The Imprint of Cat Lovers - a Test1

From Franny SyufyDo you have what it takes to call yourself a "Cat Lover?"
Most visitors to this site consider themselves cat lovers, so I thought it would be interesting to define the term. There are cat owners, and then there are cat lovers. (Incidentally, the fancy name for this term is "ailurophile.") A cat owner may have a cat as a pet for the sake of a child. They may be haphazard about shots, neutering, and other medical care. "Cat owner" comes to mind when I see kids in front of the local grocery with a box full of kittens and a sign, "Free Kittens".
The transition from cat owner to cat lover does not take place overnight. For several years, when our children were younger, we had a never-ending stream of cats in our home, mostly new births from females we had neglected to spay, until too late. We were on the verge of being "cat lovers", because we always saw that our new kittens had their shots, and we found homes for all we could; the rest we kept (which eventually led to almost 20 cats in our home at one time).

Case in point: Tinker was the result of a mating between Figuero(a) and Tiger, two cats we adopted from a shelter in the early years of our marriage. The shelter had a rule way back then, that all female cats must be spayed before adoption. However, they (and we) thought that we were getting two little male kittens. Tiger and Figuero(a) discovered differently, much quicker than we did. The resultant litter had five kittens: three grays, a tortoise, and a little yellow shorthair. At the appropriate time, we advertised, "free kittens to good homes". All but two found homes quickly, but when a nice young couple came to take the little marmelade guy, who was the homeliest of the bunch, he sprung from our arms, raced into our bedroom and hid under the bed. We tried for half an hour to coax him out, but the couple eventually decided to take the little tabby kitten instead.

Tinker enriched our lives for seventeen years; when he developed an inoperable tumor, it was I who had to take him to the veterinarian and hold him in his final minutes. Asa, who had paid his dues years before with his 14-year old Buffer, couldn't handle it this time. That was a lifetime ago, and I still get misty-eyed when I look at photos of my original "Golden Boy".