How I Fell for Cats by Candy Crowley [View all]
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My family always had dogs, and I never thought much of cat people. Then two kittens came into my life—and helped me raise my boys.
By Candy Crowley
I was raised in a so-not-a-cat family. All dog, all the time.
Dog people are cool.
Cat people are crazy.
I am so not a cat person.
In my grown-up home in Bethesda, my Labrador, Buffy—“the mellow yellow”—was the beloved senior member of a menagerie that included fish, parakeets, cockatiels, and the occasional hamster. No cat.
Which is why I was surprised in August 1990 to find myself driving home with a three-to-four-month-old kitten—a feral kitten, actually. Part of a roaming litter in the back yard of a friend living in Georgetown, she had been captured by animal rescue people armed with a giant net. They said a feral cat would calm down in days if confined to a small space and talked to quietly.
I had a bit of a wild child of my own, my younger son, Jonathan, 12. So I got to thinking: It could be a good fit.
Iraq had invaded Kuwait days earlier. We named her Baghdad.
Bags was all cat—crabby, persnickety, not interested in cuddling unless she had 30 seconds to spare. But she let my wild child scoop her up and hold her while she purred.
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Much more: http://www.washingtonian.com/articles/homes/how-i-fell-for-cats/index.php
Ya never know, ya know?
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