The cat will find you…

I have written numerous posts about adapting to a new life in Mexico. Many readers of this blog know that I have even published two books on the topic. In both Magic Made in Mexico and Tomando Agua de Pozo I have mentioned that cats make excellent companions.

I think I want to live here!
I think I want to live here!

Felines are:

Friendly (when they want to be)
Loyal (if you treat them well)
Cute (when they are young and cleaned up)
Sweet (when they want something)
Curious (as can be)
And easy to look after (most of the time)

Got anything to eat?
Got anything to eat?

Acquiring one is effortless… “The cat will find you.”

And yesterday, that’s precisely what happened at our house.

OK... milk!
OK… milk!
We’ve had many cats over the years. The first was Blackie, a very “original” name for a jet black beauty who came came home with us after looking at me with his sea green eyes, and repeatedly rubbing against my leg during a friend’s birthday party. But it was not too long before he mysteriously died. Just like that. He must have had distemper – quite common in young cats.

I felt devastated and did not want another cat. Period.

I'll clean myself up now...
I’ll clean myself up now…

A few years later, Perla dragged herself to our door. A gorgeous Siamese cross, she had been hit by a car. Poor little thing – I knew she would probably not make it but I nursed her for several weeks until she also went up to the big kitty home in the sky.

Two down. Too quickly. No more cats, I vowed.

And now it's time for a nap
And now it’s time for a nap
But then 4 year old Maggie played with an orange ball of fluff at a play-date. “Oh you can take him home,” my friend told my daughter. And of course, we did. He fared better than his predecessors, and lived for seven years as a pampered member of our household. He stoically allowed Maggie to dress him in doll clothes and he sat on a chair during her tea parties. Why she called him Timmy Gonzalez, I have no idea, but that was the name she gave him.

After Timmy Gonzalez, we had no cat for many years. But one fateful day at the market I spied a mangy mutt chasing a scrappy little kitten. By the time I ran to the rescue, the dog had it in his mouth and looked ready for breakfast. I smacked the tormenter’s snout and out spilled “Hobbsie.”

Hobbsie
Hobbsie

Hobbsie was the “cat of my life.” He adored me, in his aloof way. He meowed at the top of his lungs any time he wanted something and I complied. I loved him immensely and my eyes tear as I remember his death, at 12 years of age, from kidney disease.

I did NOT want another cat, but now, a year and a half later (a decent mourning period) this black and white bandit has declared his desire to be my Kitty Number 5. If Elizabeth Taylor had 5 husbands, I guess that I can take on a new pet, can’t I?

So, I have called Debi, my friend and fellow blogger, asking for the name of her vet, and we’ll see how this little guy fares…

To read more, visit: http://www.writingfrommerida.com

16 thoughts on “The cat will find you…”

  1. So true. All of my cats have found me. The first was abandoned on the cruel streets of Houston, TX, and I found her while out on a walk with another cat-loving friend. The last two were strays who came to my back door here in Boston, and due to their amazing cuteness, were instantly grabbed and domesticated. Sadly, one of them died on 9/3. If you’re curious, you can read his obit on my blog. The other is going strong, thank God!

    Saludos,

    Kim G
    Boston, MA
    Where we may have to go out and get the next cat as the stray population has plummeted over the years.

      1. F tried three times to get a TOURIST visa, and was refused three times. Not only was it frustrating for both of us, but he kind of took it personally, even though I told him he really shouldn’t. But it’s hard not to get riled up about this.

  2. One cold and rainy September night in Toronto my son and I had just got off the streetcar when this little ball of grey fur started sniffing around my feet. Before I realized it the next thing she did was to climb up my back and meow her heart out in my ear. She was wearing a flea collar so, obviously, she belonged to somebody. We took her to the humane society, gave our names and phone number, told them we would take the kitten home and if someone was looking for her to call us. Well no one called and London, who grew into the sweetest cat one could ever meet, stayed with us for seventeen years – she died the same day Pope John Paul II was buried. Not long after Harriet, a tortoiseshell, came into my life. My son had found her in a dumpster one cold winter night and brought her home. I don’t know Harriet’s exact age but she is at least ten and has become quite a jet-setting kitty as this is her fourth trip to Merida. She hates the stop/start of city traffic but seems to love flying as she settles down once we are on the airplane.

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