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As a child I lived in a yellow brick house situated in a line of houses whose front yards opened to large formal gardens. These were interesting places to explore. When I wandered too far my dog Spot would find me, pull on my dress, and lead me home. One day a box of kittens was left on my front porch. A few years later we moved but the remembrance of cats stayed with me. I had no more pets until after marriage, but they were dogs. The ones that were lost, abandoned, hurt, would find us or we would encounter them. My daughter Debby who was retarded loved them all and helped care for them. They became her own special world. Once when she was hospitalized , my husband Buddy entered the hospital multi-leveled parking garage and heard an echoing and wailing sound. After searching he saw a cat huddled against a cold concrete wall crying piteously. This was our first cat, the door opener for those to come. When Sweetsie came in, Haifa, a big shaggy Hungarian sheepdog started howling. She had never known a cat before and was afraid. But Haifa, being gentle, soon embraced this furry being who was even more afraid and became her guardian. Soon the other dogs welcomed Sweetsie as well. She used to run across the kitchen counters trilling and chirping like a bird as she followed alongside me. She enjoyed playing with a knotted sock filled with dog food pellets. Her white face was marked by a dark grey mask surrounding wide round eyes. Once she got down into the basement where my design studio was located. This area was off limits. Oh! The temptations there for a cat, piles of soft leather to roll around in,cones of thread to snag with claws, jars of beads and jewels to tip over. When I finally lured her up with a dish of food at the top of the stairs, she looked very strange. Then I realized she was completely wrapped like a mummy in threads that were still unreeling from a three spool serger sewing machine. Sweetsie remained with us many years. She was devoted and loving. The poem “Soul Mate” was written with her in mind. My consciousness opened to the cat presence that existed around me. Outside I had discovered ferals of all shapes and sizes, mothers overseeing kittens, strutting toms, tree climbers, night wanderers, None allowed a close approach, but slowly I became involved and started feeding them. A dark torte female came often with a large grey and white battle scarred male. He always let her eat first and was never impatient. Such courtesy was impressive. He became known to me as Pappa Kitty. Later I realized that he was a wizard with unusual abilities. One February day Mama Kitty brought her children to the food box A silvery grey kitten was clinging to her, its fur ruffling in the blustery cold wind. We managed to love trap three of her kittens. The first was given to a friend. Then pale golden Creampuff and grey Sheba came inside. The two brothers were inseparable. They played together, indulged in mischief, and enjoyed jumping on sleeping dogs. But Creampuff, during his second year developed urinary tract blockages. Despite treatment he did not survive. The poem, Memories of Creampuff” describe him. Sheba stayed on to become the King of Cats, but that is another story. On to chapter two...
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