REIGNING CATS

by Deborah Elliott-Upton

For Ursula
I’m having a difficult time writing this column today. On the way to the vet, my daughter’s cat died. Ursula had become a part of the family and no one was more surprised than I about how much I’d come to love her. You see, up until a few years ago, I was pretty much not just a non-cat person, but a cat hater.

My family had been dog-lovers and I’d never owned a cat in my life. When my daughter moved back home from New York City, the cat came, too. At first, Ursula and I ignored each other, then slowly, the cat and I grew closer. One day, I was amused to find her sitting next to me on the sofa and my hand stroking her way-too-soft fur. She glanced up at me and I knew we both were thinking the same thing: how did this happen?

I learned a lot about cats, myself and life through having Ursula share our home.

Number one: it isn’t all about me. Obviously, Ursula and I each believed the world revolved around us — at least just a little. This isn’t something I’m proud to say, it’s simply the truth. I hope I’ve overcome some of that attitude, but it’s been a process. I’m not sure Ursula ever did, but that’s okay.

As writers, we create our own little universes all the time. Cats somehow do the same thing, acting as if they are royalty and for some reason, humans their slaves. When the cat wants to eat, she wants to eat. Ursula wasn’t going to wait until I was ready to feed her like a dog might. Dogs come when you call their name. Cats might. Dogs run to greet you with a wagging tail. If Ursula greeted me at the door, she was just as likely to turn and walk away when her curiosity was satisfied. Ursula let me pet her only when she wanted to be petted. Dogs are pretty much pettable any time day or night. Or at least it’s been that way with my experience with animals.

I’ve been told cats come with distinct personalities and even those from the same litter will be different. You never know what you’re getting until they’re already a part of your family. Kind of like siblings. Dogs seem to come in only two personality types: friendly or reserved friendly. Again, just my experience.

Ursula taught me it’s okay to be silly and play sometimes and that materialistic things needed be a reason to make you happy when sometimes a piece of yarn can do the same thing.

She taught me it’s okay to go off on your own when there’s something you’d rather do. It doesn’t mean you don’t love the other people in your life, but individuals sometimes need to be alone.

She taught me patience, something I was in short supply when she first moved in with us. Cats don’t require patience as much as demand it.

I remember reading somewhere, “Time is a thirsty germ.” I believe this statement more to be true with each passing year.

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die. — Ecclesiastes, 3:1-2

What does this all have to do with writing? Everything. Every experience, every emotion we live through changes us. It’s said an artist must suffer for his craft. If that is true, losing someone, whether person or pet to death surely brings us closer to being able to translate the raw emotions into our stories.

The vet told us Ursula died from kidney failure, not a surprise when a cat reaches past her thirteenth year. She died peacefully and with people who loved her. Her life and her death changed me. My name is Deborah and I am a cat lover. With no apologies.