Believe it or not the phrase above is something that I heard fairly often, and not just about cats but about other critters as well. I've always harbored a love for animals since I can remember. What is not to love about animals? First of all they are fuzzy, warm and cuddly, have giant eyes, and sometimes they wobble. Most importantly they're the first to notice that you're having a bad day and usually the first to console you.

By now you'vve probably figured out that I was a pretty strange child. My hobbies included: reading, playing outside all day until it was so dark you couldn’t see, biking, rollerblading, skateboarding, and going to the local pound and the cemetery. Now all of the aforementioned activities seem pretty normal for a kid to do but I feel like the last two are a little odd and therefore I must explain them.

I'll explain my cemetery obsession first, seeing as how it is a little less pertinent to the story at hand. In the town I resided in, the cemetery was one of the few places with green grass and any variety of trees whatsoever. People left flowers and so the place was always a bloom with color. The light always peaked in through the trees in a way that made the cemetery appear almost magical, kind of like your very own secret garden. On top of that some people had the most beautifully crafted and creative headstones. There were headstones ornately crafted as stone benches, headstones with pictures, old headstones where the engravings had been worn away by time and the elements, and my favorite headstones of all were actually graves set above ground. These headstones were actually giant half-cylindrical pillars maybe six feet tall and four feet wide each, and they lay as if you were looking at their horizontal cross section. I don’t remember reading any epitaphs or seeing any wording on these particular headstones because they were absolutely ancient, but you could always tell where you were in the cemetery by locating those half cylinders.

This was also one of the few cemeteries where I've ever seen a wall for ashes, I learned later these are called mausoleums. The wall of ashes was located at the center of the cemetery itself and you had to drive in a circle around it. There were no trees surrounding this area so the light beamed in as it would in a forest with a clearing. My favorite part about this was that the light lit up the coral colored marble that people’s ashes were laid to rest in.

Lastly, the cemetery was right across from the Cubs Park training stadium so I always imagined that the tenants of the cemetery had a front row seat to one of America’s most beloved sports. I imagined that if there were any such things as ghosts they would sit on top of their headstones and all gather round to hear the crack of the baseballs and the noise of the crowds that gathered across the street during spring. This new world that I'd invented for these non-existent ghosts made the idea of being laid to rest there less undesirable. It also probably helped that at the time, I lacked any real context for what death was. I knew that my grandfather was here one day and then not, but that was about the extent of my understanding for the great beyond.

While others may have found my fascination with the cemetery morbid, I realize now that it was simply a fascination with nature and our place in it. This was one of the few places in Arizona where you could see grass, flowers, and trees in the same place and truly enjoy it because few people were ever around to break the silence. I was also not obsessed with death so much as the understanding that this was where we would all eventually wind up in the long run. While I may have lacked the context for the meaning we've placed on death, I knew at this age that it was inevitable. It wasn’t that I'd experienced a lot of death in my family first hand, but it seemed clear that we're all born and then at some undisclosed time we die. These are some of the only true experiences we must encounter alone, and frankly as the second child I was always sharing something; so death didn't seem so bad.

Now onto my second obsession: the local pound. As I stated earlier, I had a thing for pets and my parents were very adamant that Ophelia and I could not have any. I'm sure you recognize this now in your adult state, the more someone tells you "No", the more elusive the prize becomes. Every weekend I'd talk my mom into taking me to the pound, all the way out by Rio Salado Parkway so we could look at the puppies and kitties. I'd wander the halls of this disheveled pound playing with all of the animals, which sometimes took an hour or more. This was pure torture for me because by the end of our adventure I'd want them all, and oh how I'd plead with Genevieve to help me save them! Needless to say, she was immovable emotionally to these animals plight and to my pleas of desperation. I'd leave utterly destroyed, and looking back on the whole experience it was an exercise in pure masochism, as I always left in tears.

The whole thing just didn’t seem fair to me as a child (but what is, am I right). My father had a gorgeous curmudgeonly cat named Moses, so why couldn’t Ophelia and I have a pet. Moses was stunning with his whitish blonde coat tinged with only slight sandy brown markings around his tail and on his head. Moses also had eyes as crisp and clear blue as aquamarine; he was a truly stunning creature. However, Moses was the most stalwart cat I've ever met, as he despised all of us except Rowen. Genevieve used to love to tell us about the year Rowen and her were first married. She'd baked Rowen a carrot cake, his favorite, for his birthday and after she'd finished frosting the cake Moses waited until she'd walked out of the kitchen for only a moment and glared at her as he walked the cake right off of the counter.

