Pussyfooting Pals

By Diane DeVaughn Stokes

Pussyfooting Pals

We would all agree that our pets give us more love than we could ever give them.

I once heard a friend say that he wished that he were as good as his dog thinks he is. I feel that way about my two white adult kitties adopted from local shelters. They look at me with adoring eyes and hearts overflowing with love each and every day, the same way Chuck looked at me on our wedding night! (And most of the time still does!)

Yet, I don’t buy the thought process that animals don’t think and feel the same way we do. Many think that their brains do not work like ours. I adamantly don’t agree.

When mine are hungry they let me know with a lavish deep “meow” much different than their normal soft purr. When mine are happy they acknowledge it with rubbing themselves all over me, so that sooner rather than later I have more cat hair on me than they they do. Yes, I wear a lot of black clothing, and all of my black pants have layers of white fur on the lower four inches of fabric. I have a lint roller in my car, in my office, in my husband’s car and in my laundry room. You cat lovers know what I talking about.

Every time we are going on an out of town trip, they freak out at the sight of the suitcase. They crawl in it while we are packing, and their dialect changes from their usual soft purr to an exorcist type howl that would scare the living daylights out of a non-cat lover. I imagine that some of my neighbors, who I often ask to feed them when we are gone, dread the chore. My calico, “Tosca” remains loveable and sweet I am told, but my longhaired “Sonya” turns into the cat from hell, hissing at anyone who comes near her. Thankfully, I have never seen this side of her. To me she is an angel. She is my precious shadow who follows me everywhere. I can’t even shut the bathroom door without her wanting to be inside. Now that is pure unadulterated love.

I don’t care about the cat poop I scoop each morning, or the hair balls stuck on the sun-room sofa or the big chunk of the budget spent on litter, food and vet bills. I don’t even care that after having cats my entire adult life I have developed an allergy to my babies. Constant sinus infections have led to daily meds, and for a talk-show host that is never good. However, as I told the doctor, they aren’t going anywhere. They are here to stay. They brighten my life more than I could ever tell you. They greet me at the back door when I come home each day. They are in my lap the moment I sit down. They listen to me when I tell them intimate stuff that I would not admit to anyone else. And those of you who, like me, do not have kids will agree, that they offer me a chance to use all those pent-up motherly instincts.

As the song says, “For the good times and bad times, I’ll be on your side for evermore. That’s’ what friends are for.” And even though I have some of the greatest two legged friends in the world, my two little four-legged darlings are simply “purrrfect.” I count them among my dearest of friends. Who else would want to hover around the toilet while I’m doing my business?

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One Response to “Pussyfooting Pals”

  1. Diane, I completely agree. My fur baby makes my life complete, too. Enjoyed your story.

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