Saturday, August 13, 2011

Shorts the Cat

"Shorts the Cat"
It seems, at least from my experience, that writers like cats. I suppose there are some of my writing friends that don't have cats, but I'm not going to take a survey.

I prefer dogs. I have dogs, one of whom stays with me constantly, a little Boston terrier.

Now I seem to have a "writer's" cat. 

We moved to a rural area two years ago. If you have a house in a rural area, you need a cat, especially in the fall. Every fall, at least in this climate, the mice decide they no longer want to live in the fields and attempt to move into the closest house. 

A neighbor took in two stray pregnant cats who simply showed up at their garage and asked to be fed. They're now spayed, but we adopted a little gray and white kitten from one litter. We made it a home in our garage. Wet and dry food. Blankets. Litter box. Access to outdoors. That was a year ago.

This summer, however, the cat decided she wanted to be a house cat, and she spends a good portion of the day sleeping somewhere in the room where I write. Her name is "Shorts," an appellation given because the white on her body is arranged in such a way that she seems to have extra-white winter-pale legs sticking out of a pair of gray Bermuda shorts. That's not her original name, which was "Snickerdoodle," a name I refused to tolerate because of its childishness.

"Shorts" isn't an overly friendly cat. She simply likes company. She likes company enough that she bites when lifted up to be put outdoors. She likes dry dog food. She likes to share in the dog treats, which are usually slices of bologna, Vienna sausages, or cans of fish.

I'm not fond of cats. It's best said that I like cats as long as they don't indulge in certain cat behaviors, one being using their claws to climb up my legs. But I enjoy cats being around simply to observe them and watch how they interact with the world.

And I appreciate the lack of mice in the house.
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