Cats We've Had

When I was a kid, our family had an orange cat named Orlando. He ruled the house. We’d wanted an orange cat for awhile. One day one showed up in the Sunday paper want ads. My mother and I went to the ‘Point’ section of town to fetch him. I had to pry the poor cat out from under the radiator. It was winter-time. This was not a stupid cat!

Orlando was named after a storybook cat from England. He had a good life in our old farm house and three acres. Five children and one mother doted on him. My father wasn’t at home enough to know Orlando very well. My sister painted an official coat of arms that she posted over his feed bowls. When Orlando heard us pour the dry food into his dish, he came careening around the corner, his nails clicking on the linoleum. He ate with gusto. When I got home from school the cat would be sitting on my mother’s lap while she read.

I’m not sure how long we had Orlando, but the first few years, when my mother was still alive, seemed idyllic, for Orlando and me. We both had plenty of time to roam around outside. There were so many of us that Orlando didn’t need to cling to a radiator. We all wanted him in our lap!

Fast forward about three decades. I’m married and we live in a house with a front porch. The houses are pretty close together. One day after work my husband and I were sitting on the porch. I noticed an orange cat trying to move into my next door neighbor’s house. She was shooing him away. Mrs. Williams was far too busy to have a cat. She played bingo several times a week and hung out with a group called the Recycled Teenagers. She was about a four time cancer survivor and was 92 years old.

“Well”, I said to my husband, Phil, “If that cat comes up on our porch, I want him.” I came home from work at the library about twenty past nine and guess who was in or living room? Phil knew I wanted him so he fed the orange cat salmon scraps. We’ve had Julius for eleven years now. He has some set patterns and I think he has lots of cousins in our neighborhood- there are several orange cats.

The vet told me Julius age was five when we got him. He said he could tell by his teeth. One of his patterns is after dinner about seven each night; he’ll get our attention to get outside to hang with his friends. Phil says he’s in a hub cap gang, that they’re up to no good. We’ve seen the lot of them sitting in a circle in our neighbors’ yard.

We call Julius Kit Kat. The vet asked for a name the first time I brought him in so I quickly named Julius after a boy I liked in elementary school. My friend Kristina calls Julius Caesar.

Julius doesn’t like going to the vet after that first time. But they sure like him. He toughs it out and takes all the shots. A few years ago the vet convinced me to have Kit Kat’s teeth cleaned. It’s a long drawn out process: first they check him ahead of time to make sure he’s all healthy. Then the night before, no food allowed after 9 pm. I asked Phil to make sure he didn’t eat after 9 and to keep him inside. When I got home from work at 9:30 there was no sign of Kit Kat. In the morning he turned up for breakfast. That’s when I quick got him into the pet carrier and to the vet’s by 8 am. They said they’d call when he was ready, that it’d be about 4. About 4 I came off the beach to my car and listened to my phone messages. The lady from the vet tells me on the message that our cat has done something no cat at the Portsmouth Veterinary Clinic has ever done before, and that he’s ready for pick-up. When I get to the vet’s its near closing time. Kit Kat is on the counter in his carrier and the lady behind the counter is bragging about him!

He apparently ate plenty the night before, not inside but out. When the vet went to check on him to make sure the anesthesia was properly taking effect, our mild-mannered Kit Kat was projectile vomiting one mouse after another, three in all.