Chapter 15 (Freedom and Animals cont.)
CHLOE
I know how old our cat Chloe is because it was the autumn before of one of the biggest tragedies of our lives happened, when our son-in-law, Ray Williams got killed in an auto accident when a teenage girl, distracted by something, drove into his car killing him instantly in May of 1996. In late October of 1995, a stray cat wandered on to their driveway. Having two young cats already they couldn’t keep Chloe, so Trese called us to ask if we could have a cat now that we lived in the country. “You know how your father feels about cats,” I replied.
“We can bring him up to the house while Dad’s in Tunkhannock, and when he gets home we can show him how well she does in the house.” I think they even brought over an extra kitty litter box, or bought one on the way. The mid-sized kitten was already litter trained. I find that cats or kittens prefer to use litter, and are very clean animals in the house. We put the litter in the laundry room and left the cat there and closed the door after making enough a fuss so the cat felt quite content.
When Tom got home he could tell something was going on just by the expressions on our faces. When we finally told him, and showed him that she could stay in the laundry room until she got acclimated to the place, he looked at the kitty litter and said, “As long as the kitty litter is in the laundry room, and as long as she’ll always use it, I have no problem with having a cat in the house.” I couldn’t believe it. Tom’s family never had a “pet” cat. There were always ample cats at any farm, as there were always those people with fertile female cats who wouldn’t pay to have them spay, but just take the kittens and drop them off near a farm, knowing they’d find their way to the barn and be one of the many mousers--more than needed-- to keep the mouse population down. The cats would reproduce too rapidly for their job, and the surplus ones had to be dealt with, and Tom’s job as a young child was to drown the kittens. I personally think he had to hate the cats to do that horrible job. I think if his parents were still alive, I’d have told them that I thought giving that job to a child was a terrible thing. That they should have done it covertly so the children wouldn’t know the difference. But that was all in the past. At the time I got Chloe even the drop offs down at the farm were well fed by Tom’s brother John, and he would make pets out of the favorites, as he spent more time in the garage during the day, than he did in the house. John’s garage was called “the Church,” as their loosely held meetings where hunters and friends would gather, were usually held on Sunday, though people would drop in at any time during the week. And if John wasn’t out planting corn, cutting hay, or doing any chores out in the fields, he could usually be found in the garage, fully equipped with an old refrigerator with a beer tap on the side, and a wood stove for the cold weather. This church was never closed. The guys would stop and talk with John, and solve all the world’s problems, as well as spread all the newest gossip from the locals. Many people hunted up on Miller Mountain, and as a result, got to know John as a good friend. Some would also come and help him out as a friend at haying time or when the corn would be reaped. Tom loved the work and found it a way to use his restless energy usefully now that he was retired from IBM. Tom would come back with tales of the cutest cat that John had adopted and kept in the garage, spoiling the kitty with food and attention. Now we had our own cat, and we named her Chloe, as she looked Siamese, and the name sounded exotic.
Chloe is in her 13th year, and is still a beautiful cat. When I took her to an appointment Trese had already made at Owego Veterinary for her first shots, I asked what kind of cat she was, as she looked like a pure bred Siamese, except that her markings had tri colored stripes through them. The vet said, “We call these Siamese Tigers.” I thought that so exotic. I had never seen a prettier Siamese, and was sure she was rare …for about ten minutes. As I was leaving that vet, someone brought in a mother cat and about six kittens with the identical markings of my rare cat. So, Chloe wasn’t extraordinary… except to us.
She just got a long overdue rabies shot. She’s such an old cat that we didn‘t think regular booster shots all that necessary, but we were fearful that, being an outdoor cat not only during the day but sometimes be gone for weeks at a time, and that she could be wounded by a rabid animal, and spread the disease to us. She had one about eight or nine years ago, but is such an outdoor cat, that it is difficult to find her when taking the dogs for annual boosters. When we finally caught her on the same day as the dogs shots were to be given, we mainly wanted her just to get the rabies shot, but didn’t want to sound calloused by saying so, so the vet just gave her the boosters shots at the same time. She a lone hunter, and discourages other cats from wandering in, so I didn’t have her retested for leukemia nor have her feline leukemia shot given. I told him that we expect that she‘ll be killed by a coyote someday, and Dr. Crowley gave me a strange look and said, “We sure hope that‘s not going to happen.”
Chloe is very photogenic, and I even made a kids picture book about How to Live According to Chloe, showing her doing things that had a look of whatever slogan I put under the picture… like her walking along the top of a wooden fence, “One should practice how to balance.” Another was her giving herself a bath just inside the bathroom door which was wide open. “If you need privacy, don’t leave the bathroom door open.” The end of the book said, “Accept love,” with a picture of Chloe being held lovingly by our daughter-in-law, Aimee Jurista.
Chloe has the best of two worlds. She can be as wild and free as she cares to be, but she can also come inside and be petted, have companionship of both us and the dogs, as well as all the food she can eat. When she does eat, she eats a lot, and still keeps her girlish feline figure. At twelve years old, she’s still a very pretty and exotic cat.
