If there’s anything more dubious than stereotypes about people, it’s stereotypes about cats. You know what I’m talking about - that all-inclusive characterization of the adult cat as a creature that is aloof, inscrutable, regal and independent.
Whoever cooked up that one-size-fits-all description of felis catus (aka felis domesticus) obviously did not have even a passing familiarity with these critters.
So let me set the record straight as someone who has owned (or been owned by) many cats over the years. Exhibits A, B, C and D are the four furballs currently in residence at our place: Clara, Walter, Annie and Ted, three of whom are pictured above.
The personalities of this quartet are so distinctive that sometimes it seems all they have in common are whiskers. So much for stereotypes.
Let’s start with Clara, a six-year-old tortoiseshell who, having arrived at our house in 2005, has been with us the longest of the four. (She's on the left in the photo.)
Clara is delicate in her movements and twists and twirls gleefully when petted, but she can be skittish and persnickety at times and is not too fond of being picked up. She may be the most intelligent member of the foursome. Clara is our hunter. She will even pass up cat food for a chance to hang out by herself in the mudroom of our 140-year-old house, where she keeps an eye peeled for any wayward mouse foolish enough to rear its head. (It happened once. I'd like to believe that the mouse died quickly.)
Walter, a long-haired black cat with a touch of white below his chin, is, at 10, the oldest of the group, although we did not adopt him until 2006. (He's the guy in the middle of the photo.)
Walter (not Walt!) takes medication for a thyroid condition, and is quite slim. Dignified but grumpy, he likes being kissed atop his head, but is not especially affectionate. If provoked by one of our dogs, he will sometimes charge it with a fearsome hiss and a lightning-fast strike of the paw that never actually lands on the dog. He has mellowed somewhat in recent months, and is more accepting of the other animals than he once was.
We suspect that four-year-old Annie, who showed up in our yard in 2006 and adopted us, is a Norwegian forest cat. She has luxurious gray fur that is so thick it makes her look twice as heavy as she really is. We call Annie (who's on the right in the photo) the peacemaker because she is calm, sweet, even-tempered and slow to anger, even when provoked by another member of the menagerie. The closest she comes to getting mad is to gently take your hand into her mouth if you try to comb out a knot in her fur.
That leaves three-year-old Ted, whom we adopted in June of last year. Ted is a large-eyed, very handsome tabby/coon, and the most dog-like cat I have ever seen. He is fearless and has an unusually intelligent look about him. (He may have taken the photo above, for all I know.) Ted follows his humans everywhere, roughhouses with our puppy, Martha (with claws retracted) and is highly inquisitive and very mischievous. His favorite hobby is to claw at a roll of toilet paper until it's all over the floor.
Ted is the only one of the four who literally craves being held, and the only one who is fussy about his food. Although all of our cats have been spayed and neutered, Ted never got the memo; he tries to mount Annie periodically (a practice that Clara would never tolerate). Ted studiously watches my wife Liz when she’s cleaning the litter box, so he can christen it as soon as she’s done. This is a ritual with him, and he adheres to it religiously.
The huntress. The aristocrat. The sweetie. And the dog whisperer with toileting issues. Four cats. Four personalities. Each of them proof that cats, like people, are individuals.
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