Moses wasn't too found of Rowen's children either. Ophelia had pulled Moses’ tail when she was a baby and when he responded by scratching her he was disciplined by Rowen. I blame Ophelia to this day for that cats’ hatred of children. All I ever wanted was to pet the adorable little guy but he wouldn’t have it until I was a teenager. By then he was blind and probably had no real clue who I was.

On the bright side, our luck changed in the summer of 1996 when a young boy from the neighborhood and myself road our bikes past a porch full of kittens. The woman who lived in the apartment was beside herself with frustration as her female cat had recently given birth to a large litter. After asking if we could play with these new kittens the woman had us park our bikes on the sidewalk and let us into the gate that blocked her back porch off from the rest of the world. I was in absolute heaven, I'd never seen so many kittens in one place before!

I didn’t know what to do because I'd never been able to play with kittens outside of a cage, so instead I just did nothing. I sat on the woman’s white wicker chair and simply watched my friend pick these kittens up and pet them. That's when it happened. Out from the pile of kittens came a tiny cat no bigger than my palm. She was a brown tabby with black stripes all over her. These stripes were almost highlighted by blonde streaks that made her appear to be a tiny tiger. She also had a patch of white surrounding her nose that extended down to her belly, which made her almost appear as if she were wearing a tuxedo. Her nose was brownish red, the color of iron saturated rocks that I'd seen on a trip to Sedona, and she had a tiny Marilyn Monroe mark on her left cheek. Yet her most stunning feature were her emerald green eyes, which she'd affixed upon me and only me.

From out of the pile of her siblings she wobbled towards the white wicker bench that I was sitting on and proceeded to cry at me and bgan to scale my leg. Once she'd made her way up my leg, which I’m sure to her seemed like Mount Everest, she curled up in my lap and fell asleep. It was almost as if she knew we were going to be a part of each other’s lives even before I did. I was in love with this little kitten from the moment she introduced herself.

We must have sat there for hours until the woman stated she had some errands to run. From then on it was decided, the boy and I were devoted to the survival and care of these kittens. The woman always left the kittens on her back porch without supervision and she gave us permission to stop by and play with them while she was at work. Everyday we would head over to her apratment, bright and early to play with the kittens. From there, my bond with my favorite little kitty grew stronger every day. I even named her, Tiger Lily.

While the little boy from across the complex didn't come with me every day, I made these kittens my priority, and I began to bring my little friends treats. I remember packing my pockets full of things that I knew I liked to eat, just assuming that my new friends would love them too. I would fill my pockets with potato chips, fruit loops, and lunchmeats. When I arrived I'd break them into tiny pieces so the kitties could eat them safely. Look, I didn’t say that I was a smart 7 year old, okay?

I remember there was one day that Genevieve asked me what I was bringing all of that food with me for as I headed out to play. I tried my best to come up with a good lie and said,

“They're snacks… Just in case I get hungry.”

Somehow this fib worked and she grabbed three sandwich bags out of the cupboard for me.

“Here” she said, “this way you can take more snacks and not get your clothes dirty by shoving handfuls of things into your pockets.” She always was a real stickler for cleanliness.

Little did my mother know that she was aiding and abetting in my ultimate goal to have a kitten of my own someday.

During these few weeks time the woman had managed to give several of the kitties away, which only left a grey boy kitty with black stripes and yellow eyes, whom I named Smokey. An orange striped tabby boy kitty with light green-yellowish eyes, whom I'd dubbed Goldie. A calico girl kitty that was too shy to come out and play with us, so she hid all of the time whom I called Cali. This name was obviously short for Calico, and I clearly wasn't very original with my naming scheme. Last but not least, Tiger Lily remained in the group that hadn't been chosen by a family yet.

One hot August day I headed over to the woman’s home to play with my kitties only to find that some vapid 16 year old was man handling Tiger Lily and Goldie!!! She and her stupid friend were talking about taking them both home for good! The teenage girl let Tiger Lily go, but she was still holding Goldie up and making kissy faces at him. I sat on the woman’s porch cross-legged and once Tiger Lily was freed she immediately made her way towards me. Once Tiger Lily reached me she began rubbing up against my knee and purring. I picked her up and started to talk to the teenager making up millions of reasons why she didn’t want Tiger Lily. This, however, didn't deter her in the slightest, and she left with Tiger Lily and Goldie to convince her mother to let her keep them.

As soon as the girl left with Tiger Lily I was heartbroken. I jumped on my green Huffy bike and rode to the neighbor boys’ apartment! Tears were welling up in my eyes as I asked Kevin's mom if he could come outside and ride bikes. His mother turned away suspiciously and called him downstairs. Kevin came bounding down the stairs and I told him everything that had transpired with tears streaming down my face. We both rode like lightning to the woman’s house in the hopes that it wasn’t too late.

