|No filter, just a REALLY old picture!|
Since my favourite childhood pet was a cat and I’m now forty-four years old, it’s not too hard to figure out where he is now. He was an orange cat with an attitude whose name was Rusty. My parents got him as a kitten when I was a toddler so we grew up together.
He absolutely loved kids and was always all over me and my friends. He was, without a doubt, MY cat. He could always be found at my side no matter what I was doing. He could often be found next to me while I watched TV, sharing my popcorn (yes, he liked popcorn!) or curled up on my bed.
He also loved women. This was back in the day when women used a whole lot of hairspray, practically giving themselves a helmet of hair. When somebody would visit, he’d get up on the back of the couch where they would be sitting and get so enrapt with seeking their attention that he would actually get his claws caught in their hair. My mother’s women friends learned to invite him to sit beside them on the couch for his attention seeking.
Where does the attitude come in? He hated men; all men. My father was a mechanic and had enough engine crud ground into his hands that they never looked entirely clean. We think that he learned to associate that nasty smell with men and so the die was cast. The stairs leading to the basement opened up to the hallway to the kitchen and, when any man visited our house, the cat would crouch down on the second step and lie in wait. When that man would walk by, he would spring out and attack their legs. That was always a heart-stopping moment for anybody new! Needless to say, regular visitors learned to dance a little avoidance-jig when walking down our hall, lol!