About a week and a half ago, my human came across this photo of a cat she once had and since he was jet black — not a hair of white on him — I thought I would share it on Friday the 13th. She had been looking for this photo for years! She had him in the 1980s, even before Harlot.
He was not the first black cat she had. When she was very young, she had one with gorgeous long black fur. In fact, he looked a little like Spitty. But my human’s parents let their cats outside and he was hit by a car and killed when he was less than two years old.
This guy came along a couple of years later, and lived with my human all through the 1980s. His mother was a Siamese, and he had the Siamese voice and wedge-head. Like most cats of Siamese origins, he was very attached to my human. Unlike most Siamese origin cats, he was not very bright. He enjoyed rushing around the apartments my human lived in, and at one place that had a closet with mirrored sliding doors, he ran smack into the door and stunned himself. They had already been living there for some months, so he should have known better.
He also had a nervous stomach and threw up on several of my human’s favorite pieces of clothing. See that big Egyptian style statue he is sniffing? That is a replica of an actual museum piece and was a gift to my human. During one of his clumsy spazz runs, he knocked it over and broke it.
When my human brought home Harlot, she did not like him and vice versa. They spent their lives together ignoring each other as much as possible, and when he died at the age of 18 of chronic renal failure, my human swears that Harlot celebrated. My human, on the other hand, was very upset because even though he was not the best cat ever, he was the one stable and trustworthy being in the crazy life she had at the time. You might say that in spite of all his faults, my human was lucky that he crossed her path.