Endless Cats

 I thought I would share a story I wrote for my creative writing class in college.  It is based on real events that happened while we lived in Cheyenne, Wyoming in the 1960s but I got creative about a few things.  Our dog at the time was Cleo, short for Cleopatra (we went through a phase with our dogs based around Roman history, Caesar, Brutus, etc.). I am not sure how we got the cat originally, what we called her, or how many litters there were. The last mom cat and her kittens actually moved with us to Shreveport, Louisiana, so the cat we dropped off for that last visit was another stray that showed up just before we moved, but all the cats mentioned in our home and at the farm were real, especially Fuzzy and Feisty.

Endless Cats

      When I was in elementary school, our family adopted a dog and a cat adopted us.

      The dog ran around with us kids, jumped fences, barked, and generally had a good time, but she slept outside.  The cat pretty much went where she wanted, when she wanted, and was only interested in us at mealtime and bedtime. She slept inside, on the couch, or my parents’ bed, or wherever she felt like.

      My parents were careful to make sure our dog didn’t have puppies, but they forgot to make sure our cat didn’t have kittens.  Soon there was a litter of kittens in our dirty clothes basket. 

      Mom was not happy but Dad said, “I can find homes for them, don’t worry.” And he did. He found homes for every one of the kittens. They were pretty cute. 

      But we still had our dog.  Our dog helped us find chipmunks, chase cars, and played chase with us. Our cat spent all day hunting for things and bringing them home. Our dog still didn’t have puppies, but our cat had kittens in the clean clothes basket. Mom was getting upset, but Dad said, “I have a friend with a farm.  He always needs cats.” And he did. He took all the cats but two over to the farm, even the mom cat.

      We kept two boy cats, so no more kittens. We named those cats Fuzzy and Feisty. Fuzzy was fuzzy and Feisty was smooth.  They were black and white, Fuzzy mostly black and Feisty mostly white but they both had black tails with white tips.  They went everywhere together, but they were very different.

      The dog loved playing with Fuzzy, but Feisty hit her nose with his claws. Fuzzy liked play with me and didn’t mind having his fur rubbed the wrong way. Feisty hated having his fur messed with, scratched little kids, and hid his toys. Fuzzy and Feisty both like to sleep with me, one at the top and one at the bottom. I loved Fuzzy and Feisty.

      Then another mother cat adopted us.  She had kittens in the rag basket.

      Mom said, “Too many cats.  Some will have to go.” The mother cat and kittens couldn’t go; they were too young. So Fuzzy and Feisty had to go to the farm.

      I rode with Dad to drop then off.  The farm was so lonely, no cats around anywhere.

      “Where are the other cats?” I asked Dad.

      “Maybe they’re hunting.” Dad shrugged. Dad stopped the car and we opened the door.  Feisty jumped out and raced to the barn.  He didn’t like driving or being outside.  Fuzzy stretched and purred and finally I had to pick him up and carry him out.  I set him down and he just looked at me.  I think he knew we were leaving him.  But he got up, brushed my legs and purred before strolling toward the barn.  It’s okay, he was saying, I’ll miss you but I’ll be fine.  We drove back home.

      The dog was glad to see me. We ran around, played ball, ran through the sprinkler, and lay in the sun. The mom cat and kittens stayed inside and watched.  Soon Dad was finding homes for the kittens. Mom was glad to see them go. 

      Now we had just one cat.  Mom was glad to only have one dog and one cat, for a while.  Then one day the mom cat had kittens in the sewing basket. Mom had had enough.  Dad was glad it was only a couple of kittens.  He soon found homes for them.

      “No more kittens.” Mom said, looking at Dad.  “The last cat has to go.”

      Dad looked at me.  “Want to drive to the farm with me?” he asked.

      I nodded excitedly.  “Maybe we can see Fuzzy and Feisty.”

      Dad looked funny. “Sure, but it’s been a while,” He said.  He didn’t sound so sure.  I thought of the empty farm with no cats.

