When I met my boyfriend in 2000, one of his positive attributes was that he had a kitten.    I know how most men feel about cats, so the fact that he had one of his own was a good sign.  He didn’t have any interest in having a cat…the same way I felt before I got Jasmine, but as it turns out, fate had other plans.

He was watching a boxing match on TV late one summer night.  From the second floor condo, above the sound of the TV, he could hear crying in the backyard.  He went outside to see where the sound was coming from.  He spotted a tiny gray kitten crying up a storm.  He went over to check on her, and she wasn’t hurt, so he headed back into the house.  (As I said, he wasn’t interested in having a cat.)  

Well, this tiny kitten who could barely walk started running and stumbling after him, crying even louder.  Of course, he couldn’t bear to leave her out there after how hard she worked to get his attention.

He took her into the house, but it was too late to get any supplies at the pet store.  Not knowing what else to do, he made her a bed with a layer of towels in a large bowl.  She cried all night long, so the next morning, he took her over to his parents’ house, hoping that his mother would know what to do.  He knew that she was still very young, probably about 4-6 weeks old, and she would need to be bottle-fed, so he went out to get kitty formula and a bottle.  His mother showed him how to feed her, and she took to the bottle in no time.  In fact, she used to get angry when the bottle was empty.

One of his sisters was at his parents house, so he told her he needed to find a home for the kitten if she heard of anyone that was looking for one.  A few days later, she called to tell him that she did have a friend who wanted her.  When his sister’s friend came over to see her, she thought she was adorable, but when she asked to hold her, he realized that he couldn’t give her up.  After just a few days of feeding her and caring for her, he was already attached to her.  The friend was disappointed, but she understood.

By the time I met him, he had her for about 2 months, so she was about 3-4 months old.  She had a collar with a bell, and it was so funny to hear her jingling as she pranced through the house.  She was a gray tabby named Bella, and she was very cute.  If he was lying on the sofa watching TV, she would curl up and fall asleep on his chest.  She was definitely Papa’s little girl.  We found out from the vet not long ago that tabbies are known to become attached to one particular person.

Well, she didn’t seemed to be too thrilled when I came along.  If I would sit next to him, she would give me a look that said, “You don’t belong here”.  Through the years, she has come to accept me, although she will always be Papa’s girl.  She is definitely our crankiest cat, but she is still a special kitty to us.  As her “parents”, we can see the good side of her.  She is closer to the image that I had of cats before I got Jasmine – if she doesn’t want to be bothered, she’ll let you know.  She especially wasn’t thrilled when I eventually moved in with Jasmine, but she learned to tolerate her.

She is happy to let us pet her when she first wakes up, and she also lets me kiss her goodnight, but that’s about it.  At other times, she’ll put up with being pet, but the low growl will let us know that she’s not enjoying it.  She still likes curling up with Papa when he’s lying on the sofa.  Even when she doesn’t want to be pet, she’s never sitting more than a foot or two away from us.

She has come to know that Momma is the one who gives her treats, so she’ll often come over and lie next to me on the sofa, or even walk over and head-butt my arm to let me know that it’s time for treats.  Even then, she still doesn’t usually want to be pet, but I just have to say the word “treats” and her ears perk up and she sits still and lets me pet her.

I don’t want you to get the wrong impression of Bella.  She’s a very loving cat when she wants to be, but we just have to accept that it’s not always when we are ready to give her attention.  She is a very good judge of character, though.  My boyfriend has had friends at the house who she will check out when they come in, and then just walk away.  There have been a couple others that she will not stop growling and hissing at, and she turned out to be right about them.

That’s the story about how Bella came into my life.

More about Bella in future posts.

The house that I shared with my boyfriend at the time (I’ll call him J from here) had a fenced yard, but it was wooden, so the gate had a little bit of spacing between the posts and Sheba managed to squeeze through one day and take off down the street.  J and I yelled for her to come back, but she was gone.  He got in the car and took off to look for her and found her around the block with a dog who apprarently had free roam of the neighborhood.  He pushed the dog away, then picked Sheba up, put her in the car and brought her home.  

