The First Cat. in Whey and Sonic Screwdrivers.

My first cat was a stray. Her name was “Striper.” (Think stripes, rather than the pornographic alternative.) The joke was that she “adopted us.” I was younger, so I don’t remember quite when she appeared and we started feeding her cheese and bologna. But I do remember when she appeared on my sister’s (second story) window, meowing. It was raining. So, naturally, we let her in.

She remained an outdoor cat, demanding when to be let in and out. I didn’t question how my sister picked her up. Belly-up, legs in the air. Wendi was sure to support her back, sure. But it seemed odd.

My second cat, Arlene, would never have tolerated that. Years later, I adopted two young kittens. I can tell you that while they would never be violent with me, they do NOT like being up on their backs.

Which has just recently lead me to an odd conclusion. I don’t know how it never occurred to me earlier.

Striper must have been someone else’s cat. Why else would she have tolerated such trust with us? She was young, yes, but that also says to me that she might have been part of a litter nearby. …Which I think there was, actually. It was over 20-25 years ago, it’s hard to say.

Just. I always thought of her as a stray, yet it’s so obvious that the reason she adopted us was because she’d been around humans before. She decided to call us home, felt confident in her neighborhood due to familiarity, and stayed around us for food and affection.

Meanwhile Arlene tried to escape every September. : (

It’s just. A thought. “Striper was just trying to find humans to love her.”