The Cat

Since I'm primarily a dog person it takes a particular kind of cat to turn my head. In the last 13 years I tried 2, but they weren't meant for me (and found happiness in other homes). I'd given up. Friends' cats, in particular a Maoist named Lily, are dearhearts but they aren't mine. 

Strider has this uncanny ability to find the best furfaces around. And though she found Hildebeest and brought her home for herself along with the pastel kitty Clementine, Hildebeest is much more my kind of cat than Strider's. The Beest has attitude. She is somewhat bitchy. She's a cat you can argue with.

She's also touchingly affectionate, reaching up a padded paw to tap your arm when she wants a scratch, or curling up on you when you read. She's a purring motor. She snores. And when she sneezes, it's in batches and she makes a human face, the jaw hanging open and eyes closed between the "Snurtf!"s. She growls when you hold her but doesn't claw. She's fat and long and walks silently like a dancer. She follows me everywhere.

Clem will probably throw a kitty party when she realizes Hildie's gone. Hildie is a bully to poor little Clem. Several times a day I'm yelling, "Hey!" when the Beest does something mean or obnoxious. Clem is a sweet and ditzy little cat and deserves peace in her home. This is best for all.

Strider's given me a lot of great gifts over the years, but Hildebeest is the best of all. Now I won't so obviously be talking to myself as I'll add, "You crazy cat!" to everything.