As the week’s passed, Sheba’s belly started to sag (though she didn’t really look fat at that point), and I knew she was going to have puppies.  We hadn’t even thought of the possibility because we thought he had found her in time, but apparently not.  J had already been talking about getting a puppy, but I didn’t want another dog.  Sheba was my baby and that was all I needed.  I started asking around to see if anyone wanted a puppy, even though we had no idea how many puppies she would end up having.  My best friend and her husband were thinking about getting a dog, but they weren’t sure if they wanted a young puppy.  I knew that we would have the puppies for 8-10 weeks, so I was hoping to have good homes lined up before I got too attached.  Even though I didn’t want another dog, I knew that the puppies would be adorable, and I didn’t want to be tempted to keep them.

In preparation, we had lined a large box with blankets to make a comfortable place for her to give birth.  We tried to get her to go into it as much as possible to get her used to it, and she seemed to like sleeping in it.

On Memorial Day 1994, Sheba was lying on the floor, and I actually noticed her stomach start contracting.  We brought her to the box and she settled in.  I called the animal hospital (our regular vet was closed for the holiday) because I just wasn’t sure if we should bring her there to have the puppies.  They just said to leave it to her to know what to do and the puppies would probably be born about 20-30 minutes apart.  I sat by her, but I left her alone so she wouldn’t get nervous if I was too close.  I was so excited I called my best friend (still hoping they would want a puppy), but they weren’t home, so I just left a message on their machine, “It’s time!  Sheba’s in labor!”  (Well, what else would a grandmother-to-be do?) 

The contractions went on longer than I expected.  I could see the contractions and see the puppy starting to come out, but I just thought it would come out quickly once she started to deliver.  The first one was finally born, but it wasn’t moving, and she didn’t make any effort to remove the sac or clean it up at all.  I was devastated…the puppy was stillborn.  Altogether, it took close to an hour from the time of the first contraction until the time the puppy was actually delivered, so it must have been a very hard labor for her.  Sheba looked tired, but within a short time, I could see the contractions starting again.  I was already crying and I was getting scared for her and couldn’t bear to watch her go through that again, so J went to sit with her while I went into the next room.  I was still close enough to get updates on how she was doing without having to watch her struggle.  Besides, I was afraid to be there when the next one was born.

It took approximately 45 minutes before she finally delivered the second – also stillborn.  With this one, we could definitely see that there was some kind of infection in the fluid of the sac.  A short time later, Sheba suddenly got up and went to the door to go out.  I was glad that she was up and about, but I was also afraid to let her out in case she had contractions again, but it seemed like it was over, so I let her into the backyard and kept an eye on her.  It did give J a good opportunity to remove the puppies from the box while she was outside.

When I brought Sheba back in the house, she looked tired but she looked better than she had earlier.  I felt awful about the puppies, but I was thankful that it was over and she was okay.  I didn’t think she could have survived the hard labor of another stillborn puppy.  She went back into the box to lie down and she made no effort to look for her puppies.  She seemed to know that they hadn’t survived.

I went back to check on her a few minutes later and my heart sank when I saw that she was having contractions again!  I couldn’t take it; I felt like I was going to be sick.  She couldn’t survive another hour of labor.  J went in to watch her again while I went back into the other room.

I was crying again and praying that Sheba would be okay.  Most importantly, I wanted her to make it through, but I also prayed that we could have just one live puppy so that all her hard work wouldn’t be for nothing.  It was around this time that my best friend returned my call.  She sounded so excited, “How’s it going?”  I barely choked out, “Not good.”  I finally managed to tell her briefly that two puppies were stillborn and Sheba was tired and in labor again.  I told her I would call her back later.

Thankfully, this one didn’t take as long to deliver, but it seemed to be the smallest, so that was probably the reason that it was a little easier.  She did clean this puppy off, so we could see that it was all black, but it wasn’t moving either.  Oddly enough, this time she stayed in the box, lying with the puppy against her belly.  We left her alone for a little bit to rest, but I went back to check on her a few minutes later and I looked at the puppy for the first time.  As I was looking at it, I could have sworn I saw it’s head move a little to try to nurse.  I yelled to J, “I think this one’s alive!”  He came back in the room and we both stared at it, and sure enough, the little puppy was nursing.  I was ecstatic!

