meow!

I love cats. I grew up in a house where cats are members of the family. I assisted in cat births, shared my food with cats, wept over their deaths. I have photographed cats, been bitten by cats, rescued cats from dogs. Of course, on occasion I have also kicked cats, but it does not diminish my regard for them, even as I threaten to chop them up and throw them in the frying pan if they do not stop stalking the African lovebirds.

Panic was my cat in Cubao in 1998. I fed Panic cat food, even when we did not have enough money to buy groceries. Panic knew when I'd be arriving after my midnight shift in the call center. He would jump up on my shoulder and allow me to carry him inside. He did not allow anyone else to do that; he was bad-tempered and would often bite ankles. He also hated my youngest brother, clothes hangers, and for some obscure reasons known only to cats, the commercial jingle for Flintstones Chewable Kids' Vitamins. For exercise, he would chase flies. He could jump really high when he was on his fly-catching moments. He looked at rats with mild condescension, and so he could never be bothered with them. We had big rats that would scamper around at night, sometimes running over our feet as we slept. Panic would give them a single bored glance and go back to sleep-- on my pillow, of course.

Miminchi grew up with Spotty, my daughter's dalmatian. The dalmatian often forgets that even though they sleep curled up together, she is now much more bigger than Miminchi. When they wrestle, Miminchi ends up slobbered with dog saliva, and I assume that underneath that fur Miminchi is all black and blue. Yet it doesn't stop him from snuggling with Spotty. Like Spotty, Miminchi eats dog food. Since I carry conversations with cats, my daughter has picked it up. She would ask Miminchi a question, and when Miminchi meows back, she would ask me what Miminchi said. Last week she asked Miminchi if he knew where the nanny is going. Miminchi meowed. My daughter nodded, satisfied. The nanny came out and asked, "Where did Miminchi say I was going?" My daughter replied, "He said it's secret!" Miminchi responds to human talk, although much is lost in translation.

There are many many cats before and between Panic and Miminchi. I could write on and on about what each one of them did. I remember them all. All of my cats were strays. Although I say that one of these days I'm going to get myself a Persian cat, I'm happy with the ordinary ones. I love them as they come. These days I prefer toms because they don't reproduce, but they raise such a racket when they decide to prove their masculinity at night.

I have a list of my favorite moments. Topping the list would be a rainy afternoon with a new book, preferably Stephen King, and a few Fuji apples. Second would be the same thing, with a warm, soft, purring cat on my lap.