When I was in kindergarten, an orange-and-white striped tabby cat showed up in our yard. She sat on the porch with me after school and showed no inclination to leave. I patted her, and she just hung out.
My mom told me not to give the cat water or food because then she wouldn’t leave. If she wanted water, she could certainly find it in our fish pond. Depending on how adept she was, she might have found a fish fillet too.
The next day, the tabby was still in our yard. My dad thought we should at least give her a bowl of milk. My mom reluctantly agreed. The cat lapped up the milk and hung out with me all afternoon.
My mom was adamant that we not let the cat stay with us for long. She probably had a home somewhere and was just visiting for a change of scenery. My mom told me not to get attached.
Did I entertain thoughts of keeping the cat? Not really. It would have been nice to have a pet. But when my mom made up her mind about something, she would rarely budge. So, I just sat and played with the cat, hoping to make her temporary stay a pleasant one.
On Saturday morning, I was awakened by something soft brushing my face. When I opened my eyes, the cat was staring at me. My dad was holding her and smiling.
My dad told me some new information had surfaced. The teenage boy across the street, who loved animals, had seen a car pull up and dump the cat in our yard. He had kept an eye on her and was concerned. He couldn’t keep her because they had a dog.
That news was all it took for my mom to change her mind. The cat would be staying with us. We named her Taffy.
My mom said she’d heard a myth that when a ring-tailed cat adopts you, you will be blessed. I guess she told herself what she needed to rationalize her change of heart. But I know there was more to it.
My mom always had a heart for animals, especially those that were helpless and vulnerable. While my mom was well cared for as a child and was never abandoned, she still felt the pain of being left when her parents divorced and her dad moved out. I’m sure her heart went out to this helpless and vulnerable cat who had been left by its previous owners.
When we took Taffy to the vet for an initial checkup, we had another surprise: Taffy was pregnant. We also discovered she had been declawed. She was clearly an indoor-outdoor cat. Somehow, she had learned to climb trees despite her lack of claws.
Soon after, Taffy’s kittens were born. Five of them that looked just like her. I still remember how tiny they were, and how they were born with their eyes and ears closed.
When the kittens were a little bigger, Taffy carried them one by one and put them behind the washing machine in the garage. My dad lifted them out with a coat hanger. Taffy put them right back again. My dad had to block off her access to the back of the washer.
Then one day, Taffy disappeared and left the kittens behind. We had no idea why she wandered off or where she went, let alone if she would return. My parents picked up feeding bottles and some kind of kitten formula. A day later, Taffy returned and stayed put.
When the kittens were old enough, we rehomed them. At the right age, Taffy was spayed. And she made her forever home with us.
Taffy enjoyed exploring outdoors. She was always chasing lizards. We had the most tailless lizards in the neighborhood.
She ran up and down our Norfolk pine like its branches were a spiral staircase. One time, she acted like she was stuck in a tree and kept crying for help. My dad went out and assessed the situation. He didn’t see any sign that she was really stuck.
He said, “Taffy, you got yourself up there. You can get down too.”
Just like that, she climbed down.
Our neighbors called one day and said they had a mouse in their house. Would Taffy be able to catch it? My dad brought her to the neighbors’ house. She sniffed around for a few minutes. But when she saw the actual mouse, she ran flying toward the front door. Not a mouser, apparently. My dad brought her home. Hopefully, the neighbors found someone else to help.
When I went away to college, Taffy, by then 14 years old, stayed at home with my mom and was her faithful companion. I feel like she was always my mom’s cat anyway. My mom had always been home with her during the day, and she sat on my mom’s lap at night when we watched TV. Taffy knew who her human was.
Taffy was a steady presence in my childhood years. She was part of our family. My friends loved visiting her. She followed me around when I played outside, probably keeping an eye on me. She stayed indoors overnight.
Taffy had a good life and was a blessing in our lives. She lived to be 19 years old, pretty good for an indoor-outdoor cat. She taught me the joys and responsibilities of having a family pet. Pets have remained an important part of my life and provided companionship ever since. I’m grateful that little ring-tailed tabby cat adopted us and blessed my childhood years.
Exploring Generations 