      We drove up the highway and turned down the road to the farm.  Then we drove into the driveway. Dad stopped the car and stared.  I didn’t blame him.

      Everywhere we looked, there were fuzzy cats! Big cats, little cats, black and white cats all lazing in the sun.  They all looked at us and some came over to meet the mom cat.  They were very friendly and some purred as they brushed my legs. 

      “Where are Fuzzy and Feisty?” I asked Dad.  He looked around.  In the distance he saw two black tails with white tips walking through the fields.

      “I bet that’s them over there.” Dad pointed and held me up to see.  I called to them but they were too far away.

      “That’s okay.” I said.  “Maybe next time.” I smiled at Dad and he smiled back.

“No more cats for us.” He said. “But it looks like endless cats for the farm.”  We both laughed as we drove away.

     

 

 

A Thing about Rocks in Wyoming

 

    When we lived in Cheyenne, Wyoming, from my 7th-12th years, I think our family must have had a thing about rocks.  Of course, it was pretty barren high prairie, but the rocks had a particular fascination.

 Our LDS congregation, Cheyenne Second Ward, had a tradition each August of going to Veedauwoo Recreation Area in the Medicine Bow Forest for a ward picnic, Pioneer Day, I think. We pronounced Vee-da-voo, by the way, and it means "Land of the Earthborn Spirits." .  It was a daylong affair and was only about an hour away, so we had lots of time to play and explore.  The hills seemed to be mostly cracked granite and were fun to climb, with lots of handholds and little shadowy spaces under the stones, perfect hiding places for snakes, although we never saw any or even thought about the possibility of them.  What trees there were on the hills were scrubby pines, windblown and beautifully shaped.  

    There were also little meadows, full of cattails, tall reeds, and gurgling little streams that flowed through and under the mossy green spaces.  You could hide from people in the peaceful corners and the water covered the sounds of the picnic area not that far away.  But the best part was that the mossy stretches often had enough water flowing under them to form floating mats that you could walk on, if you were light enough and fast enough.  When I was younger I could pretty much walk anywhere, but in the end I could hardly walk on any of it, I weighed too much.  But it was still fun to be there and share the fun with my younger siblings.                  

    I thought it was the most beautiful place in the world.

    Sometimes, if there was time, we would drop by the Tree in the Rock rest area in the middle of Highway 80.  It was halfway between Cheyenne and Laramie and not far from the Lincoln Memorial, a bronze bust on top of a box of granite pillars.  It was also a good place for climbing, although not much was there besides rocks and a scraggly pine tree in the middle of a stone.  Later, when I visited the location, they had put up a bigger fence and wrapped a cable around the rock, which was cracked.                                                       

    The best nearby place to visit for climbing was Natural Fort (we called it Indian Fort because of the legend).  When you headed southwest out of Cheyenne towards Ft. Collins, Colorado, at the state line were two limestone outcroppings.  The legend was that two Indian war parties met at this outcropping and the one group massacred the other group as they tried to hide out.  It was an interesting story, but the cave-pocked outcropping with the mysterious set of steps carved into the side that allowed you to climb up to the ‘observation platform,’ a flat section of the hill, was much more exciting to us kids.  It was not far from our house and if we could con Mom and Dad into taking time to take us there, it was well worth the trip. I have been back to the area, but the outcropping has been bypassed by Interstate 25 so you either have take a long a frontage road to the one or off-road it to the other. 

This older picture I found online is more what I remember. In current pictures it is covered with graffiti.

    Of course, we also visited Devil's Tower one summer are part of a larger vacation that seemed to involve high winds wherever we went, even at Mt. Rushmore. More and more rocks!

 

Vedauwoo Photo: Clark Harris  https://www.territorysupply.com/camping-medicine-bow-routt-thunder-basin

Tree photo: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/317926054914339971/

Natural Fort Photo: https://mountainscholar.org/handle/10217/38780?show=full