Simply Saturday: Because He was a Cat

Cats are interesting creatures. I've only ever owned one that I actually liked. The problem was he wasn't all that keen on me; or anyone else for that matter - simply because he was a cat.

Petey was an alley cat from the start, tragically left orphaned in an alley at just a couple weeks old, when his mother was run over by a garbage truck. True story as I live and breathe.

My sister and I rescued him and his brother from the Rehab Center. Again, true story. The employees of the center found the kittens, and long story short, my sister and I convinced our mother it was a good idea to allow us to bring them home. We fed them kitty formula with little eye droppers until they were big enough to drink out of a bowl.

Our mother told us, time and again, two tom cats will not live together, and true to her prediction, Petey ran off his own brother; leaving him King of the Castle. He reigned with an iron paw. He did not discriminate against any creature in the house; including the family dog. He hated everyone equally. Ok, maybe he disliked the dog a little more than the humans who fed him, and provided him with a warm place to sleep during the day.

He was a long-haired tuxedo cat; mixed breed. He ate anything put before him, except peas. He just didn't like them leaving them in the bowl for the dog to scrounge later. He was an alley cat more inclined to the tastes of, shall we call it, wild game, which he often attempted to bring home as a mid-day snack while the humans were away. Never once did he get his 'take out' past the front door.

He had a love affair of sorts with the beautiful, white, persian that lived in the neighbor's house. She would sun herself in the window, and he would lay on the tree branch outside talking to her. She escaped one day, a while later she had a litter of kittens that looked like Petey. Coincidence? I think not. She was shipped off to some far away place after that. Petey was never the same again.

He took to carousing the alleys at night, hanging out with a questionable lot of ne'er do well cats; eventually becoming the leader of the pride, or gang, or family...or whatever one would deem them. Sometimes he would be gone for days at a time, returning with unkempt fur, blurry eyes, and scratches he refused to devulge where they came from. I suspected he had also fallen into using catnip on a regular basis; but he hid it well if he did.

As he aged, he became a little grumpier, a little more selfish, and a lot more territorial with each passing year. He had his own chair - people sized. I'm pretty sure he thought it was his throne. If you dared to sit in his chair while he was home, he would not hesitate to jump in your lap, and plop himself down as though you weren't even there. Unless you were Grandma. He tried it once, and only once with her. Grandma disliked cats as much as Petey disliked her. She pushed him on the floor, and he just sat there with his back turned to her, his head hung down in defeat. Although, I am certain he plotted against her for many days after that.

Like a true alley cat, Petey just walked off into the sunset one night and never came back. He was thirteen years old in people years. I was away at college.

All in all, Petey was a good cat with lots of personality and character - even when he hated you; simply because he was a cat.