Today, I would like to take a moment to celebrate my feline daughter, Dixie. Eight years ago today, the Laird Hamilton and I brought our little cat home from the RSPCA. On the car ride back, he lectured her on her future behaviour and the fact that he expected her to not die. Ever. It was a very good chat and I think the information would have been well-received if we hadn’t just adopted a deaf cat.
She was deaf from birth, and so her previous family gave her to the RSPCA to be rehomed. We were told that they lived on a busy road, and so they were worried about her getting hit by a passing car. I know I will probably never meet the people whose cat gave birth to mine, but I hope they know she’s well looked after. Or at least as well as she will allow, being of a fiercely independent nature.
At any rate, the adoption process wasn’t terribly easy, but it’s probably intended to put off those who aren’t completely serious. There was a waiting period as well as a house inspection from the RSPCA, then two checks at three and six months. It would seem we were considered safe pet parents. Prior to that, though, as soon as I opened her travelling box after our drive home, she was out and suddenly nestled in with my shoes. She stayed hidden for the first three days and didn’t want us near her.
Slowly, though, she grew to used to her surroundings. It took her about two years to be affectionate, though, and she still doesn’t enjoy being held. I suppose she’s just being a teenager – it’s probably very uncool for you parents to hold you. However, she will sleep next to me these days, and has been known – once or twice – to get on the sofa. As yet, laps are off limits. One of her favourite things at present is to chase around my pattern pieces as I cut out fabric. Most pieces are now held together with lots of tape.
Though it seems like just yesterday that we brought our cat home, I am rather taken aback to announce that today is my cat’s eighth birthday! Well, adoption day. I hope that introducing people to my lovely cat will encourage others to consider adoption when looking for a companion animal. Though some people seem to think that animals from such agencies are mangey or abused, I can assure you that this is not strictly the case. Most are well adjusted, and many are young, having been given up for adoption when their original family had an unexpected litter.
Since then, we have adopted two dogs from the same centre, and all get on very well. By which I mean that, if the dogs are unruly, the cat bops them on the head. Order is restored.
As I write this, Dixie is actually face-first in my vanity drawer, trying to get at a bottle of perfume. This is typical grown-up cat behaviour, and I hope that it never changes.