I called my best friend back and as soon as she answered, I blurted out, “We’ve got a live one!”  My prayers had been answered.  Not only did she not have to go through another difficult delivery, but now she had a son to show for all her hard work.  Of course, after all they had both been through, there was no way we could separate them, especially since he was the only one.  I named him Simba because, with everything he went through to come into this world, it reminded me of what Simba from the Lion King went through just to reach adulthood (I told you I was addicted to Disney movies).  Okay, so it wasn’t exactly the same, but we had just seen the movie, and all I could think of was that he grew strong against all odds.

We figured that since Simba seemed to be the runt of the litter, the other two puppies may have just been too big to survive toward the end of the pregnancy, but we never knew exactly why the other two didn’t survive.  The runts are usually the weakest because they get pushed aside by their littermates, but since Simba (sadly) had no littermates, he grew to big a big and healthy 50-lb dog.  Once Simba was full-grown, people were always amazed when we would be out walking with 35-lb Sheba and 50-lb Simba and we would tell him that he was her son!

I didn’t get another puppy that looked like Sheba, but I couldn’t have asked for a better puppy than Simba.  After everything Sheba went through, I gave up my vision and got Sheba spayed, but I’m glad I waited and grateful that we ended up with Simba.

Well, Sheba’s next chapter is actually Simba’s first chapter.  More about Simba in future posts.

Until next time…Maureen

The page is located at James S. Huggins’ Refrigerator Door – this is his main page (seems to be a good site overall), or you can go directly to the article: James S. Higgins’ Refrigerator Door: Guidelines for Cats

That’s all for now. I just wanted to pass along a little humor.

Until next time…Maureen

One beautiful summer day I was wandering around a local flea market and I passed a woman with a puppy on a leash. I stopped to pet the puppy and remarked how cute it was. The woman asked me if I wanted her. I thought she was kidding, but she said she needed to find a home for her soon. I was in such shock that I didn’t think to ask a lot of questions, but she did tell me that she was around 4 months old. She wasn’t sure what breed she was (another mutt), but to me she looked like a miniature German Shepherd. She was mostly black with some brown on her face and paws. I fell in love with her right away, so I took her, and the woman left. All those months trying to find a puppy, and then one day a puppy found me! (I’ve always been a strong believer in fate.)  

Although I had been wanting a dog, I wasn’t expecting to bring one home that day, so I had to go out and get food, bowls, and other necessities. I named her Sheba. The name just came to me and seemed to fit. She never grew bigger than 30-35 lbs, but you’d never know it if she were barking at you from behind a closed door. She had the bark of a 60-lb German Shepherd. I have known people who were afraid of her when they first met her. If she felt threatened (such as someone she didn’t know coming into the house), she would growl and bare her teeth (but she never tried to bite anyone).

From the time I took her home, throughout her entire life, she had an unexplainable aversion to men with beards. I always wondered what she had gone through in those first few months of her life, and if that was the reason that the woman was so anxious to find her a new home. After all, the woman knew nothing about me, but was she that desperate to get the puppy away from someone else? I try not to think about that much, and I hope Sheba was happy during her life with me, but it just amazed me that whatever happened in her first few months stayed with her throughout her entire life. She did manage to eventually get comfortable with most of the men, but she was still nervous whenever she met someone new with a beard.

Well, that’s how Sheba came into my life. More about her in future posts.

Until next time…Maureen

The first pet I remember was a beautiful Irish Setter named Ginger. I don’t remember too much about her because we only had her until I was around 4 years old. I vaguely remember her having puppies. Everyone was shocked when she ended up having 10 puppies…not to mention that our beautiful red Irish Setter had 10 BLACK puppies – not a single red one in the litter! I don’t really remember much else about her because I was so young, but the rest of my family still talks fondly of her.  

When I was around 5 or 6, my parents brought home a new puppy. She was a little white furball. Actually, she was more of a light beige color than pure white, so I named her Taffy. Taffy was the pet that I shared my entire childhood with.

We never knew what kind of dog she was. She was an all-American mutt (which I still believe is the best “breed” of dog.) She had slightly curly hair (just like me) and she looked like she may have had some terrier or poodle in her. She was a medium-sized dog, which was bigger than we expected. Her fur would grow long and think and she almost looked like a sheepdog. Then, in the warmer weather, she would go to the groomer and come home looking like a poodle.

