Cats
I consider myself a cat person, but I am mostly a my cat person. Harpo, my cat, was uncommonly good. I sometimes liked to believe that I had made him this way, like I was excelling at owning a cat, but he was just a preternaturally sweet and patient being. When he died, I knew I would not be able to replace him, though I knew someday I would want another cat.
So, as it were, a few weeks ago, we adopted Olive and Ziggy (formerly Coco and Puff), a mom-and-son pair that were rescued from the street in East Boston. The two of them are such a bonded pair, I sometimes feel like I’m their third wheel—I sing “Motherboy” to Ziggy from time to time. Owing to their recent rough living, they’re both a bit shy—Olive enjoys getting petted, while Ziggy will really only let you if you’re feeding him—but they are also both so sweet, and I am hopeful about our ability to bribe them into trusting us better.
I can understand why this might not be a satisfying arrangement for everyone. A cat is a critic you invite into your home. Even Harpo hid behind the toilet for several days when I got him. But what good things come easy? A dog may be a faster friend, but a cat is a truer one, I think.
Here, in no particular order, are good things that my cats do:
Have a regularly scheduled game of chase at 6:00 a.m. and 10:00 p.m.
Carefully observe airplanes, raindrops, and dogs on walks from our front window
Chase shadows, including their own
Walk side-by-side with their tails entwined, such that I announce “holding hands!!!, often to no one
Drink the post-shower puddles of water left at the bottom of the tub
Get all wet from drinking the post-shower puddles of water from the bottom of the tub
Groom one another’s faces in tandem
Sit very near where you are
Meow (loudly: Olive; tiny peep: Zig)