Bad Bad Kitty
The Houston Stray That Made Me Fall in Love with Cats
I heard the crash from upstairs. When I rushed to the kitchen I witnessed a story in progress. There was a yard sale of fridge magnets all over the linoleum and a telltale bare strip down the center of my recently heavily-collaged refrigerator. Hanging from the top of the appliance was my 10-month-old cat, Angus. He was scrambling to pull himself up to finally reach his lifetime goal of, once again, reaching Top-O-Fridge.
Goals are important, folks.
Before I could reach out to help him, he’d already given up. He slowly slid down to the floor. Once there, he looked up at me and then trotted off with his bottle brush tail in the air, as if to say “clean this up.”
I burst out laughing. I adore this cat.
I was an adamant dog person my entire life. I want a pet as interested and dedicated to me as I am to them, and with dogs that is a mutual. Dogs and humans have a storied partnership going back over 20,000 years of codependent aid. But with cats, it’s a situationship, at best and I’m ALWAYS the one more into the cat. I did not have the self esteem to be a cat person.
That being said, I always liked cats (as a concept), but felt they were too aloof, too hot and cold, too emotionally complicated for a pet. Because let me tell you what I am looking for in a pet: family. And family is emotionally complicated enough.
Cats are not mean, or even aloof really. They just aren’t going to give a drop of effort above what you’re willing to give them. Cats have boundaries. This is not a concept dog people appreciate enough.
Then a few years ago a person moved in with me, my first queer relationship and they brought their black cat. This cat was not like my cats, which at the time were two barn cats that ended up housecats by default. They came and went inside the house as they pleased, spending most of their time outside save for the worst of winter. They got their shots and were spayed and neutered, but besides that they were basically pest-control staff that I chatted with briefly in the break room before work. They got pets while pouring their morning kibble, and then my focus went to the dogs that were learning to herd sheep, chase predators away, and shared my bed.
But my partner’s cat was so different. She was a house cat, indoors since adoption. The sole animal of a dedicated owner only feeding her the finest food and best medical care. The efforts paid off because that cat was gorgeous and sweet and purred louder than a lawnmower. And she was incredibly affectionate to her owner. The way they interacted together, the relationship they had, the potential it unlocked in every volatile feline I’d ever met….did it ever opened up my heart to cats.
And so the farmhouse became a “cat person house” because I was in love with a cat person. There was now cat furniture in my home. There was special litter and foods, and my two ex-barncats started getting more attention from both of us. Within the year that person lived with me, my two older aloof cats - they changed entirely. Now they are constantly affectionate and around a lot more. I unlocked the cat person achievement and life was so much better. A new harmony was playing in the farmhouse.
When they left, they took the cat. The farm house was back to two and it felt… wrong.
So last summer, when a union welder I’d originally met on a dating app posted that there were kittens born under her trailer at a job site outside Houston, I was paying attention.
When the welder said she was bringing home the mother and the entire litter back to Albany, I jumped at the opportunity. I messaged her right away and said if no one had claimed the black kitten I wanted him. She was only planning on keeping the stunted calico mother and was happy to hear homes were already hitting her messages. She said he was mine if I wanted him.
A few weeks later I showed up at her apartment in June. She wouldn’t accept money, but she had already done all the work of transporting kittens across state lines and paying for their kitten food and toys were all over her stylish apartment. Knowing she didn’t want cash, I brought her a basket of farm goods, pork and lamb and soap and eggs, and went home that same day with a black kitten sporting a fever coat.
I named him Angus. Because all of my cats have Scottish names and I wasn’t about to buck tradition. And Angus grew up very different than my other cats, which were basically feral farm staff with a light medical history. No, this cat was with me from jump. He fell asleep in my arms, was fine with me petting and touching paws, followed me into every room in the house, and (if you can believe it) sought me out for attention and affection. An absolute angel.
Then he turned into an adolescent. Chaos reigned.
The chaos has not stopped, we are all just adapting. This cat is so bad. I don’t mean like, a little destructive. I mean BAD. You like that lamp? It’s getting knocked over. Vase with flowers? Also knocked over. You like that vintage pyrex, think again hipster! Go ahead, set it up again, I dare you…. Don’t want him outside yet? He’s darting outside and CHASING GEESE. Oh, getting smart about doors and not letting him slip past? Who cares! He found an escape hatch from under the crawl space below the kitchen floor to right below the goose nest in the wood shed. Do you have any idea what it sounds like to have a kitten explode from beneath a goose nest at 2AM?!
Taxidermy is furniture. Chairs are scratching posts. He’s fallen into the toilet 4 times. He’s a picky eater. Boredom yowler. Catnip addict with attachment issues… And since he’s pitch black, sometimes I end up having a whole conversation with a black tee shirt rumpled up in the corner of the bathroom if my contacts are out. It’s been a humbling couple of months…
And yet, despite all of this insanity he is perfect. Him trotting downstairs around dinnertime after a day of sleeping on my bed while the rest of us were working the farm and earning his kibble money, meowing his approach, like calling his staff to prepare dinner - fills me with delight.
He’s the first cat I have raised from a kitten as a bonefided cat person. The difference is astounding. And while yes, he is a constant source of patience-trialing everyday offenses, he is so much more than that. Because for all his destructive tendencies and dedication to breaking antiques, he’s also the first cat to fall asleep as I gently rocked him in my arms. He’s the first cat to come find me in the middle of the night, gently lick my cheek, purr, and slide between my arms to be held. He’s the first cat to come whenever I call him. The first cat to jump into my lap when I am curled up with my knees against my chest crying. He’s the first cat to show me every possible aspect of cat ownership and it’s only been 8 months together.
And I love him. And he’s helped me love my other cats even more. He’s made me a better person, because he’s opened my heart up to a simple (but abundant!) love. And the energy around this farmhouse, while occasionally chaotic, is mostly a serene cohabitation of three cats and two old dogs and one bumbling coyote woman.
I can’t imagine having not found this cat. I can’t stand the idea I may have never had him in my life.
I’m now a cat lady. I wear that badge with pride.
May Angus the Horrible live forever.
You finally found your familiar 😻
I LOVE IT!!
As a cat servant myself, I am sure that every word is true.