In 2004, I moved out of my mom and dad’s house. Rabbits Deke, Molly, and I (a person) had been living there so I could go to teacher school. I moved into an apartment to be near my friend Kendra. I loved my little place, but was missing something. A cat. My mom had a cat named Smokie who was absolutely The Buddha. Coolest cat you’ve ever met. I missed Smokie. Being a dog rather than a cat person, naturally, I decided to get a cat.
I cruised on down to my PetSmart where they had cats for adoption. I looked at cats several different times. I almost landed on a longhaired white with sky-blue eyes. However, I was advised to make sure the cat I got was not animal-aggressive on account of the buns. Little White Angel wanted to rip Deke’s head off. No go.
So we tried this grey and tan tortie named Hannah out with the buns. Animal-avoidant. Yay! I was surprised to learn that she had been up for adoption for over a year. Though her looks were demure, not as brash as Hairy Angel Cat, she had a definite prettiness about her.
I had been attracted to Hannah because she did the cutest thing—they had a watering can to refill cats’ bowls. When she had her time out of the kennel to stretch her legs, she’d dip her pitty paw in the water: licklicklick, dip, licklicklick. Adorable. I took her home, not realizing I would be guarding all my beverages for well over a decade now. Maybe it’s her training program to make me less susceptible to date rape drugs; I don’t know.
The first night I had her, she patiently waited in the hallway while I brushed my teeth. When I climbed into bed, lamp lit, book in hand; she jumped right up there with me! She lay down on the left hand side of the bed, right at home.
And it’s been that way ever since. When I was single, she used to start to fuss at me around 9 pm to go to bed, and she’d keep it up till at least 11.
To her mind, she’s essentially my mother. She’s channeling Marmie from Little Women at all times; she’s nurturing, but strict with me. All torties are strict with their affections and preferences, I guess. She chats and chirps at me often to let me know what’s what.
She aids and abets my reading habit; we like nothing better than to hunker down on the love seat with a blanket and a book. We’ve been doing it for ages.
She’s been with me since the first year I taught elementary school in the state of Kansas! She’s seen me through heartbreak, car problems, job insanity, my parent’s divorce, my dad’s dementia and death… she’s been there through it all. She intends to be. I am her Person.
She’s endured the taking on of Mr. Lou, an excessively boingy orange and white boy cat, living with a galumphing, deep-hearted black lab, a husband who has shut her out of her rightful place in my bed, and three teenage boys; Lord have mercy. She’s had to learn to be social after having lived with a spinster alone for nine years, she adapted to all that my life brought her, and she still loves me.
Although she also now adores my husband AND his oldest son! I’m a little put out at having to share her affections, but there it is. FAMILY.
She’s getting older now; her fur is not as plushy. But she hasn’t slowed down much from her ever-gentle, meek, chatty ways. She still loves it when I grab a minute to be her cushy internally-heated mattress, especially in the winter months.
I try not to think of the day that I have to live without her, this sweet light who has encompassed so much of my adult life. When I do, I pre-cry, though she is still here.
Until then, she’ll be waiting as she always does, at home. Ready for me to pick up a book and cuddle. Ready to love and boss me around.
I love my sweet Hannah Key.
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