It is almost a year since our youngest cat came to live with us. She was found by our son, abandoned at about 8 weeks of age in his neighborhood. She is one of the nicest cats I have ever met. She is loving, affectionate, and playful. She always thinks inside the litter box, and has excellent manners. She fetches paper balls and carries them back to us so we can throw them again. She follows us around the house like a dog would. She is utterly charming. If she were a middle school girl, she would be the one who you hated because she was pretty, everyone liked her, and she seemed too perfect.
Daughter recently got a new kitten, a real terror, who was bottle fed after being found abandoned in Tacoma, and who demands constant attention and loves to attack and scratch. She even jumped into the bathtub with daughter one night. Daughter won’t listen to tales of our kitten, and says “I know, mom. Luna is the perfect cat. Don’t remind me!”
One of Luna’s more endearing games is to sit on the arm of a dining room chair, reach her paws under the chair arm, and try to catch her tail. She appears to derive a great deal of pleasure from this. She is oblivious to the silliness of it, playing catch and release with her tail and then attempting to catch it again.
PG Wodehouse wrote some terribly funny stories about cats. Luna reminds me of one who Wodehouse described as being owned by a C of E bishop, and who liked to sit in the pools of light that streamed through the stained glass church windows and listen to the organ play. Such perfection is always a sham in these stories, and the cat was eventually outed to reveal feet of clay. I wonder how Luna will slip up and show us some imperfections. I think I will find our Wodehouse compendium and read about some cats.
Tell some good cat stories.
