I have loved cats all my life. When I was a baby, my parents already had a black cat. They adopted the kitten when my mother was pregnant with me, her first child. Flip was a real gentleman to see, with white socks and a white tie, but he was not very gentle with children. Though I got scratched regularly (I think) it did not diminish my love and admiration for cats. Sadly, when we moved Flip did not wish to get used to the new house, and ran away, never to be found back. I was 7 at the time.
Soon after, a female cat felt the void in our new house. She started to follow my mother home, and soon she was installed as our new cat, Poekie. She had kittens, which was a great experience for us kids, and we were very happy with each other. That changed when I was about ten or eleven years old and my music teacher gave me a kitten (of course I wanted it more than anything and my parents allowed it). Tom entered the house, and became the bane of Poekie’s existence. She never got used to him (and we had a big house and a garden). He slept with me and was my cat till I left the house to go to University.
My life became cat-less, until I was in Jerusalem for a few years. Jerusalem has an overpopulation of street cats. Most of the time I dutifully closed my eyes and ears to them, not being able to adopt one.
Thirteen and a half years ago I was walking on the street one day, when a red and white kitten crossed my path. She was only a month old, screaming loudly, and walking after a big black dog. The owner of the dog was trying to get rid of her. The riddle of that day I have never solved. In an impulse I picked up the kitten and took her home. Did I prevent her from finding her mommy back? Or did I prevent her being run over by a car? Or did I save her from a few months or maybe years living on the street with illnesses and a lack of food? I will never know. At the time I lived in one room, in a basement, but outside my door there was a garden. She grew up to be a very affectionate cat, when she feels like it. But a real catty cat when she feels like that, scratching and biting the hand that strokes her. She has her moods. I don’t mind it too much. I just love her (though not always at the exact moment when she becomes impossible).
When I met my husband we had to move to a 2nd floor apartment. She can look out over a garden and over the street, but she cannot go out anymore. She does not seem to mind that too much. She loves to have the whole house for herself. With me in it, of course.