F for Feline

via Tuxedo Cat Breed

The first cat I ever got was a 3-week-old long-haired tuxedo when I was about 11.  This was my pre-puberty moment — and for all the dogs we had growing up that belonged to the family and that Dad kept to guard the house and his stuff — he was my only pet growing up.

Tiny little tuxedo who walked sideways.  With that obvious freaked-out curve of his back.  Bottle-brush tail included.  I called him Zorro with a W:  Zorrow.  Dad suggested his mask merited the name.  Adding the “W” at the end really made him mine.

I trained him to take naps with me when I came home from school and on those long Saturdays, when as a kid living in a small hometown, you really don’t have anything to do.  I still remember him lying on my outstretched arms, using it as a pillow.  Dappled sunlight would dance on the sheets on these lazy afternoons.  I’d stroke his thick fur until he fell asleep.

Then I’d follow along right behind him.

 

 

 

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