CHLOE
I know how old our cat Chloe is because it was the autumn before of one of the biggest tragedies of our lives happened, when our son-in-law, Ray Williams got killed in an auto accident when a teenage girl, distracted by something, drove into his car killing him instantly in May of 1996. In late October of 1995, a stray cat wandered on to their driveway. Having two young cats already they couldn’t keep Chloe, so Trese called us to ask if we could have a cat now that we lived in the country. “You know how your father feels about cats,” I replied.
“We can bring him up to the house while Dad’s in Tunkhannock, and when he gets home we can show him how well she does in the house.” I think they even brought over an extra kitty litter box, or bought one on the way. The mid-sized kitten was already litter trained. I find that cats or kittens prefer to use litter, and are very clean animals in the house. We put the litter in the laundry room and left the cat there and closed the door after making enough a fuss so the cat felt quite content.
When Tom got home he could tell something was going on just by the expressions on our faces. When we finally told him, and showed him that she could stay in the laundry room until she got acclimated to the place, he looked at the kitty litter and said, “As long as the kitty litter is in the laundry room, and as long as she’ll always use it, I have no problem with having a cat in the house.” I couldn’t believe it. Tom’s family never had a “pet” cat. There were always ample cats at any farm, as there were always those people with fertile female cats who wouldn’t pay to have them spay, but just take the kittens and drop them off near a farm, knowing they’d find their way to the barn and be one of the many mousers--more than needed-- to keep the mouse population down. The cats would reproduce too rapidly for their job, and the surplus ones had to be dealt with, and Tom’s job as a young child was to drown the kittens. I personally think he had to hate the cats to do that horrible job. I think if his parents were still alive, I’d have told them that I thought giving that job to a child was a terrible thing. That they should have done it covertly so the children wouldn’t know the difference. But that was all in the past. At the time I got Chloe even the drop offs down at the farm were well fed by Tom’s brother John, and he would make pets out of the favorites, as he spent more time in the garage during the day, than he did in the house. John’s garage was called “the Church,” as their loosely held meetings where hunters and friends would gather, were usually held on Sunday, though people would drop in at any time during the week. And if John wasn’t out planting corn, cutting hay, or doing any chores out in the fields, he could usually be found in the garage, fully equipped with an old refrigerator with a beer tap on the side, and a wood stove for the cold weather. This church was never closed. The guys would stop and talk with John, and solve all the world’s problems, as well as spread all the newest gossip from the locals. Many people hunted up on Miller Mountain, and as a result, got to know John as a good friend. Some would also come and help him out as a friend at haying time or when the corn would be reaped. Tom loved the work and found it a way to use his restless energy usefully now that he was retired from IBM. Tom would come back with tales of the cutest cat that John had adopted and kept in the garage, spoiling the kitty with food and attention. Now we had our own cat, and we named her Chloe, as she looked Siamese, and the name sounded exotic.
Chloe is in her 13th year, and is still a beautiful cat. When I took her to an appointment Trese had already made at Owego Veterinary for her first shots, I asked what kind of cat she was, as she looked like a pure bred Siamese, except that her markings had tri colored stripes through them. The vet said, “We call these Siamese Tigers.” I thought that so exotic. I had never seen a prettier Siamese, and was sure she was rare …for about ten minutes. As I was leaving that vet, someone brought in a mother cat and about six kittens with the identical markings of my rare cat. So, Chloe wasn’t extraordinary… except to us.
She just got a long overdue rabies shot. She’s such an old cat that we didn‘t think regular booster shots all that necessary, but we were fearful that, being an outdoor cat not only during the day but sometimes be gone for weeks at a time, and that she could be wounded by a rabid animal, and spread the disease to us. She had one about eight or nine years ago, but is such an outdoor cat, that it is difficult to find her when taking the dogs for annual boosters. When we finally caught her on the same day as the dogs shots were to be given, we mainly wanted her just to get the rabies shot, but didn’t want to sound calloused by saying so, so the vet just gave her the boosters shots at the same time. She a lone hunter, and discourages other cats from wandering in, so I didn’t have her retested for leukemia nor have her feline leukemia shot given. I told him that we expect that she‘ll be killed by a coyote someday, and Dr. Crowley gave me a strange look and said, “We sure hope that‘s not going to happen.”
Chloe is very photogenic, and I even made a kids picture book about How to Live According to Chloe, showing her doing things that had a look of whatever slogan I put under the picture… like her walking along the top of a wooden fence, “One should practice how to balance.” Another was her giving herself a bath just inside the bathroom door which was wide open. “If you need privacy, don’t leave the bathroom door open.” The end of the book said, “Accept love,” with a picture of Chloe being held lovingly by our daughter-in-law, Aimee Jurista.
Chloe has the best of two worlds. She can be as wild and free as she cares to be, but she can also come inside and be petted, have companionship of both us and the dogs, as well as all the food she can eat. When she does eat, she eats a lot, and still keeps her girlish feline figure. At twelve years old, she’s still a very pretty and exotic cat.
posted by Cranberry Jo @ 6/10/2008 07:48:00 PM
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