For the Love of Cats

Last week I wrote a sad post about one of my ancestors receiving a letter talking about the impending death of his sister due to cancer.  It hit home with me, because our favorite cat was dying of cancer when I wrote it.  We got two cats eleven years ago.  The female cat was named Bella and her little brother from the next litter was named Cocoa.  But we always just called them Little Girl and Little Boy.  A few weeks ago, we found out that he had cancer and this past Saturday he died.

He was such a gregarious cat.  He was especially fond of Chuck.  Anytime he was inside, that cat was either walking around him or sitting on or next to him.  He especially liked to be around us in the evenings when we’d watch television.  I’d invariably be coaxed into making a tent with my legs and a blanket so Little Boy could have a cozy little place to stay.  

When he was content, he liked to let us know.  He’d meow a bit and then we’d start exchanging “What?”s and “Meow!”s.  This behavior is what led us to sometimes calling him Squeaky Boy.  As you can see by the photo of him, he was also a pretty boy.  

His sister did not appear to be as fond of him.  She seemed to resent the fact that she had to share the house with her younger brother.  She would hiss and swat at him when he walked by her.  Sometimes they would get into fights and growl at each other.  

But now that he’s gone, it’s a bit quieter.  No more squeaking.  No more tents.  An empty lap.  We miss that little cat.  And unexpectedly, Little Girl is missing him, too.  She jumps on the bed, then looks back to see if her brother is going to join her like he usually did.  Instead of whining for food in the morning like she usually does, she’s going around looking for him.  She even crawled under the blanket to see if she could find him.  It’s hard to explain to her that he’s not coming back.  She doesn’t understand what we’re saying, but we do.  And we miss him.

It’s time for me to turn this into my family history blog post.  Little Boy is now part of my family history.  But he’s not the first cat that was in my family.  I remembered that I had photos of both of my mom’s grandmothers with cats.  So I went looking for those photos in my mom’s old family photos.  I was surprised to find a picture of my mom with a cat when she was a young girl.  I never thought my mom was fond of cats.  Maybe young Betty Lou Bucklin was.

But I’m pretty sure her Bucklin grandmother was fond of cats.  My mom’s dad was Fred Bucklin.  His mother was Addie May Hine Bucklin, and she was fond of cats.  I’ve already established in previous posts that she was fond of dogs.  I have a sweet recording of her talking about her little dog Sammy and his brush with death.  There are several photos of her with dogs throughout her life.  

But there are also some photos of her with at least one cat.  Those photos were taken in 1937 at the old Bucklin homestead.  The reason I say that it is in 1937 is because that’s what is written on the bottom of the photo.  I love it when that is done.  No guessing.  No looking for vague clues.  No wondering if I’m missing something so glaringly obvious.

And though to look at the first photo of her with the cat, one would not necessarily say that she was fond of said cat.  But these photos come from an old photo album that I’m thinking was put together by Grandma Addie.  It might have been put together by one of her dozen children.  I don’t know.  But the pictures were taken at her old home, and the cat seems to be at her feet in a few photos.  There’s even a photo of the cat by itself.

My mom’s mom was named Myrtle Sylvia Phenice Bucklin.  Her mother was Daisy Keys Phenice.  She may or may not have had a love of cats.  She lived on a farm, so she probably appreciated the usefulness of cats.  Even my mom spoke positively about cats in that regard.  They help to keep rats and other vermin away from the feed for the farm animals.  We had a few cats that lived outside when I was just a toddler and we lived in the country.  

I’ve shared this photo of my great grandmother before.  It was taken after my mom gave her grandmother her first permanent wave for her hair.  Sitting behind her on the porch is a cat.  The cat looks very much at home on the porch.  I can’t tell what the cat is sitting next to.  It always makes me think of a dumbbell or a set of weights on the porch.  But I don’t think my great grandmother was known for pumping iron!  I’m not sure what it is, but the cat doesn’t seem to be bothered by whatever it is.

I can’t write a post about cats without posting a photo of my favorite cat.  Look at those eyes.  I got Kew from a coworker in 1997.  He was not a gregarious cat.  He was only friendly to me.  He tolerated Chuck.  He was mostly a garden cat.  Back then we lived at our house that we called Cloud’s End that was on a half-acre lot.  It was mostly garden.

I had a website for Cloud’s End for a long time that I used to share photos of plants and flowers.  In a blurb about the garden, one writer called Kew the mascot for Cloud’s End.  I always thought that was appropriate, and he even took a photo of Kew.  Most of our friends thought that Kew was a figment of my imagination – Van’s imaginary cat friend. 

That’s because whenever people would come around, Kew would disappear.  He didn’t go far, because as soon as they would leave, Kew would nonchalantly walk back into view.  Fortunately for me, Kew was photogenic.  So I had proof that he wasn’t imaginary.  Though he stayed out most of the day, when evening came, he would come to the window and scratch to be let in.  Then he’d spend the rest of the evening laying on my chest or sitting on my lap at the computer.

And though Kew was my favorite, Little Boy came in a very close runner up.  Surprisingly close.