Back in June Andrew asked us if we’d consider taking in two adult cats because the owner was moving to Australia. I was immediately for it and Dean said it was up to me.
We met the cats a week later and they seemed friendly and fine, if a little frightened.
Their owner, Dan, dropped them off on July 30 and they’ve been getting used to being here.
Waffle is a female and a very large one at that. She’s probably got some Maine Coon or Norwegian Forest Cat in her. She’s a tabby color. Pony is all white except for a stripe of gray between his ears.
I’m not going to lie and tell you that it’s all been good. The first night, Waffle peed on my leather “cloud” chair. The second night she peed and pooped on Dean’s leather recliner. We washed the leather and floor with soap, then sprayed them with a leather-safe enzyme. We’re also covering the seats when we are not sitting in them.
At the previous owner’s suggestion, I bought a second liter box for them to put in the lodge. That took care of peeing and pooping on furniture, but now Waffle pees around the corner in the kitchen instead of in the box. I think she only does that when there is solids in the box, so I’m always on the lookout for fresh poop.
There is more good than bad, though. They are both very friendly. Waffle has become my shadow and always wants to be in the same room as I am in, often on my lap.
Pony is affectionate too, but more aloof. He’s very vocal when it comes to treats though.
Somewhere among my belongings, either in boxes from my mom’s house or in something I already had in Maryland I found a formerly white envelope with the words Cinder Patrick, 1 year written on the front in red or dark pink ink. Inside was a small thatch of black fur.
Cinder was my second cat — my father, a self-described cat-hater, brought her home to me when I was 13. She was a one-person cat and everyone else hated her. We loved each other.
She lived through three moves, from my parent’s house to my first apartment, to Pittsburgh with Dean and me and finally to Alexandria where she died at the ripe old age of 17.
Sorry, Cinder, but this memory is going in the trash — the fur might go in the garden though.
I wrote this October 1966. I am not sure what grade I was in. Probably fourth.
I am a ten-year-old girl. My name is Dona Patrick. I live at 240 Heine Street, Elgin, Illinois. My brother’s name is Kevin. He is three years old. My mother’s name is Pat, but I call her Mom. My father’s name is Al but I call him Dad. I don’t know if I am pretty, but my dad says so.
When I got my cat, it was 5 months old. When I got my dog, he was eight months old. I was ten when my cat was born. I was six or seven when my brother was born. My aunt was married and I was the junior bridesmaid. My mom was a bridesmaid. So was my aunt. The bride’s girlfriend was the maid-of-honor. My brother was the ring bearer. Now I have a new uncle and I might have a new cousin. I hope it’s a girl. But if it is a boy, it’s his business.