I grew up with cats, and I've always been an animal lover. But my dad, being from Montana, has a slightly different view of cats than most. Our cats were pets but also functioned as mousers. They were indoor/outdoor cats who were lucky to have names.
My first cat was Petey V, named after my dad's brother who died in his early twenties. Well, I thought we named him after another cat, Petey IV, who died the same year. I think I was four or five when Petey and Pepper, my sister's cat, were born. My parents took in "Mama Cat", then we moved to our new house, and I'm not quite sure what happened to her after that.
I had a few cats with an ex I was with for a long time, but he kept them. I taught one how to fetch and jump through hoops, but that was really more out of boredom.
A few years ago, a friend dropped off two Maine Coons when she had to commit their owner into a home because I had mentioned in a drunken conversation that I like giant cats. I planned to find a better home for them. But then I gave them names (Captain Shakespeare & Sasha) and was attached.
A few weeks ago, I started feeding a cute poly-dactyl black and white cat outside. Turns out, she was pregnant. That's probably why she was being so friendly. Last week, she had 4 kittens, all with extra toes and black & white.
(If you're keeping track, I'm technically up to 7 cats.)
I, foolishly according to most of my friends, agreed to let my unemployed boyfriend's friend and his girlfriend stay with us until they get settled. I agreed to ONE cat. They are due to arrive Friday with FIVE cats. It seems they found 4 kittens somewhere and are moving them from Texas to Florida. I had good plans to get rid of my 4 kittens when they're old enough, but I don't know if they do.
That's it for now really. I'm up to 12 cats by the weekend and 4 people living in a space that is made for 2. Great...
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