Blog Number One

         For the first 73 years of my life I was a dog fancier. My only exposure to cats were the summers I spent on my aunt and uncle's farm in Provo, Utah. These cats only appeared when we were milking the cows. They would sit on their haunches and my uncle would point one of the cow's teats at them and squeeze. Both my uncle and the cats were very adept at this. When the cats had their fill of warm milk, they would retire to a secluded corner and clean up the spills on their fur. I don't recall ever being able to touch or pet any of these feral cats, or that my relatives ever brought them anything to eat. That was life in the 1940s. Cats lived off the land.
          Most of my adult life was devoted to owning, breeding and showing pure bred dogs--the Dandie Dinmont Terrier. After giving up the "breeding and showing" portion of the dog fancy trilogy in 1995, my husband and I bought a Norwich Terrier puppy. The Norwich is the smallest of all the terrier breeds. When he jumped out of the car in a busy Mall parking lot, I decided to turn my hand to Obedience Training. Chasing this happy little puppy around the parking lot and fearing for both of our lives was no fun. However the training lead to another avocation. I joined the local Canine Obedience Club and became a trainer. Tiger wasn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier, but-- during his third six-week course--the light bulb popped on. He finally figured that he was suppose to look at me and not sniff the floor. He sailed through three shows and earned his official AKC "Companion Dog" certificate.
          In 2008, Tiger was 14 and going downhill. He was partially blind, partially deaf, crippled by arthritis , on some serious drugs and had to be carried outside (wait), then bring him in again. I had already given up the "breeding and showing" portion of the trilogy, then, at the tender age of 73, my own arthritic joints decided...that I would "own" no more dogs. My doctor told me that switching from dogs to cats was a sure sign of "old age." I gave him a nasty stare. Although silent, it spoke volumes.
          I couldn't stand the idea of a household without a pet. So, we went to the animal shelter. My hubby said, "get a big, kick-ass cat. One with really short hair." Yes, the new feline addition was bigger than my 12 lbs dog. He's a tuxedo kitty and tops out at 16 lbs. At that time, he was a 3-year-old neutered male indoor cat. He was listed as mellow by the shelter staff, however, they admitted that he was adopted twice and returned.
           He was the very first cat either my hubby or I had ever owned.
           Breezer (later dubbed Kitty because he responded to the name) was our "starter kitty."