How I Became An Ailurophile Without Really Trying (Ch. 1)

This may or may not turn out to be a book eventually. If it does, the subject
line "How I Became An Ailurophile Without Really Trying" is currently the
working title, with the following tentatively serving as Chapter One.

My first interaction with a cat happened when I was five years old. We lived in
a house on a corner facing the street we lived on while my Godmother, who had
been my mother's best friend since before I was even born, lived in the first
house on the other side of the street which intersected ours at this corner. She
had grown up there, and my mother had grown up in the house across the street
from ours.

At some point, one of my Godmother's relatives passed away and my Godmother
asked my mother to go with her to the deceased woman's house to do a little bit
of cleaning up and retrieve some personal belongings from there. This they did
during the afternoon one day, since I was going to kindergarten in the morning,
and my mother brought me along and let me bring some toys to play with while
they did what they needed to do in the house.

When we got to the house, I was playing on the living room floor - I had several
diecast metal cars with me and was I amusing myself by "driving" one of these
around the entire living room. When I got to the doorway of one of the bedrooms,
out stepped a brown and black adult cat who then stood there near the doorway,
looking curiously at this miniature human who was encroaching on its territory.

I regret that I must refer to this cat as "it" - I'd prefer not to, but I never
discovered the cat's gender.

We had a dog then. This was the first time I can remember seeing a cat other
than on television. Color televisions hadn't been invented yet at the time (this
was in 1963) so this was my first look at a cat "live and in living color", and
when it ventured close enough to sniff my hand, I reached out and tried petting
it the same way I'd learned to pet a dog after it sniffed you.

The cat accepted the gesture. In retrospect, it had been alone in that house for
some time after it's owner's death and was probably starving for attention, even
from a child, and I wasn't being rough with the cat or anything. just being nice
to it the same way I'd learned to be nice to dogs, by gently petting them. After
a moment my mother saw what was going on and told me to leave the kitty alone.
Taking my diecast car, I went back to the other side of the living room and my
mom went back into the room where she and my Godmother were working.

The cat followed me...and the next time my mom came out and saw me petting the
cat again, I was made to go stand in the corner for disobeying her instructions
to leave the animal alone. In 1963 one didn't argue when told to go stand in the
corner - not if you knew what was good for you, anyway - and so five minutes
later (I suppose) when my mom came out again to tell me I could leave the corner
she exclaimed, "Son of a..." and called for Godmother to come out and look,
because there I was standing in the corner - with the cat lying across my feet,
purring contentedly.

Now understanding that it was the cat who was interested in interacting with me
and not the other way around, my mother actually apologized for making me stand
in the corner - the first time I remember her ever apologizing for accusing me
of something I didn't do, which didn't happen again until I was in my late
teens. Then, still concerned that the cat might have a change of mood and
scratch me, they put the kitty back in the bedroom from where it had first come
and closed the door, and I never saw it again. I never found out what became of
it after that, either, but I do hope it somehow found its way to a good home.

I do remember asking if we could take the cat home, and my Godmother laughing as
she replied, "I don't think the dog would like that very much, do you?"

That made sense to me, and I did love our dog too...but the experience left me
with what subsequently became a lifelong curiosity about cats. It wouldn't be
until almost twenty years later that I would somewhat reluctantly accept one of
the kittens born to a friend of mine's cat to become my first feline companion,
in part as a result of having been denied that opportunity as a child - but you
will have to wait for me to write the next chapter to read about that.

John D. Kasupski
Niagara Falls, NY