Acquiring Cats

One of my cats and I have a morning routine. When I awake, one of the first things I do, as do many people, is to visit the bathroom. The routine part of this equation is that my cat, Little, is there waiting for me. I sit, she sits on my lap. I give her her morning dose of affection; she rubs her head on my face and gives me mine. It's really a very pleasant way to start the day. This morning, while having our morning affection fix, I got to thinking about cats in general – my cats in particular. On very few occasions have I actually gone out and intentionally acquired a cat. I got to wondering if, in fact, cats pick their person, as opposed to people going out and picking a cat. This thought spun on to my reflection of the cats I have had over the years, and how they ended up in my house.

One autumn day, many years ago, my husband, my six week old son and I went for a walk at the beach. We weren't actually on the beach because strollers don't behave well in the sand. This particular beach was a block from our house in Florida. Autumn in Florida can be very pleasant. A reprieve from the summer heat is something to be anticipated for most of August. It was a blustery day. The sky was gray with heavy clouds that promised rain, and the wind was whipping through the palm trees, but not strong enough to pelt us with sand. Even though it was September, the air was warm and humid. One might think that weather like this might keep people in their homes, for fear of being caught in the rain, but the truth is the opposite. The beach was packed! There were lots of people like us, walking on the sidewalk, but there were just as many people out on the beach, playing in the washing machine-like surf.

As we strolled along, enjoying the breezy day, I thought I heard a cat. At first I wasn't sure, because the wind competed with all the other sounds of the day. So we walked on a little further. Then I thought I heard it again. I stopped. I listened. I heard it again. When I asked my husband if he heard it, he said “no”. I think he was lying. Another few moments passed and I heard it again, more constant and insistent this time. I finally located the source of the meows. Across the street from the beach were a few houses. In the driveway of one of the homes was a little tiny kitten. He must have been about the same age as my son. He was staring at me, crying, and trotting in my direction. Out of all the people walking at the beach that day, he picked me. I met him in the middle of the street and scooped him up. I couldn't imagine who would leave a barely weened kitten out in the yard. At this point, my husband had his hand over his eyes and was shaking his head: He knew how this was going to end!

I guess it goes without saying that we took him home. My husband named him Astro and, for many years after, referred to him as “The cat Willow stole.” I don't see it that way.