Black Cats

Today I went to Petsmart and held an adorable, fuzzy black kitten. He purred the entire time I held him, looked at me lovingly, and when he was put into back into the window box attempted to run back to me. If I could have adopted him I would have done so without a second thought.

Like many people do, I grew up with some strange superstitions about black cats. Then, one summer, my family and I came back from Trinidad to find our backyard filled with an influx of strange kitties. These passed too and from our sight for a while until one day a family led by a small, short-haired black cat started to visit regularly. Against the wishes of my parents I left a cat treat out on the patio, and, as the cliched saying goes, the rest is history. The cats stayed with us in the backyard. I don't remember how long it took my parents to start feeding them themselves, but it was a very short span of time. We watched the kittens grow, wild and free, and leave the family one at a time until only two were left: a longhair chocolate-colored cat named Blackie*, and a short-haired black-and-white cat with "socks" named Frisky. Frisky was "my" kitten when he was growing up, but he also disappeared one day. Blackie stayed with us a long time, until after the third litter his mother(who was simply dubbed "Mother" by us) had, but he also left eventually. He had a favorite blue string which we sometimes used to lure him into the house where we would pet him while he collapsed into a fear-struck ball of fluff. One time he took the blue string and hid it. I don't remember how we go it back; I think it involved breaking into a neighbor's yard.

I was too young then to know that we should have brought all of these cats indoors and I still sometimes regret not doing so, especially Blackie, whom I adored. Having outdoor cats is difficult because if they one day disappear their owner has no idea what happened to them, whether it be they moved into a new territory or got run over by a car.

After most of the first litter had left Mother went into heat that spring. "Meow-wow-wow-wow-wowwww!" and all of the neighborhood cats lined up, quite literally! I particularly remember a gray cat and a striped orange cat that my family and I actually had names for. She tapped all of her suitors on the nose with her paw except for one cat whom we had dubbed Mr. President, and then proceeded to have sex with him on the patio. We though that Mr. President was a Burmese cat at the time, but I think he may have been a Ragdoll.
Then there were kittens born in a box on our patio.

*Blackie has no racial connotations. This was simply the name an elementary school girl gave to a huge, fluffy kitty.

I'm getting tired of writing, so I will continue this later.