Drama Kitty

In about a week my cat will be twenty-one years old. That might make Butch the Miss Jane Pittman of cats. And he's the most opinionated animal I've ever met. He has a comment for everything. Seriously, this cat talks. A lot.

Our friendship actually began with his mother, Genvieve. I had recently moved into an apartment and was living alone for the first time. I owned a futon and a couple of milk crates for my books. It was after my first stint of unemployment and I was not only holding down two part-time jobs, I was rehearsing a new musical. One of the jobs was as a host at a very popular restaurant.

The people who worked at this restaurant were colorful. One of them was a waitress named Liz. She liked to tease her hair until it was a wiry pillar at the top of her head. She came up to me and said, "You look like you could use a cat."

"I don't like cats."

"No, seriously, I think you would be great with a cat, and I have just the one for you. I won't give her to you now because she's in heat, but as soon as that's passed I'll let you have her."

"I don't want a cat."

"Just come over and meet her. You'll love her."

Liz lived two blocks from my new apartment, so once the season had passed I went over to Liz's apartment. I don't remember there being any furniture. When I arrived, it was lit by candles and the floor in the living room had a pentagram painted on it. There were cats everywhere. I counted eight, but there were more in hiding. Liz disappeared into a room and brought out this gray cat. She had was a solid gray, no stripes, and she had sea-foam green eyes. She handed the cat to me and started ushering me to the door. "See, she likes you." Before I knew it, I had a cat tucked under my coat and was walking home.

Gennie spent the first three weeks under my bed. I set food out for her and she came out while I was gone and ate it. She was the perfect cat for a person who did not like nor want a cat.

The show I was in progressed. Since it was a new musical it was fraught with backstage drama and it was exhausting. My employment situation had improved and I was working one nine-to-five job. Things were stressful and I wasn't getting much sleep.

Then Gennie went into heat again.

The vet told me that she could not be spayed until her season had passed. We were both miserable. There was a male cat somewhere in the building and Gennie could smell him. I spent two nights suffering through her screams and finally had to put her outside. I decided that if she was around in the morning she still had a home and if not, oh well.

The next morning she came home and was content. Eight weeks later I came home from work and found her nested in my laundry basket, mid birth. With a kitten half hanging out of her it was the first time I'd heard her purr. There were four kittens.

As the weather improved, I let the kittens out on the fire escape to play. The biggest kitten liked to climb up to the top, but he was afraid to come down. He'd sit up there and cry. Gennie was less than interested and so I would go up and get him. Ten minutes later he'd be back up at the top crying again. I thought it was cute. I was stupid.

I found homes for two of the kittens. The third kitten was evil and just plain mean. I had no problem taking him to the local shelter and just shrugged when they told me he would likely be destroyed. But I kept the big, dumb one and named him Butch.

And that's when Butch started talking. He'd greet me when I came home. He'd complain if it was too hot. He'd walk out of the room bitching if he didn't like the food. There was one heatwave where his screaming took on operatic proportions. And when I had him neutered he yowled in his carrier on the bus ride to the vet's. When I came back the next day to pick him up I could hear him in the back when I walked him. He yowled on the bus ride home and when I finally let him out of the carrier he was hoarse.

Now that he's old he seems to be developing dementia. He wanders around the house and then just stops and stares off into the distance. He'll stand almost frozen, but not at attention like he's hunting. It's more like his mind has just gone completely blank. He's decided that he should have a two a.m. feeding and starts walking up and down the hall announcing that he's hungry. When he uses his cat box, he'll walk into the living room and announce that he's finished. The only thing that will shut him up is for me to lay on the couch. Then he'll curl up at the other end and go to sleep . That's how the perfect order of his world should go.

Cats don't usually live into their twenties. When he was first born and I decided to keep him, I picked him up, looked him straight in the eye and said, "You get sick, you die." I stand by that proclamation. I don't believe in kitty surgery, or kitty chemo. He's a cat. He's been a dear friend for more than twenty years, and I can't imagine life without him, but he's a cat.

Here's hoping we makes it to twenty two.