Cat Tales 37
At the age of four I was a normal little girl who loved animals and wished more than anything for a small, furry friend to kee p me company. When I would ask for a kitten, my pare nts would always cite my father’s allergies as the reason I could not have a cat. No kittens for Sara h on he r birthday. No kittens for Christmas. No kittens at all. That didn’t stop me from asking. Frequently. Every holiday that children are given presents, I asked for a cat. The tension in our house was pretty high. My pa rents were always arguing about something. Even so young, I had enough friends at daycare whose parents were separated to see what was coming. I don’t re me mbe r the talk my mother had with me the day my dad moved out, but she has told the story a thousand times. With great dread, my mom sat me down to explain why my dad would be living in anothe r house. She had her speech prepa red; all the things she would say to mend a daddy’s girl’s heart. Before she could utter a word, I looke d up at her with my dark eyes (she’d later decide the look was calculating) and asked her, “Are you and Daddy getting divorced?” She nodde d, stammering a “Y-yes” and throwi ng up a silent thank-you to an overpopulated daycare and a sudden surge in Spokane’s divorce rate. Without hesitation, as if I’d been planning for this moment for all four years of my life, I made an offer. “Can I get a c at now?” She sat there dumbfounde d for a mome nt (and secretly proud of he r daughte r’s bartering skills). Thrilled not to have to pick her way through the minefield of that conve rsation, she quickly agreed. The bargain was struck. I was to have my heart’s g reatest desire. That is a grand thing for a little girl. For the next few days it was all I could talk about, all I could think about. I was getting a cat. Me. I told everyone at daycare. I told everyone in line at the grocery store. I told anyone who woul d look at me for longer than two seconds that I was getting the kitten I’d “always wanted my whole life.” I remember people smiling at me a lot. The big day came with much fanfare. I leapt out of my brand - new big-girl bed, ran down the hall, and pounced on my poor sleeping mothe r. After breakfast, she loaded me into the little gray car, and we drove to a ranch-style house. The house I reme mbe r quite clearly, probably because I thought, even then, that it was ugly. It was small and salmon-colore d with da rk green tri m, tiny windows, and too many shrubs in the front. It struck me as a dark place.
I don’t re me mbe r any small talk, although I’m sure the re was some. I don’t re me mbe r what the mother looked like or much about he r two kids, who were down the hall playing with a kitten and a bit of string. The mothe r cat, if I remembe r correctly, was a calico. Very pretty and ve ry watchful, she was sprawled on the floor in a lazy C, but her eyes were fixed intently on me, he r tail flicking as she appraised me. Sitting next to her, almost as if waiting for permission to say hello, was the last available kitten. The cautious kitten was a sleek black with a white throat, chest, and belly, and four little white paws, like the rain boots in my closet. Her face was solid blac k, with not a trace of white. Her green eyes stared up at me, and my heart was hers. She was shy and timid as she took those first tentative steps toward me. She looke d as out of place in that house as I felt in my own life. We were perfect for each othe r. On the drive home, as I held the tiny, me wling thing close to my chest, I named her Boots.
We were a lot alike, Boots and I. We were content with each othe r, full of love. She followed me around all day and slept at my feet every night. She became my constant when life was unpredictable. I did my best to be hers, too; always ready with a bit of string when she was playful or a chin rub when she wasn’t. I could tell her anything, and she wouldn’t judge me or contradict me. She could bring me mice and moles and not get scolded. We understood each other. We we re inseparable. For he r whole life, Boots was the best friend a girl could ever ask for.