My freshman year of vet school, my very first pet from childhood- Taffy- died of cardiac disease. She was 15. She lived at home with my parents, who vowed never to own another pet again. No more smelly carpets, no more furballs, they were done with it.
A couple months later, I was at their house when a small kitten materialized out of the bushes.
“Oh, look,” I said as she wove in between my legs. “She’s so sweet.”
“She comes around here a lot,” said my mom. “Always trying to come in.”
The kitten purred and rubbed until I picked her up. “She can’t be more than 6 months old. And intact.”
“No,” said my mom.
“It’s a sign,” I told her. “Ask the neighbors if anyone owns her. Look,” I said, gesturing to her adorable 6-fingered toes pawing at my hair. “She’s polydactyl. I know just the name for her.”
“No,” said my mom. And that was that.
A month later, I was back for holiday and saw the bowl before I saw Polly. “You kept her!” I said excitedly, leaning over the cat when she materialized and reaching for a belly rub. “Remember me?”
Polly rolled her eyes and strode away.
Polly has proven one thing to me, and that is cats are phenomenal actors. When it suited her to be adorable, she was by far the sweetest kitten I had ever met, big eyed and fluffy and warm purrs. As soon as she scored the gig in the house, though, she plopped her butt on the couch and announced, “Yeah, I’m a misanthrope. I’m calico, what did you expect? Just try to get rid of me now! Ha ha!” Dude. It was my freshman year and I was inexperienced. I did not yet learn about the Evil Genius Gene.
Polly is quite smart, realizing that she must tolerate the attention of the ones with the food else she gets no food. Everyone else can go die, as far as she’s concerned.
She hissed at me, once. Now she ignores me, after discovering that I’m on to her and if she starts in with me she gets burritoed for a nail trim.
She loves my sister. Actually, scratch that. She loves tormenting my sister. My sister is terrified of cats, Polly in particular. For this reason, Polly sleeps on her head when she spends the night. My sister awakens from a deep sleep to the baleful yellow stare of her worst nightmare and then must remain, paralyzed in fear of disembowelment, until Polly gets tired of the game and departs.
She tried my parents’ suggestion of simply closing the door, but Polly can open them. As far as we know my sister is the only person on the planet Polly will open a door to get to.
I took the kids to my parents yesterday for a visit, and perhaps Polly was overcome with the holiday spirit. She actually jumped on my lap for 5 whole seconds. I did nothing.
“Pet her,” said my dad.
“Yeah right,” I replied, eyeing her twitching tail and her long nails. “How dumb do you think I am?”
She looked me up and down and departed, leaving my lap unmolested. Victory! Or maybe it’s just her eyesight getting poor with age and she mistook me for my sister.
Gotta love that Evil Genius Gene! And so many of them carry it!
Once again you highlight beautifully the difference between dogs & cats. If Polly was any dog (but especially a Cocker or Golden) she would have jumped on your lap at the door and NEVER left, and left your face thoroughly washed when you did force her off. Polly on the other hand is quite “catypical” – she see’s fine, she just thinks you look like something your father scraped off the bottom of him shoe!! Great story, Dr. V!
Funny — yet illustrative yet again of why I am a dog person! 😉
Very funny story! My son recently thought his girlfriend’s cat escaped when she was moving from her apartment. I told him I’d check with local vets and online and that maybe someone would find her and try to help find her home. He said, “I doubt it. She hates people and hates to be petted, so no one is going to be able to do that.” I just can’t imagine that. I’m so lucky to have found Alley, who is SO un-Polly-like! Alley is much more like a dog. She will jump on your lap, and when you want to stand up and put her down, she will draw her legs up to her belly so you can’t really put her down. She wants to be carried around the house like a babydoll.
BTW, the girlfriend’s cat was hiding under the sink the whole time, so she’s safe and sound. 🙂
As always…great story Dr V. We have 4 cats. All boys and each one is a totally different personality. We have Stanley the forever baby of the bunch even though he is the oldest. The Dude who is my worrier , you can see it on his face, and in his older age has become a cuddler. Henry who is the crazy one and the biggest. Then we have Henry’s cat (really he is and always has been) named The Beast who is the sweetest cat and very small for a male. I know people who think every cat is exactly the same, until they come to our house and meet “The Boys” as they are known to all our family and friends.
Haha… great story! When I was a kid, my cat totally had that gene. She especially liked to torture… she’d hop on the bed, convince you she was cute and sweet. Then when she was tired of being petted, she’d scratch you and hop down. Even when she got older and stopped doing that to the rest of us, she’d still do it to my cousin every single time she came to visit. You’d hear the cat hop up, purring… then five minutes later: “OUCH! Damn cat!” Every time.
Polly is a genius. I love her! Cats are so moody, it can be annoying but usually it’s just hysterical.
Ah the Evil Genius Gene, I know of you well. When the fam and I adopted our newest family addition, the choice came down between the kitty we finally chose (Gracie Lynn) and her sister. Well, the sister was not tolerating any form of affection or attention, but Gracie seemed to bask in it. She jumped all over us, mewed her little mew if we stopped petting her, and purred so loud I thought she was going to explode. So she won our hearts. Of course the second we brought her home, and to this day, she hates being held or fondled with a fiery pink passion. If you even pick her up to move her off the stack of laundry she is getting all hairy, she will eviscerate you. But man do I love her 😀
I used to be terrified of cats, mostly because the only ones I’d ever known were barn carns who didn’t like anyone other than my grandmother. I suffered a bad scratch as a kid and from then on I figured all cats were out to get me.
This story cracks me up. It was actually a cat a lot like Polly that helped me get over my fear.
I love that your dad encouraged you to pet her! Probably trying to get back at you for your teenage years. 😀
Isn’t is hilarious how cats always know to torment…er…approach those that don’t like them or are allergic? My hubby unfortunately has allergies and every time we’re over at a cat’s home, he’s the first they latch on to. Meanwhile, me with all of my petting and love gets ignored.
Funny story! We’ve always had dogs and at least one cat. We’ve had Libby kitty since she was a baby and she’s 13 now. When she was little she used to chase our daughter around the house and nip at her heels. That, of course, made our daughter screech and move. Last summer when our daughter (26) visited Libby did it to her again! Libby has never done it to anyone else and it always cracks me up.
Man, I’d love to have a cat! I love dogs but I have MS and they take sap my non-existent energy. My husband has domain over our chocolate lab. But no cats for me cuz I’m not only allergic, I have asthma – a HUGE problem around cats.
@ Sarah: Yep, knowing I’m allergic, cats will “flock” to me. And it kills me not to cuddle them. Of course, if I could, they’d never come around! 🙂
Great writing, as usual, Dr. V!
My first cat (also named Taffy, coincidentally) was a partially feral male (according to our vet at the time) who could be very kind, but also had a territorial streak that got worse as he got older. He was perfectly sweet to me (though he did have the tendency to lick my nose and then bite it – ouch!) but most visitors to our house got the back of disrespect (if they were lucky) or pounced upon (if they weren’t.) He was smart though, and if he’d had polydactyl feet, I’m pretty sure he’d have opened every door in the house.
That’s true, that extra toe does give her more traction on the knobs.
Ah, it sounds like Polly, the calico, and Molly, the tortie, would be best friends. And by best friends I mean sitting on opposite ends of the house, looking at each other and the other occupants disdainfully.