Cape Karen
I got my first kitten when I was around 5 years old. I can't even remember its name now. But, I do remember the morning I thought I should "neaten up" her whiskers. One morning, I sat down on the kitchen floor, and when the kitten climbed up in my lap, I took a pair of scissors and I neatly trimmed away her long, "messy" whiskers.
"There, I thought in my little child's mind, that looks much better!"
The next time I saw her, she was all wrapped-up in a towel and on her way to the vet. Without whiskers, I learned, a cat can get into a whole lot of trouble. (A cat's whiskers are the same width as their body, and enable them to gauge where they can and cannot fit.)
Well, geez, I was only five years old . . . I didn't know. . . .
I wasn't raised Catholic, so I didn't have what some call the "Catholic Guilt Syndrome." But, after that, I did develop the "Cat Guilt Syndrome," because that poor little whiskerless kitty died. Well, I think she died? She never came back to our house anyway. I remember going out into our back yard for months and months afterwards and calling, "here kitty, kitty . . ." for hours on end, to no avail.
So, it's no surprise that when I had a home of my own, years later, I would also have a cat or two. First, there was "Booby" the cat who lived with us in Hyannis in our first rented home. Then, we moved to West Barnstable, and he disappeared during the move. A year later, I looked out the window, and there was Booby in our new front yard. But, he was no longer our pet cat; he had become wild, and I couldn't get him to come close . . . more Cat Guilt.
Then, we built a home in Centerville, and had two children. When our youngest, Heidi, was around 4 years old, she asked her father for a bunny rabbit for Easter. So, that weekend, she and her father went to the pet store to get a bunny and they returned with. . . a kitten. I remember that she was a cute, little round furball of marmalade stripes, when she came bouncing out of Heidi's room and down the hallway that Saturday afternoon. Heidi named her new Easter bunny kitten, Tiffany. Tiffany lived with us for 14 years without a mishap; healing forever my Cat Guilt Syndrome.
Today, Frank and I have a beautiful long-haired calico cat named, Smudge.
She is the first indoor cat I have had, and she is what my vet calls a "dependant" cat. She follows me everywhere, and leaps up to be at my side whenever I sit down. I've even taught her some tricks. She can do "slippey-slidies" off the couch whenever she wants a treat.
She'll lie down next to me on the couch, always at my left side, and if I say, in a quiet, slow voice: "I - feel - a - slip - pey - sli - dey - com - ing. . ." . . . in a few minutes, she'll 'secretly' drop her head forward over the edge of the couch cushion, her back feet will start gently pushing her body forward, real slow; and then, like an eel, she quickly slides to the floor. Once there, she sits right up, and looks me in the eye as if to say, "Okay, already, I did the stupid trick, now, where's my treat?" And, of course, I jump up and go get it for her. . . .
I won't bore you with all the other amazing things our cat can do; like flip-flops, roll-overs, "where's your pretty tummy?" and so forth.
Suffice it to say that we love our long-whiskered Smudge kitty. . . and she has trained us well.