“Can we keep her?”
When Izzi came to live with us, she was a rail-thin scrap of a kitten our neighbors found living under their church.
They brought her over. Mom agreed to let me keep and care for her . . . possibly because she thought the ugly little cat was not long of this world.
Just a girl and her cat
Thankfully, regular meals turned her right around, and although she remained on the smallish side, Izzi’s health improved dramatically.
She was always skittish, though. From the first and always, she was my cat. She only tolerated my sisters and Mom, and she always ran from Dad.
Middle school years are rough on lots of kids, and I was no exception, but it can also be a sweet time of new interests and discoveries. At age twelve, I was turning out to be a bit of a shutterbug. (It’s only been in the last few years that my sisters have admitted—grudgingly—that if I wasn’t so obnoxious about taking pictures of everything, we’d never have any family pictures at all.) Since I did my first stint as a yearbook staffer my eighth-grade year, I always had my 35 mm “point-and-shoot” camera close at hand, and that is why I have so many photos of my dear little Izzi.
That was also a time for growing in knowledge of cats–understanding their behavior, how they communicate, and the right way to care for them. In becoming a “cat-person,” I turned to an already well-established facet of my identity . . .
Bookishness.
Understanding the Cat You Love by Mordecai Siegal
This book–a little mass market paperback purchased from K-Mart’s book aisle at some point in the mid-nineties—provided the foundation for everything I know about cat care. And not only that, but it seeded a desire to learn more, to become a cat expert—not out of pride, but to be an excellent human for Izzi and all the cats who would touch my life.
In ninth grade, I completed a semester-long intensive study on—you guessed it—cats. I learned things like how to interpret ear and tail position, the variety of vocalizations cats make, and that they purr not only when they are happy or content, but to comfort themselves when in pain.
That last little fact was oddly relatable. My social circle completely changed from middle school to high school, and again from ninth to tenth grade as we moved and I changed schools. And necessary as change is, it’s painful. In those times, it’s good to have a friend who purrs.
A brief, beautiful friendship
I had Izzi until I was fifteen. So many times, outdoor cats just don’t live very long.
Those three years are only a small piece of my life so far, and time being how it is, I remember moments–flashes and snapshots–rather than general times. Nonetheless, Izzi remains dear in my heart. People often say “Who rescued who?” about their rescue pets. In Izzi’s case, she was a loyal friend for a period of change, and that is a treasure indeed.
Thanks for reading this back-dated post. I fell behind on my blogging plan and am playing catch-up. My next Bookish Memory will be in honor of my Gramma Junie.
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