For some of us the journey to cat lady land begins early. I’ve had cats all my life but discovered my kitty roots are longer than previously thought. Therein lies the mystery. I clearly remember all about my first kitten Smokey, a tiny wisp of gray smoke I’d begged my parents for at age five. But recently while cleaning out a closet, I found a random stack of old family photos and came across one of me at age three with a tabby kitten on our balcony. It’s not a great photo but there I am crouched down communing with my kitty as a cat behaviorist naturally would.
The mystery is: I don’t remember this cat and I suspect there is trauma involved blocking my normally vivid memory. There is a sense memory of texture: sun-warmed fur, soft flannel plaid pants, an itchy woolen sweater but that’s all. My mother’s memory is faulty and wasn’t able to fill in the blanks. In time, I hope to unravel this mystery. For now, all I know for certain is my deep love of cats can be traced back to this Kodak moment.
How old were you when you knew you were a cat lover?