I heart my kitties. It’s still amazing to me, who has had cats all my life, that each cat has a different personality.

Let’s take Dukey, my oldest.



Her mom was a rescue, and came to me pregnant. Dukey and her sisters and brother were born on my son’s bed. We’d come back from dinner and the boy went into his room, then called, “Moooommmm! Something’s HAP-pening!”

The first kitten was dead, and Dukey was stuck in her placenta. The dh tore it open and we rubbed on her till she was breathing. We gave her sisters and brother away, but we kept Dukey. We felt she was special. (You may be wondering about the name. Remember the commercial, “Yo, Dukey?” “WHASSUP?” That’s where she got it. I wanted to name her Precious, but NOOOO.)

Dukey doesn’t have many tricks. She lays on the arm of the couch and sleeps. Around 8:30 every morning, she has a freak-out, and that’s the only time you hear her “talk.” Then she races up and down the hall, caterwauling.

She does not like to go outside. She might slink out onto the patio, but if you close the door, she is not happy.

She eats with us. She sits in the chair next to the dh during dinner. She doesn’t try to get on the table, she just sits there, to be with us.

She is not a cuddler, but if she feels like it, she will stand on you and allow you to pet her. She has the softest coat – and the pokiest feet. A mammogram is more comfortable than having this cat stand on you. And she is not light.

But she looks at you, and you can see something special, something understanding, in her eyes.

Then there’s YaYa.



No, she is NOT supposed to be in my afghan, but it was very cold that day.

YaYa is another rescue. She was by my truck one night when I left school after the Christmas PTA program. A front was coming in that night and I couldn’t leave her there. At that time, we already had 3 cats, Dukey, her mom and another rescue, a boy, Gir. I told one of my students my husband would kill me for bringing home another cat. The next day, she sent her teacher over to make sure I was okay. Never underestimate how literal first graders can be!

YaYa is my sweetheart. She’s my cuddler. She’s also my shedder. White. Hair. Everywhere. If I’m reading, she tries to get between me and my book. If I’m writing, she lays on my notebook. She’s very teeny. When we took her to get fixed, the vet couldn’t get over how teeny her reproductive organs are.

She’s also the weak one, the one the other cats pick on. Poor bullied YaYa.

She’s my talker, too. She talks a lot. She’s the one to let me know they need water or food, and she’ll complain about the litter. She likes to go outside on nice days. And she loves to sleep with me.

Then there’s Napoleon Dynamite.



He is so handsome. He’s another rescue – the girls next door found him at WalMart. He was so little, I had to bottle feed him. He was so covered with fleas we had to bathe him every night and the water would run brown with dried blood.

I think it’s the baths that makes him want to kill us now.

He’s my biggest cat, but he thinks he’s a Big Cat. You know, lion or panther or something. I think it pisses him off that he’s not, because he wants to kill us. He hates that we can pick him up. He will allow us to pet him SOMEtimes.

He’s VERY smart. He knows his name, will come when he’s called outside. When I got my kitten, I said, “Napoleon, take care of the baby” and he DID. He played with him, followed him around, even up the tree!

He’s completely different outside, though. He rolls in the dirt, lets you pet his tummy and is so cheerful. I’m afraid to let him stay out, though, because one of my kitties got run over and it’s too hard.

And my baby, Skippyjon Jones.



Skippy was stuck in a tree at the park across from school. I heard him when I got out of my car one morning, and Cindi still teases me about my super cat-hearing.

He’s not very big either, but he’s so fun. He runs to greet me every morning when I open the bedroom door. He follows me to the bathroom because he is fascinated with water. He “prairie dogs” so you’ll pet him, and he’ll lay his ears back so you’ll keep going.

He will follow you all over the house, and if you have a routine, he knows it.

I don’t like him to go outside, though, because he didn’t learn his lesson in that big old tree – he still climbs!

He’s not too much of a cuddler, but he is soft and loves to be pet!