Walking with Cats.

“I regard cats as one of the great joys in the world. I see them as a gift of highest order.”  ~Trisha McCagh

I am, unabashedly, a cat lover. I am completely indifferent to dogs. Dog lovers who rave about the qualities of their canine friends have never known the love of a good cat because I believe animals become what you believe them to be & so I have been adored by cats, protected by cats & loved by cats my entire life.  I consider it a privilege.  Cats are discriminating.

Mind you, nearly all our cats would have been relegated to the funny farm if they were humans.  The present pair are no exception. They are, from all appearances, mostly rag doll.  They were so slow to mature I suspected them of brain damage.

 Most kittens are just about fully mature by 6 months ~ in attitude if not physically.  Not our dopey two. Six months is what they were when we took them out of foster care.  Granted it was a stinking hot day the day we collected them & a 2 hour car ride, then the boat...water... & they were understandably terrified but they drove my house crazy crying any time they lost sight of me. They still tend to be pretty neurotic.  Kirby won't come for anyone but me so the MOTH has a terrible time with him if I'm away while Marlow pines.  Too sad making.

With behaviours like that you would think they'd be terrified of their own shadows but in fact both cats enjoy coming for walks with me.  They don't need a harness & it's not something I would ever do in suburbia but here they simply follow after me as I head off & keep within a couple of feet, unlike Gyver, who would happily pad after the boys when they headed of fishing, then  needed to be fetched home at dinner time.

They have very different personalities when it comes to walking with me.  Kirby has a very clear idea of where my boundaries are.  He gets upset if I wander too far from my designated position. He's a chatterer too, commenting on everything he hears & sees.  Marlow is quieter, only calling if I suddenly get lost behind a mangrove & he likes to make these mad dashes, rushing past at a frantic speed to surprise & impress me with his manly prowess. I'm impressed that anything with a tummy that swings as wildly as Marlow's does can move at all!


For a while we thought Kirby was one of those stand~offish cats; very independent.  It was Marlow who was always underfoot; Marlow twining around ankles; Marlow on my desk or the arm of my chair; Marlow purring any time anyone at all looked at him; Marlow who slept with his great lumpen body draped over me like a rug. He quite overshadowed his brother who is just as desirous of affection but goes about it quite differently. 

 We call Kirby our hard lovin' man. Kirby is the one I have to watch.  He is likely to launch himself suddenly from his perch onto a shoulder, or preferably into waiting arms.  From thence he does long chin rubs, head butts, & if not deterred will begin a grooming session or snuggle into my neck & begin to knead.

Like many dogs they are tuned to my movements.  Wherever I go about the house & yard, within moments a cat will appear, madly interested in keeping me company & commenting on my activities.  At the least threat to my person whichever cat is around goes straight into protective mode, which we tend to find terribly funny because they are all fur & purr ~ though the local dogs know to keep their distance ~ but the MOTH, who suffers chronic pain & often wanders about the house at all hours of the night, has commented on the dual sphinxes who stand watch over me all night long.  Apparently my guardian angels wear fur.