Just try to figure some people out.

My mother and stepfather were married in 1987. Mom and I had two cats then, Lyric and Furrari, who had moved cross-country with us the year before. After the wedding, we moved into Cliff’s house.  Suddenly, he said he was allergic to the cats, and so they had to go. It got a little ugly. Eventually, a compromise was reached, and the cats were made to live in the basement for a couple of years until I was out on my own and could afford a cat-friendly apartment.

Fast-forward to 2003. Mom and Cliff have been without pets the whole time, but now they decide to get a couple of cats. (Turns out Mom’s the one who tests out as allergic, but it doesn’t bother her a bit.) So Fred and Julie come home with them from a local adopt-a-thon. Fred is a black longhair with bright golden eyes, and Julie is a lovely gray tabby. Complications arose in that Fred turned out to be diabetic. Mom struggled for weeks to get him regulated—at one point he was getting something like 10 or 12 units of insulin twice a day. But her efforts (and lots of prayer) were rewarded, and Fred’s diabetes actually went into remission after several months of excellent blood sugar. (Now they just maintain him on special diabetes food.) So, two happy, healthy and adored cats, and all is well.

Then, a couple months later, Cliff decides he wants a couple of kittens too. Enter Bing and Bob, two orange tabby brothers who are best buddies. Fred loves them too, and often pins them down with one big furry foot so he can bathe them, a performance that comes to be known as a “Squash-and-Wash”.

Julie, on the other hand, tends to shy away from the rambunctious little boys, and keeps to herself in the back of the house. Cliff worries and worries (If Fred is Mom’s special baby, Julie is Cliff’s).  He decides she needs her own girl kitten friend, so little Gigi joins the family. Gigi was in the animal shelter, and needed quite a bit of TLC herself, but once again Mom’s special brand of nurturing saves the day, and Gigi is now a sleek young adult cat who is the group ringleader for whatever mischief takes place.  So, five happy, healthy and adored cats, and all is well.

But Cliff, for some reason, is fascinated by the idea of a Manx cat. A friend tells them about a young Manx mix stray who has a litter, and they go see about maybe one more kitten. There are four: one bunny-tail like his mom, two no-tails and one full-tailed kitten. The emaciated mother and babies are living outside in a rather dangerous environment, and Mom and Cliff just cannot stand it so they bring the whole bunch home. Again, some desperately-needed TLC is provided, and the lovely champagne-colored Cici and her matching babies (Cashew, Cream, Caramel and Cookie) find their happily-ever-after as well.

Mom retired a couple of years ago, and taking care of the cats is a new full-time job for her, but she finds it very rewarding. Three Litter Robots (the best automated cat box ever made, in my opinion!) plus regular boxes for the young’uns, ten dishes washed daily, morning and evening feedings, vet visits galore… I’m beginning to think she should apply for tax-exempt status.  Mom claims she inherited the tender-heart-and-head-to-match from me. All I know is, there are ten meticulously cared for, frisky, furry bundles of joy up there. Every rescue is a little miracle.