We arrived out of breath, threw our bikes to the ground, and rushed through the woman’s back gate. She was standing there with the the teenage girl who had returned with both Goldie and Tiger Lily. Tiger Lily was on the ground and once she saw me she made a beeline in my direction. I was practically gasping for breath and pretending to just play with and talk to Tiger Lily, all while I eavesdropped on the girls conversation with the woman.

“My mom says that I can only have one of them.”, she said.

Her friend replies a valley girl accent, “Well, it's easy. Just pick whichever one you think is cuter!”

The girl continues to banter with who I can only assume is her best friend.

“Ugh, but I want them both!”, she wines.

The girl picks Goldie up and pets his shiny fur coat, then gives him a hug and I think it's all over. That's the hug of a girl who is trying to say goodbye for sure! Then she reaches for Tiger Lily and holds her up in the air, her arms outstretched, the cat dangling precariously. Tiger Lily looks at the girl with a deadpan expression of disinterest and is if by magic the girl says, “This one looks ugly, like a boy cat.”

What a bitch, right?

She puts Tiger Lily down and picks Goldie, the boy cat, back up and says, “I’d rather have a pretty cat anyways.”

I was deeply offended by her statement. How dare she call Tiger Lily ugly? Didn’t she know how gorgeous, friendly, kind, and loving Tiger Lily was! Then a wave of relief swept over me as I realized that Tiger Lily was safe and would still be my kitty.

All of that relief I felt came crashing down around me as I spoke with the woman who divulged that she was moving. The woman elaborated, saying that she couldn’t keep any of the kitties and was going to euthanize them. I had no real idea what that meant exactly, but I knew that Tiger Lily would no longer be in my life! I had to do something! I went home and asked Ophelia what euthanize meant and when she explained it to me with an air of suspicion about my intentions, I was mortified.

I didn’t sleep a wink all night, I just tossed and turned. Then I realized I had to make a plan! I had to call in the big guns and so the very next morning I began operation “Get your older sister involved.” Ophelia was a bit of a bookworm, so I rarely asked her to come outside and play with me. I approached my older and much smarter 10 year old sister after she'd showered.

“Ophelia, do you want to come play with me?

“Why would I want to do that?” she chortled.

“Oh no reason. I just found something really cool and I wanted to show it to you.”

“What is it?” she implored. And there was the hook, I'd caught her attention now.

“I can’t tell you or else it wouldn’t be a secret now would it? It’s something that I have to show you.” Yeah, I thought. That's right, if you bring her to these kittens, there's no way she's not going to walk away from them.

That was all it took and Ophelia was invested. We packed several snack items and were on our way through the labyrinth of the complex to see the kitties. I remember Ophelia didn't want to rider her bike, so we walked there instead. Maybe the tires were flat or maybe she was just feeling lazy that day. Anyways, the details about why we didn’t ride our bikes arent important. We arrived and I could see Ophelias heart melting as she played with and fed all of the kitties.

What really sealed the deal, was when reliable little Calico came out of the bushes and picked Ophelia as her very best friend. I was astonished because I'd tried for almost a month to get Cali to come out of her shell and in less than five minutes Ophelia and the cat had formed a special bond. I had Ophelia in the palm of my hands now, and that’s when I dropped the bomb,“Their owner is moving and is taking them to be euthanized today.”

That was the clincher ladies and gentlemen, and now there were two small children who couldn’t let this injustice happen. Genevieve didn’t stand a chance with both of us scheming against her.

While Ophelia was in love with these cats as much as I was, she knew that Genevieve wouldn't let us have one cat, let alone three and so we devised our plan. We told the woman that we'd find good homes for the kitties and that she needn’t worry about taking them to be euthanized. All we needed was a cat carrier, which the woman gladly provided. I ran to Kevin's house and told him our plan to save the kitties. Our plan was this: take the kitties to Kevin's house because maybe his mother would let him keep Smokey. Then we'd take the other two kitties to our house and make the plea that Tiger Lily could be my kitty and Cali could be Ophelias kitty. Happy endings would ensue and everything would work out accordingly.

The plan was executed with precision. Ophelia went home to read as if nothing new had developed in our lives, that way no one would be suspicious we were in on it together. Kevin and I packed the kitties into a small dog-sized carrier and carried them to his house. These kitties were heavy and it took both of us to bring the carrier to his house, which was on the complete opposite side of the complex where the kitties had once lived. When we got there Kevin went into the house and begged his mother to keep Smokey, which did not go very well. She came outside and saw me standing there with the carrier. She talked to them and played with them, so it was clear that she wasn't without compassion, but in the end she couldn't keep any of the kitties.

