Here's a photo of "Santa Cat" from last year.
So, how did I meet him? Well, I have to go back to 2002. We had 2 cats, a solid gray female, and a solid black male. The female got pregnant and had a litter of kittens. The male, Midi, loved to play with the kittens. They'd climb all over him, trying to nurse.
When the kittens were weaned and re-homed, we waited a few weeks (this is when it happened) for her milk to dry up (she couldn't be "lactating") and then took them both to the clinic. They were about a year old.
Fast forward 5 months. Ron is about to come home from the hospital, and I notice a note on the mailbox. Free to good home. Cute solid black male kitten. Very friendly.
Ooops, I thought. I was a little late getting Midi fixed. Looks like he has a son. I would have loved to take him, but I had my hands full with Ron, and the landlord had only given us permission for 2 cats.
I could make friends with him, though, and I did. It took me months to get a pet. He was very cautious; because he was solid black he'd been abused by the other tenants. One kid used to brag he threw rocks at (Bubba). It was all I could do not to throttle him.
So, I'd go for a run every day, go past his house, and stop. She had a couple of brown tabbies in addition to (Bubba). I'd pet Bubba, none of the other cats were interested, and give him a handful of cat food. He always ate a few bites, very politely, and rubbed against me before walking off.
Shadow died of breast cancer that summer. Ron was so out of it he didn't realize it for months. He'd ask for her (she was his baby) and I'd say she went out. Well, she had, right before she died.
When he realized she was dead, he was devastated. Midi became unpredictable and vicious, causing repeated harm. I had to call the pound.
Now all I had was (Bubba), and he had a family. I did get visitation now and then, for a minute or two, and it meant a lot.
Then, his owner moved. She even took the bird feeder. I was crushed, I'd miss him, but I hoped he was in a better place where no one'd hurt him. The weather was typical nasty December weather, cold and wet. I held off on my run for a few days.
Imagine my shock, horror, and fury when a frightened, starving black cat ran to me as I passed the house. She'd left him, left him to starve. Remember, I was not medicated.
I was furious and overcome with compassion. Of course I ran right back home and got a huge serving of cat food. I fed him and petted him as the other cats waited under a nearby car. They'd get the leftovers, I guessed.
She'd left them all, as far as I could tell. I had to talk to the landlord. He didn't own the building, he just worked for the management company.
"Is she coming back for them"
"No".
"Are you sure?"
"She told me I could do whatever I wanted with them."
"You know my 2 cats died, right?"
"Yes"
"Well, the black one is MINE now."
He shrugged.
I fed him and begged Ron to let him in the house, but Ron, still missing Shadow, refused. I'd sit in my driveway (I showed Bubba where I lived), every night. Bubba would run to me and walk all around me and over my lap, purring and butting me with his head. After a few minutes of petting, he'd eat. After he ate, I'd pet him a while longer, and then sadly tell him I had to go.
One night I had enough. It was horrible, nasty, weather. Cold, windy, and raining. I couldn't leave him out another night.
(Bubba), I told him, I want you to live in the house. It is a nice, warm, safe place for you, with plenty of food and comfort. But Ron doesn't think he's ready for another cat. You can live with us and be our forever cat, but you have to sell Ron. Can you do that? Can you sell Ron? I swear the cat nodded.
I opened the door. We'd set things up so Ron slept in the living room. He squalled in complaint as the cold air hit him. Then the cat leapt on his bed.
"Heather!" Bubba walked into Ron's lap and began purring loudly. Helpless against the purring, Ron began stroking Bubba's back. "Heather" his voice was a lot quieter, as his hand stroked the silky black back..."I don't want another cat."
I prayed briefly. "Ron, the weather is awful. If you won't keep him at least let him warm up? Please?" Ron agreed reluctantly, still petting Bubba.
I felt a clear directive from God: don't bug Ron about the cat. Let the cat do his thing. You go away and do something else for a while. So, I did. An hour passed.
I felt a prompting, and opened the front door. Ron screeched again "What are you doing?"
"Ron" I said, "Don't you want me to put him out?"
Ron stroked the purring, black, head one more time. "No".
And so he stayed. I adopted Baby Girl (I found her in a trash can) a few months later, and he got a little frustrated with her kittenish manners. He had to discipline her a few times.
Baby Girl was poisoned by our "neighbors" at the old place, and died, the day we moved into our house. It was awful, I was stricken with a massive depression and Ron was so freaking happy.
A few months after that, I heard Bubba meowing loudly at the door. I opened the door, and Bubba brought in an old, bedraggled, white cat (see slideshow). Frosty was in pretty bad shape and scared to death, but between us, Bubba and I socialized him.
Frosty became my lap baby. He got on very well with Bubba, a few fights now and then, but they loved to play hunt-and-chase games through our yard, in the morning.
One day I had a horrible migraine and was very ill. I woke up with a cat stretched on either side, which really made a lousy day better.
Frosty died in 2009, an old man. Bubba was a single cat until last month.
I had told Bubba he'd remain the only cat, Ron didn't. Ron made me a liar. But Bubba seems to be getting on OK with Baby Girl.
We've found it best to have a segregation policy. When Bubba comes home, Baby Girl goes into Ron's room with the door shut. She has food, water, toys, human, and litter. Bubba gets the run of the house, like he used to, and he loves it.
Today he chose to take a long nap with me, one of my favorite things in the world. I love sleeping with my Bubba.
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