My family has had, since my parents were married in '89, four cats. The first was Magdalene. A few months after my parents were married, they got a tabby kitten from the shelter. Mom claims it was a mutual decision, but Dad's story is that she mentioned "we should get a cat," he said "sure, sometime," and came home from work that evening to find the kitten already making itself at home.
Mags tolerated us all for nineteen years (I'm fifteen, by the way.) and is greatly missed.
She also may or may not have been a diabolical evil mastermind. We still aren't clear on this point.
When I was five, I got a kitten of my very own, Princess. She was gray and black mottled and my absolute darling. Mom and I were the only creatures she tolerated. She purred for no one else, but she slept on my pillow at night. She began the tradition of my personal cats being greatly beloved by me and warily avoided by most others. She also inspired a fear that lasts to this day of cats who twirl around my ankles, because while twirling she would bite.
Princess had a game of teasing anything that moved, and asserting her superiority over the car by meandering in front of it. She tried this one dark evening and misjudged.
My sister occasionally jokes about Tai and cars. These are the few occasions when she actually will be apologetic for something she has said.
Tai, of course, was and is the next cat. He is my baby, a big, loud Siamese, the inspiration for my username, and Leaver of the One Fingered Glove. I love him. He has a terrible fear of cars, and this is what finally convinced me that it was alright for him to wander outside. What convinced my mom was the destruction of our furniture. Like Mags and Princess before him, Tai is an indoor-outdoor creature who spends most of his time attempting to rule the neighborhood. Unlike them, he is somewhat inept at this, which is not to say he's not one of the smartest cats I've ever met. This is a cat that figured out multiple ways to open doors.
After the death of Magdalene, we aquired Delilah, who is now almost a year old. She is tiny, orange-yellow, and completely and utterly spoiled rotten yet still genuinely sweet. Like Magdalene, she is named for a Biblical bad girl. This is apparently a fairly common naming theme for cats.
I tend to greet new aquantainces with a funny cat story. If they do not run screaming away, I know we are going to be friends. (I have few friends). And one of the best sources for these was Magdalene.
Magdalene was frighteningly smart. Looking in her eyes could be eerie, because there was something looking back at you, and you got the feeling that it was wondering... well, heaven only knows what she was wondering. It probably wasn't good. Anyway, Mags could figure things out. Among them, back when my parents were newlyweds with no kids, was how to be the exact center of attention. (We have several lovely baby pictures of her "getting used to the idea of Elizabeth.") One all-important part of this task was waking my parents up. When Dad was home,this was easy. It was merely nessesary to knock various items such as his giant hornrimmed glasses off of the bedside table.
When Mom was home alone, this was more difficult. Mere property destruction could not always rouse Mom quickly Finally, the kitten figured out that if she sat on Dad's clock radio, and wiggled around enough, eventually it would turn on to the blaring news channel dad had set as his alarm.
This would awaken Mom.
Coming Whenever I'm Next Bored: The evil text-book eating rabbits from outer space! The dog who remained lazy even after her medical problem was cured! I swear those guinea pigs are looking at me funny!
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