Parlay – The Cat

Parlay – The Cat

We never had cats as pets.  At the farm, cats ran wild.  My brothers shot them because they preyed upon the quail and doves.  When I lived in Louisiana, we had yard cats that kept the mice and rats under control.  We were surrounded by sugar cane fields and the mice and rats invaded the barn and house when the cane was harvested in the fall.  We didn’t name them.  And then I moved back to Texas and later moved to the ranch.  When I discovered the electrical wiring in my pickup eaten by rats, I grudgingly paid the exorbitant bill.  When the critters did the same to my Mercedes, I took notice, tried everything including the sonic things.  Nothing worked.  When a friend called and asked if I wanted a kitten he found with a hurt foot, I said, “Yes.”   I named him Parlay because he is quite vocal.  He’s a yellow male that I responsibly had neutered. His claws are sharp.  He has me well trained.  When I awake, he comes to the front door and patiently waits for his bowl of canned milk.  When he wants in the outdoor utility room he lets me know.  He loves company and rubs against all my guests, intruding as much as possible.  He deposits dead mice, lizards and baby rabbits at the front door.  In the past I have been judgmental about old women with cats.  Now I have become one.