Black Cat Appreciation Day
My bow today is one of the simpler ones, one that my deceased friend gave me. I call this one my workhorse, because a simple black bow goes with everything. I wore this one on July 18th, so it's a repeat.
I don't see Sammy every day so I presume he's at least staying with someone somewhere, but when he's outside he always comes over to say hello, and usually I give him a handful of crunch.
The earrings, however...these came from somewhere on Etsy. Mama got 'em for me, and as usual I don't know what shop she got them from.
I like how these have both black cats and gears. Kinda gives 'em a steampunk sort of vibe. And of course I love the black cats. Currently I own a grand total of nine (yes, NINE) cats, but sadly none of them are black. Mama has three cats, and two of them are black...take that back. Edgar had the nerve to escape and never come back, so now she's down to one black cat and one cat that's tabby and white.
Black cats have always been both special and elusive to my family up until about ten years ago. The first black cat that my immediate family owned came along when I was in first grade. One afternoon a lady Mama knew came to the elementary school with a black cat, saying that she couldn't keep it and she didn't dare let it loose right before Halloween. She offered it to Mama, knowing that our family liked cats. I remember Daddy looking up, seeing Mama stroking the cat, and moaning "Noooo, Ann, we don't need it!" Well...we ended up with it, and I noticed that Daddy didn't protest much. What can I say, he loved cats too. The cat turned out to be a girl, spayed, healthy, and UTD on her shots. We named her Sathern...or some spelling like that. I know that it was pronounced like "Saturn" with an "h" after the "t," but I don't remember exactly how to spell it. Either way we had Sathern about two years, and she was your typical cat: affectionate, insane, sometimes tremendously annoying. Her favorite thing to do was ricochet off the back of Mama's favorite chair whilst running wildly around the house. I counted five times one evening that she did that, including three times while Mama was sitting in the chair! Then one nasty night the ingrate ran off and didn't come back. Keep your cats indoors if at all possible, kiddies.
Our next black cat didn't come along until I was in junior high school. We had a young Siamese cat by then, and she did the thing that girl cats often do: we set an appointment to have her spayed, she dashed out the door while we were trying to catch her, and long story short, she ended up pregnant. Of the six kittens, two were yellow, two were gray, one was this unusual pale yellow color, and one was black. Daddy christened the black one Bagheera, after Mowgli's black panther friend in The Jungle Book. Bagheera sadly did not last long; for reasons unknown our chow chow shook him to death. That blindsided all of us, as she'd never before been vicious with cats...that we knew of for sure. Mama thinks that the dog killed another of our cats when I was very little, but I don't know that for sure either. I may have to devote another post to that dog; despite her fiasco with the black kitten she was a beloved pet, one of those extra-special ones that you remember for a lifetime.
Before, during, and after Sathern and Bagheera's time with us, there also resided a black cat with my grandmother. Her name was Miss Clawsie, and I admit that it was my idea to give her that horrid name. The first thing she did was scratch me, and upon being told that "Mr. Claws" wouldn't work I changed the pronoun. In spite of that rocky beginning Clawsie and I went on to become good friends. We wiled away many an afternoon with nothing but a piece of string. I'd drag it slowly around the living room, and Clawsie would chase it. We both loved it. Clawsie lived long and full, finally passing away during my senior year of high school. We were lifelong friends; even as she aged she'd come meowing to me when she heard my voice, and we'd enjoy a nice scratching session. Clawsie wasn't a cuddler, but she loved having her chin and ears scratched.
Black cats have always been both special and elusive to my family up until about ten years ago. The first black cat that my immediate family owned came along when I was in first grade. One afternoon a lady Mama knew came to the elementary school with a black cat, saying that she couldn't keep it and she didn't dare let it loose right before Halloween. She offered it to Mama, knowing that our family liked cats. I remember Daddy looking up, seeing Mama stroking the cat, and moaning "Noooo, Ann, we don't need it!" Well...we ended up with it, and I noticed that Daddy didn't protest much. What can I say, he loved cats too. The cat turned out to be a girl, spayed, healthy, and UTD on her shots. We named her Sathern...or some spelling like that. I know that it was pronounced like "Saturn" with an "h" after the "t," but I don't remember exactly how to spell it. Either way we had Sathern about two years, and she was your typical cat: affectionate, insane, sometimes tremendously annoying. Her favorite thing to do was ricochet off the back of Mama's favorite chair whilst running wildly around the house. I counted five times one evening that she did that, including three times while Mama was sitting in the chair! Then one nasty night the ingrate ran off and didn't come back. Keep your cats indoors if at all possible, kiddies.
Our next black cat didn't come along until I was in junior high school. We had a young Siamese cat by then, and she did the thing that girl cats often do: we set an appointment to have her spayed, she dashed out the door while we were trying to catch her, and long story short, she ended up pregnant. Of the six kittens, two were yellow, two were gray, one was this unusual pale yellow color, and one was black. Daddy christened the black one Bagheera, after Mowgli's black panther friend in The Jungle Book. Bagheera sadly did not last long; for reasons unknown our chow chow shook him to death. That blindsided all of us, as she'd never before been vicious with cats...that we knew of for sure. Mama thinks that the dog killed another of our cats when I was very little, but I don't know that for sure either. I may have to devote another post to that dog; despite her fiasco with the black kitten she was a beloved pet, one of those extra-special ones that you remember for a lifetime.
Before, during, and after Sathern and Bagheera's time with us, there also resided a black cat with my grandmother. Her name was Miss Clawsie, and I admit that it was my idea to give her that horrid name. The first thing she did was scratch me, and upon being told that "Mr. Claws" wouldn't work I changed the pronoun. In spite of that rocky beginning Clawsie and I went on to become good friends. We wiled away many an afternoon with nothing but a piece of string. I'd drag it slowly around the living room, and Clawsie would chase it. We both loved it. Clawsie lived long and full, finally passing away during my senior year of high school. We were lifelong friends; even as she aged she'd come meowing to me when she heard my voice, and we'd enjoy a nice scratching session. Clawsie wasn't a cuddler, but she loved having her chin and ears scratched.
Fast-forward to the present time. A few weeks ago I made friends with this handsome young man. He doesn't appear to have a permanent home, but he was wearing a makeshift collar that read "SAMMY." This picture was taken after I tried introducing him to my own group; he was telling me politely but firmly to forget it!
He's a doll, that Sammy!
Happy Black Cat Appreciation Day,
RagingMoon1987
Happy Black Cat Appreciation Day,
RagingMoon1987
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