She was a very smart dog. We taught her the usual tricks – sit and give her paw, but I also taught her to give kisses by putting a little bit of peanut butter on my cheek. Whenever we’d ask her if she wanted to go out, she would run to the kitchen door and starting jumping – almost a foot and a half off the ground!

My father would take her out after he finished reading the newspaper, and she came to know the sound of his glasses clicking shut after he took them off, and she would immediately run to the door, ready to go out.

She was a good childhood companion. Sometimes she was the only one who would listen to me. She lived about 12 years, until I was 19 or 20, so the two of us really grew up together.

I think every child needs a furry friend to grow up with.

Well, that’s about it for my childhood pets.

Until next time…Maureen

I have always been an animal lover, but I only grew up with dogs because my dad is allergic to cats. I thought kittens were cute, but I had no desire to have a cat since they didn’t seem to be as interactive as dogs.

By the time I bought my first house in 1995, I had two dogs. (You’ll read about them in future posts.) A friend of mine had taken in a pregnant stray cat. The cat had 4 kittens just before I moved into my house. My friend, Nancy, was trying to find good homes for the kittens, but I just wasn’t interested in having a cat when I already had 2 dogs. My dogs guarded the house when I was gone and greeted me when I came home. What use did I have for a cat that wouldn’t even notice if I were there or not?  

When I moved into my rural home, I realized that mice might be a problem, so I started thinking that it might be a good idea to have a cat to keep the mice away. Besides that, Nancy kept telling me how cute the kittens were. Then she brought pictures in to work so I could see for myself. There were two orange and white, one black and white, and one calico. I didn’t want a cat that was “common” looking, and I wanted a female, so I told Nancy that, if the calico was a female, I would take it. Luckily for both of us, (or maybe all three of us), she was. I had to wait a few weeks until the kittens were old enough to leave their mother, and I was actually getting excited and impatient….after all, I did think kittens were cute.

I finally brought the kitten home and named her Jasmine, for Princess Jasmine from Aladdin (I was big into Disney movies at the time). She was a very cute kitten, of course. She was mostly white with a mixture of light brown, dark brown, and a little bit of black on her back. She had a tiny black dot on her white nose, and the dot grew as she did.

When she was little, I kept her upstairs and kept my dogs downstairs. I put a gate at the bottom of the stairs to keep the dogs from going up, and she was too little to climb down the stairs. One day when she was bigger (and braver), she decided to venture down the stairs. I realized it was time for her to get acquainted with my dogs. I was very nervous, more for the dogs than for Jasmine. I knew that the dogs had come in contact with cats in the past and had never tried to hurt them, but I wasn’t sure if Jasmine would get scared and scratch one of my dogs. Well, after a couple hours, they were the best of friends. I had to put Jasmine’s bed in the dogs’ room because otherwise she would go sleep with them in their beds during the day. At night, she always slept with me…right on top of my head.

I came to realize that cats will also greet you when you come home at night. My dogs and my cat each had their own positive influence on my life. My dogs would protect the house and I could take them for walks, and my cat would curl up on my lap while I watched TV (while the dogs slept at my feet). Jasmine never acted like a typical cat. She was very loving and cuddly, but she was also very shy. She was definitely as attached to me as I was to her. She was also a very quiet cat. I don’t think I ever heard a “meow” out of her. Occasionally, she would make a little “squeeky” sound that I can’t even describe. She was never one to claw at furniture.

She loved to drink from a dripping faucet. She would jump up on the sink and wait for me to turn it on. Like most cats, she loved being up high. The kitchen had an L-shaped counter, and there was approximately a 2 foot space above the cabinets. She loved to jump from the counter to the top of the cabinets and just lie there for hours. The first time I found her, I panicked and got a ladder to get her down. After I saw how agile she was with jumping up and down, I just let her enjoy her quiet time.

I never would have believed that I could love cats so much. She made me realize that cats can be loving and affectionate. I wouldn’t say that I wasn’t a dog person anymore, but I had also become a cat person. She has always been a very special cat, even as other cats have come into my life.

You’ll hear more about Jasmine in future posts, including the actual reason that prompted me to start this blog, but that’s a little background about the special kitty who turned me into a cat person.

Stay tuned to hear about each of my other pets.

I just wanted to take a moment to welcome you to my blog. Until next time…