Part one: Loving a white cat
Our family has a varied history with cats. Way back when the girls were young we acquired Marshy and Lily, two farm kittens who were feral when we got them, and barely socialized when they died about twelve and fourteen years later. They would sometimes sit next to me, but they never really warmed up to us. When I turned forty I wanted a baby. My husband, who had been a wonderful father to our little ones absolutely refused. Then I wanted a kitten or a puppy or a turtle. I wanted something young to counterbalance having teenagers. Baby, the sweetest, stupidest Siamese came to live us and be my little baby to snuggle and love. Best of all, I could put him on the porch when he got annoying. Marshy never liked him, but Lily would chase him around. It kept them young and taught us just how unfriendly our old girls were. When Marshy died Erica was not quick to replace her. She went looking for a kitten and came home with the sweetest cat in the world, our Honey.
Our older daughter found a companion in a smart and friendly white cat, Hunter. He moved to Chicago with her and lived very happily for two years in a small studio apartment. When I stayed over I discovered that Hunter was a "cat with an agenda". That agenda was to play and have fun and make me an accomplice whether I wanted to or not and whether I was awake or asleep. Due to a pet restriction at a place my daughter rented, Hunter had to come live with us. He is smart, and loving, a perfect cat except for one thing. He is white and he sheds. We brush him and brush him but there is white cat hair everywhere and I hate it. I asked about having him shaved and have been told that he would still shed, just shorter hairs.
Now it is springtime and the cats are shedding. Honey wants to be brushed all the time and Hunter needs to be brushed all day and night to keep down the hair. I told my daughter I did not want a white cat, and now he is part of our family. Is that what love is all about? Is it accepting someone even if they leave white hair on the green chairs? Or socks on the floor or a glass right by the faucet? Is it seeing the flaws in our children and spouses and parents and friends and making adjustments so they can enrich our lives? I do not believe love is unconditional. I believe it is finding the right conditions where all can flourish. In the case of Hunter the white cat, it is making the act of brushing into an act of love and accepting that furniture with cats need to be brushed, too.
Part two: An incredible talent
Do yourself a favor and watch http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wnmbJzH93NU from Britain's Got Talent. Wonderful and heartening. Sure to make your day. I loved it.
Our family has a varied history with cats. Way back when the girls were young we acquired Marshy and Lily, two farm kittens who were feral when we got them, and barely socialized when they died about twelve and fourteen years later. They would sometimes sit next to me, but they never really warmed up to us. When I turned forty I wanted a baby. My husband, who had been a wonderful father to our little ones absolutely refused. Then I wanted a kitten or a puppy or a turtle. I wanted something young to counterbalance having teenagers. Baby, the sweetest, stupidest Siamese came to live us and be my little baby to snuggle and love. Best of all, I could put him on the porch when he got annoying. Marshy never liked him, but Lily would chase him around. It kept them young and taught us just how unfriendly our old girls were. When Marshy died Erica was not quick to replace her. She went looking for a kitten and came home with the sweetest cat in the world, our Honey.
Our older daughter found a companion in a smart and friendly white cat, Hunter. He moved to Chicago with her and lived very happily for two years in a small studio apartment. When I stayed over I discovered that Hunter was a "cat with an agenda". That agenda was to play and have fun and make me an accomplice whether I wanted to or not and whether I was awake or asleep. Due to a pet restriction at a place my daughter rented, Hunter had to come live with us. He is smart, and loving, a perfect cat except for one thing. He is white and he sheds. We brush him and brush him but there is white cat hair everywhere and I hate it. I asked about having him shaved and have been told that he would still shed, just shorter hairs.
Now it is springtime and the cats are shedding. Honey wants to be brushed all the time and Hunter needs to be brushed all day and night to keep down the hair. I told my daughter I did not want a white cat, and now he is part of our family. Is that what love is all about? Is it accepting someone even if they leave white hair on the green chairs? Or socks on the floor or a glass right by the faucet? Is it seeing the flaws in our children and spouses and parents and friends and making adjustments so they can enrich our lives? I do not believe love is unconditional. I believe it is finding the right conditions where all can flourish. In the case of Hunter the white cat, it is making the act of brushing into an act of love and accepting that furniture with cats need to be brushed, too.
Part two: An incredible talent
Do yourself a favor and watch http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wnmbJzH93NU from Britain's Got Talent. Wonderful and heartening. Sure to make your day. I loved it.
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