Ed asked me recently -- one cat plus one cat is how many? Two, I said. He continued, and two cats plus one cat is how many? We both said FIVE, particularly when two of them are big shedders and one is old enough to have soiling problems and needs to be periodically cleaned while he growls and I shush him. We did that today. (In the sink, rubber gloves, soap, declump, spray with warm water, etc., while Ed holds him still. Lots of complaining.) But he is our kitty and it comes with the territory.

I also remembered when we lived in Forest Hills, NY, that our late cat Scratch (all white, yellow eyes) loved to slip into the hallway when I took the trash to the compactor room. I would let him roam the hall and follow him to be sure he did not get bold enough to go down the stairs and get lost. Then I would follow him back and urge him through the apartment door. I did this because he didn’t have many places to explore and I wanted to give him a little freedom.

Down here the big adventure places are the screened front entryway, the garage (very exciting – it is filled with junk), and the pool deck. Our latest addition, Toots, the manx cat, is the youngest and most eager to be everywhere at once. His desire to be in and out of all three places in what seems a constant rotation keeps us hopping. Trust me, he can’t be ignored. Ed has not been willing to consider a cat door. I don’t insist because my worry is that if they can go onto the pool deck at will and we are not around, they might fall in and drown. Toots has not yet had a pool accident. Brunswick had a close call, and Chewy tried to move around Ed once and was so close to the edge he teetered in. Ed grabbed him right away and only his dignity suffered. He then ran into the house and under the bed. I needed to wash the chlorine off so I opened a cat of wet food and suddenly there he was. Brunswick had slipped out late one night when Ed went out to have a cigarette. We didn’t know he was there until we saw him, paws splayed onto the pool doors, soaking wet. I am grateful the blinds weren’t drawn or we might not have seen him. When I checked the perimeter of the pool, only a place at the deep end was wet and I am guessing he was chasing a gecko on the screen and fell backward. He was able to claw his way out – I am grateful he was not declawed or he might not have made it. He has been super careful since then.

So I spend my days counting cats. I remember that in New York at my loft, before Ed and I were together, I ran off to work one morning and on returning that night, found only one cat, Sniff. Where is Scratch? I finally heard a weak little meow and traced him to my sock drawer. He was dehydrated and hot. It was August. I am so glad it wasn’t a class night or I wouldn’t have found him till 9 or 10. So now I don’t leave the house without counting cats. It’s a way to live.

I know people who can’t conceive of spending that kind of time and worry over animals but it works for us. They'll never break our hearts except when they leave us too soon. As for the rest, no college tuition. no tearing out your hair because they are dating a lowlife, and their love us unconditional.

xx, Teal