This was not good! Genevieve was certainly not going to take in three kittens if she wasn’t even going to entertain the idea that Ophelia and I could even share one cat. Our only option was to take the kitties back to the woman and work out another plan before it was too late. However, we found out just how late we were when we arrived at the woman’s apartment. She had made quick work of moving and was nowhere to be found. How fortuitous it was that this woman was no longer within reach of Genevieve’s grasp. Well, now there was nothing else to do but bring the three kitties to Genevieve and pray for her mercy.

I sheepishly approached our apartment and waved good-bye to Kevin because by this time tomorrow I was sure to be buried in my beloved cemetery by the stadium. I opened the door slowly and set the carrier inside taking great care to shut the door so that it made no noise. Lucky for me the kitties were asleep, so I'd have time to explain the situation to my mother without being quickly found out. I thought I'd gotten away with coming in unnoticed until Genevieve's voice came echoing down the stairs,

“Roslyn? Is that you?”

Yes, unfortunately it was I her soon to be least favorite child.

“Yeah. I’m home. Hey, mom I need to talk to you about something.”

I made my way up the stairs to the living room where my mother was folding laundry. The sarcastic little voice in my head rang out, "Fantastic, we're off to a great start." She's probably already irritated with me for not cleaning up my crap that's strewn everywhere, or upset I didn't help fold laundry. I approach her slowly and she can tell that I’m up to something.

“What’s wrong with you?” she says.

“Mom, I need you to sit down.”, I sit on the couch and pat the seat next to me.

Looking back I'm sure this was either adorable or incredibly disconcerting. I mean, how brave of me?! I'd never dream of telling my mother what to do. Genevieve tentatively takes a seat and I go to get Ophelia out of our bedroom.

“Ophelia and I have something to tell you!” I say dragging Ophelia off of the bottom bunk and out of a book. I'm leading Ophelia by the arm out of the room when she breaks away from me and sits on the other couch.

“No, we don’t have something to tell you. Roslyn has something to tell you.” Ugh! She always deserts me at the last possible moment to sink or swim!

“Well… you know how Ophelia and I have been wanting pets?” I ask with a tinge of hope in my voice.

“Uh-huh?” our mother replies knowing full well what I'm up to.

“Well, the most amazing opportunity just fell in our laps! This woman had these kittens and she was moving, so she's taking them to get eu- eu- euthanized today” I stumbled. “…So, I told her not to worry about that because our mom would NEVER let something like that happen.”

Gevieve barely lets me finish before responding with suspicion in her voice,

“Where are these kittens, Roslyn?!”, she asks through gritted teeth.

“Downstairs in a carrier!” I responded quickly, as if it would be like ripping off a bandaid, instant and painless.

I can assure you that was not the case. I then attempted to drown out her irritation and complete disbelief by telling her all about them.

“There are only three of them”, I explain, trying to make it seem like at least there weren’t eight.

“There’s a boy and two girls” I went on “I named them all! Smokey is the grey one, he’s the boy, and then there’s Tiger Lily and Calico. I call her Cali for short.”

I read once that if you tell someone that's threatening to kill you information about yourself, they're more likely to spare you. As an adult, I recognize this has something to do with humanizing yourself. Maybe it's the same case here, I'll just tell her little things about all of the cats and then she'll feel connected to them!

“You named them?” she said as she brought the cat carrier up from downstairs.

“No. Absolutely not! We are not keeping these kittens! Take them back to whereever they came from right now!”, she yells.

“Heh heh”, I feigned laughter. “That’s going to be really difficult…”, I trail off, not quite sure how to break the news that there's nowhere to bring them back to.

“Why, Roslyn?! Why is it going to be difficult?! What is so difficult about brining them back to this woman?!” she said the rage in her voice mounting.

“…Well… She doesn’t live there anymore….” I said looking down at the ground. Maybe if I just don't make eye contact this will all pass?

“What do you mean she doesn’t live there anymore?!” she's almost in full blow hysterics.

“I mean that her apartment is empty. We took them over to Kevin’s house first but his mom didn’t want the kitties either.” I said trying to make it seem like these poor homeless kitties were simply relying on the kindness of those around them, which to be fair was definitely the case.

“Is this where you have been taking all of those snacks too?” she asked. The rage has subsided as she starts to piece together how this could've happened.

By some sick twist of fate, Ophelia has suddenly found her voice and pipes up, “Yes! That’s exactly where she has been taking those snacks!” she exclaims with a grin. I'm certain she can't wait for me to get in trouble.

