You know how cats like to go in and out. When they go out, they want to come in. If they’re in, they want out. Yes, even if they’re indoor cats they go in and out within the house. If I go into the bathroom, Mittens scratches at the door to be let in. The minute I let her in, she wants out.

But beyond regular comings and goings of cats who can’t make up their minds where they want to be, that cats have been going in and out of my life. In an earlier post, I introduced Sammy, a.k.a. Ironpaws.

Old Iron Paws

I miss dear Sammy but I’m relieved, all the same. He and Mittens just weren’t getting along. They never did—not even after living together for almost a decade. I got Mittens from the same friend who had Sammy, so they’ve been housemates for a long time. She remembered him. Did she ever.

The problem is that Sammy is the Alpha Male, the tough, macho, male chauvinist, keep-‘em-barefoot-and-pregnant type. Well, okay, he’s been neutered, but old attitudes don’t change, if you know what I mean.

What it boils down to is that he had no respect for Mittens. Absolutely none whatsoever. He’d hiss at her, bonk her on the head with his iron paws, chase her from her food bowl, and run her off the bed.

Mittens got fed up. Completely fed up.

I've had enough!

But then again, sometimes I’d find them sleeping peacefully near each other—though never close enough to touch. You never know with cats.

At any rate, when Sammy got whisked away in his carrying case (I gave him one that Mittens had used), Mittens did a victory dance. Okay, she didn’t exactly dance. But was she ever pleased.

She looked like a cat who’d just eaten a canary. Or one who’d just bested Iron Paws in a boxing match.

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It’s finally official! Mittens is legally mine! (And why does grammar check insist that I change “is” to “are.” Mittens is NOT a pair—though she may weigh as much as two cats.)

I’ve notified her vet of her name change. Her last name has been changed to reflect the new guardianship. Well, no, her name isn’t “Mittens Chow.” That just sounds bad. Like some very cheap, poor quality pet food. So she’s taken on the last name of my buddy “J”—or “Jay,” as we call him—who’s co-adopted her with me.

So, anyway, she’s no longer a temp cat! She’s got a permanent role—a starring one, mind you!—in my life—and in Jay’s life. We’re thrilled. I can tell she is, too. She’s fast asleep.

Mittens’s former guardian

My friend Pixie, who used to be Mittens’ guardian, told me that she no longer wanted to keep Mittens. And that if I returned Mittens to her, she’d just look for another home for her.

Of the three cats Pixie had, Mittens was always her least favorite.

Part of the reason, I suppose, is that Mittens used to belong to Pixie’s ex-boyfriend’s young daughter. The daughter went to live with her mom (the parents are divorced), who didn’t want a cat. So she left Mittens with her dad, who was living with Pixie at the time. When Pixie broke up with him, he abandoned Mittens. (He himself simply disappeared, who knows where.)

Mittens’s Hard Luck Tale

I can certainly understand if Pixie doesn’t have the best memories associated with Mittens. Under the circumstances, Pixie can be commended for spending hundreds of dollars on Mitten’s veterinary bills to cure her nasal fungal infection. Particularly since Pixie’s been very much strapped for cash. With all the turmoil in her life, she was having a hard time taking care of herself, let alone a sick cat. I helped out by boarding Mittens for free and providing all the care that she needed, including medicating her twice a day.

Another reason Pixie never cared much for Mittens is that she appeared to be a very needy cat. I suppose it’s because Mittens has been neglected most of her life. It’s surprising that she’s so affectionate even after being abused as a kitten.

According to Pixie, her ex-boyfriend’s daughter—who was a troubled little girl at the time—used to stuff Mittens in a pillowcase and swing her around. Ow! Not good! When a child abuses animals, the parents/guardians are to blame. Besides, that’s a red flag for future psychological problems, such as criminal behavior, so parents need to pay attention.

No wonder Mittens is so skittish. She’s a scaredy little cat who spooks at her own shadow. And needy? Yes. I still remember meeting Mittens on Pixie’s bed. My buddy and I had just gone into Pixie’s bedroom to get something when Mittens sidled over to us, back arched, tail held high. Meowing non-stop, she proceeded to rub and head butt us for the next 20 minutes. As we stroked her per demand, her fur flew (boy, does she ever shed!) scattering all over the maroon red bedspread. We tried to make a break for it a number of times, but she managed to corral us back each time.

Well, I’m proud to say that today she’s a far different kitty. She’s recovered from her infection, gained weight (a tad too much!), she’s healthy, and no longer needy. Most of the time she sits on my bed with a look of smug contentment. She never accosts anyone with persistent head butting. In fact, if anyone tries to pat her too much, she’ll deliver a kung fu kick with her hind leg—just a little warning, still pulling the punches, so to speak—or give a little mock bite.

She got microchipped at the humane society. She has her own Home Again tag dangling from her Parisian chic black collar. Recently, I purchased a rhinestone letter “M” for her. She’s a styling kitty! At age 14, she’s young at heart.

The other two cats in my life now are Sammy—my new temp cat— and Lydia, a blind, albino cat, who’s here to stay for good. All the cats here are senior cats. Each with his or her unique tail and a tale to tell.

Have you ever adopted a senior cat? If so, how did that work out for you? Please feel free to comment if you care to share.

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