Some Peoples’ Cats

The only cat I ever owned was an orange and white striped little ball of terror I named, Nashville after the 1966 hit song, Nashville Cats, by The Lovin’ Spoonful. The cat was cool in a terrifying kind of way.

Problem was, you see, I was not necessarily meant to own a cat. I played pretty rough with the little critter, and loved to scare the daylights out of him every chance I got. The roughhousing made him mean, and constantly scaring him caused him to be sneaky.

Nashville catAs the ornery little critter started growing up, he figured he owed some payback to humans, and I had to warn anybody who came to visit. Still, even when they knew it might happen, he still scared them pretty good. He’d hide behind the couch, or a curtain, and come flying out, pounce on a hand or foot, hiss, growl, then vanish. I got used to it, but visitors… not so much.

I finally had to give Nashville away when my first son Billy was born. It was immediately apparent the cat thought the new human in the cage (crib) was fair game, and the first time we found it crouched below the crib twitching its tail, it was goodbye, Nashville Cat. We gave him to some “friends” of ours. Funny… they never spoke to us after that.

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