A Tale of Two Cats

A few years back (ha), when I was eighteen years old, my then husband (and thank God for that; which isn't religious humor, it is praise, but I digress), brought home a cat. It was a solid white Maine Coon, with a name of Sir Cotton something or other. But because Sir Cotton liked to take a flying leap, flop down on his bottom, and slide down the hallway on the hardwood floors, I called him Scooter.

Scooter was my shadow, my protector, my bed buddy, my dog-cat. He weighed seventeen pounds.

He was a good daddy cat, raising kittens right along with the mama cat, bathing them, playing with them, teaching them and disciplining them.

When Scooter was a very  healthy twelve year old, something terrible happened, causing his demise. I won't speak of it here, but remember the afore mentioned ex-husband.

My present husband of almost twenty-eight years has tried to make up for this for a long time. A few years ago, he discovered a cattery that had white Maine Coon cats. And a little over two years ago, a two pound, two month old, solid white male kitten came to live at our house.

His name is Eli's King Cotton. Eli is still a growing boy, as Maine Coon's grow for at least three years, some up to five years. He 'only' weighs fourteen/fifteen pounds right now.

Eli is my shadow, my protector, my  bed buddy, my dog-cat. He, too, is a good kitty.

Scooter

Thank you David, for trying to make a bad man's actions into something that belongs in the past and can be laid to rest.

Eli