I'm a cat person.

Currently, three cats share my address. Or rather, I have two cats. Moses, as it happens, belongs to Spike.

Moses' story begins one July when it rained non-stop for a week. In Denver, Colorado, a week of rain is unheard of and downright depressing. I lived in a two-bedroom apartment in a complex that allowed two cats. I had Sophia, a Bluepoint Siamese who was 3 years old, and Spike, a Sealpoint Siamese who had been the runt of his litter. Spike was 18 months old.

It was a tough time. I had an injury that required doctor appointments, physical therapy sessions, and longer hours at work to make up for lost time. I was going to school. It was a low point of my life. I came home that afternoon having worked, visited the doctor, gone to PT, and classes, and I was not looking forward to the necessary studying I still had to do. I was drained. The dreary weather was making me feel even more depressed.

A stray kitten appeared on my tiny patio -- an orange tabby about 3 months old. I nearly tripped over him opening the gate, as he darted out from under the windowsill.

I wondered who would have thrown out that powerhouse purr and golden eyes? He had to be lost by accident. And another cat was out of the question. So, I put up a waterproof shelter and left bowls of food and water and an old towel. I posted signs all over the complex. No one called and left a message saying they'd lost their kitty.

While I was gone during the day, Spike liked to perch on the sill overlooking the patio. Now he was doing it at night too. The lost kitten sat under the sill. At night I'd hear Spike vocalizing softly in the darkness. I believe he was spilling the goods on me telling the kitten to "stick around, she's a softy, her heart is melted butter."

Those two must have had some terrific conversations. For six days I kept telling myself that I could not afford another cat.

On the seventh day, the dip in the concrete just beyond my patio was now a river. I came home from yet another PT session, and saw the kitten stretched across my doorstep, soaking wet, and alarmingly limp. Oh no. Not this. But as I came closer, he stirred to look up at me and he purred. Spike was right. My heart melted like butter.

But I really tried to be practical. I'll dry him off and then we'll go to the Humane Society, I told myself. He'd find a good home. Yeah, right.

I put the soaking wet kitty in the sink in the bathroom, while I went to get old towels. I closed the door, not wanting to upset the other two cats. However, when I came back into the bathroom, Spike, having opened the bathroom door, was on the counter next to the sink. He was meticulously scrubbing the kitten's face.

The kitten stood braced on the rim of the sink, eyes screwed shut, ears pinned back. Stoic and purring. I had to admire that. I'd had my eyelids scrubbed by Spike's 10-grit sandpaper tongue and my response was more of a yelp and not a purr. Of course, in my defense, at 3:00AM and sound asleep, that tongue could wake the dead!

The kitten however remained steadfast despite the force of that licking which kept knocking his head into the faucet with every stroke (thud, purrrrr, thud purrr).

After rubbing the kitten dry, I left to phone my vet for an appointment to get our newest family member checked out. When I came back to the bathroom, Spike and Moses had curled up in the bathtub and were both asleep. Spike's black and cream body wrapped around the little purring ball of orange and white fluff. I tiptoed out.

Amazingly, Sophia, my eldest cat, never seemed to notice the kitten other than a growl and a hiss (the spot on the pillow next to the human is mine, so don't even try to go there). Spike adopted a buddy, a playmate, and a portable bed warmer, especially as Moses outgrew Spike's petite 5 pounds in 6 months.

Now when they curl up to sleep, it's Spike who gets his face washed with a stoic grimace.

Sophia and Moses? Well, they nod in polite acknowledgement in passing and then ignore each other most of the time, except for midnight hallway romping when no one is the wiser.

So that's how I ended up with three cats sharing my address, although I still maintain that I technically only have two cats.

Moses is Spike's cat, and one of these days Spike had better get a job to pay for all that food Moses eats!

Copyright © Martha Cowley
July 9, 2001

Read Martha's other story: Nightly Rituals