the local convenience store parking lot that is "sure to get run over if we don't take it home." Not really an "impulse item," if you know what I mean. But that day is coming, I have no doubt at all.

Our little angel had to do a report on rhinoceroses for school the other day and had that look in her eye. It's really got me worried. "Papa, which would you like better, a rhinoceros or a pony?" These are the devious little questions they don't prepare you for in parenting class.

But I guess I can't blame my little girl. It's really not her fault. It's the classic "nature versus nurture" quandary that has been the subject of countless doctoral thesis papers for decades. (Was it primarily a factor of genetics that led to this predisposition? Or was it a product of her environment, shaping and molding her behavior in countless unseen ways? Or was it that damn rock and roll music...?)

To me, however, it's pretty straightforward. It's my wife's fault.

She's been taking in strays her whole life (myself included). I know she's a bad influence on the child... but what can you do?

When you are seven, the future is a certain place. Catlyn has said many times that when she grows up she is going to drive a van around the country and pick up stray animals. She's also said on just as many occasions that she's going to live with us forever. We can all see where this is leading... So why do I find that I really don't mind at all? Maybe it is because I really like the person she has become.

As the years pass, I look forward to meeting that young woman with the unusual name and the kind heart. She will have very definite opinions about the way the world should be, and she will likely drive me crazy. But I also know that she will be right and I will be wrong. The world should always take in strays without question and without limit, despite what grumpy old men may say.

written by Jay Warmke - November, 2000

The Cat Who Came Home Forever