“Thanks for having my back big sis.”, I grumble under my breath.

I can tell that Genevieve is beyond furious because she's gone virtually silent, a tactic that I frequently employed throughout my life. She gives the kittens water and food, but keeps them in their carrier. She's brought them up to the living room to do this, so I'm thinking I may have finally broken her will to tell me no.

“You’re feeding them… So, does this mean we're keeping them?”, I posture half tentative half holding back my excitement of victory.

“No. You’re going to take me to where this woman lives.” she replies with sheer stoicism.

At this point I'm starting to get the impression that Genevieve doesn’t believe me when I say the woman has moved. Which to be fair, I can understand because I've concocted this elaborate plan to manipulate her into keeping these kittens. She doesn't really know that though, does she?

So off we set, Genevieve, Ophelia, and I walking to the woman’s previous estate. We get there and Genevieve looks surprised to find that I was telling the truth. She peers in through the sliding glass door of what used to be the woman’s back porch only to see an empty living room.

“You’re sure this was the apartment?” my mom asks, looking directly at Ophelia instead of me.

“I'm positive”, Ophelia says. What a suck up! Why couldn’t she just say ‘I’m sure.’ why does she have to be so annoyingly precise all of the time. Look at her act like she wasn’t totally involved in this whole thing.

With that, we begin our journey back to the house. I'm thinking I might've won a second time, so I open my big fat mouth.

“Now what?”, I ask as we trudge back to the house in the fading evening light.

“Now we call the pound.” my mom says. My heart drops through my chest and I know that I'm almost all but defeated at this point. All I wanted was to be a good home for these kitties, and now they'll wind up at the pound where they might not find a home at all! We finish the rest of the walk home in deafening silence.

We walk in the door and my mother makes Ophelia and I ascend the stairs first. We sit on the couch opposite her as she calls every pound in the state it seems like. The kittens are awake and I play with them as I cry for their unfortunate and untimely end, which is sure to come. However, as luck would have it, none of the pounds are open because it's after six o’clock at night! Exasperated Genevieve throws the phone receiver on the couch, which causes the cord from the wall to stretch and bounce in a comical fashion. Then she rests her elbows on her knees and buries her head in her hands. I've really done it now, I've broken her but it's not quite how I imagined.

“No one is open!!! I’ll have to call them back tomorrow.” Ophelia and I stop crying for a minute, and look hopefully back at our mother.

“This does not mean that we're keeping them.”, she sighs.

Oh but it did! That night we let the kitties out of their carriers. Tiger Lily and Calico slept next to Ophelia and I all night, and Smokey slept next to my mother despite her many attempts to deter him from doing so. The next morning my mother started bright and early calling all of the places that could take these kittens with no such luck. Every place she called wanted $50 per kitten to provide food, immunizations, and spay/neuter service. My mother pleaded with everyone letting them know that her horrible children and some awful woman had conspired against her to make her take these kittens in. Yet since there was no proof that these were not her kittens, no one would waive the $50 fee for each kitten. Looking back on it I thank God that our dad worked the swing shift. He left for work before we sprung the kittens on my mother and was asleep while she was trying to figure out what to do with them. He didn’t wake until mid-morning the next day and by that time we'd already coerced Genevieve into keeping them.

There were many other adventures with these kitties that perhaps will follow in another story or book. There were also many other pets that came and went throughout my early life. There was Taran, a big stray Russian Blue that I took in who only loved me. Patches, who I found abandoned and near death on the canal I used to go for walks on. There were four dogs that followed me home one night as I went for my daily walk. There were the people downstairs who left their female cat that eventually had kittens in our closet. That was actually an accident because we had no clue she was pregnant. Then there was Jangles, who we found and took in before we moved back from Arizona to Washington State. Then there were Miss Kitty and Buddy, two cats my father had after Moses had to finally be put down after 22 years of being my fathers most devoted companion. Then there is Little Chief, commonly referred to by Genevieve as Zippy, who is her and Rowen's current companion. Currently, I have two kitties of my own. One named Chewy, who looks similar to Tiger but has a very different personality. The other is a very fluffy, black, white and brown kitty referred to at the pound as Cuddles. Cuddles is not very cuddly though, she was abused and abandon at one point in her life, so she spends much of her time hiding; however, I am hopeful that one day she'll be as attached to me as Chewy is.

As for our three original kitties, Poor Smokey wound up getting lost because he wouldn’t stay inside to save his soul. Tiger Lily was my most trusted companion for 18 years until she passed away on August 25th, 2014. Calico passed away almost three weeks to the day after Tiger Lily left us. It's still hard for me to believe they're gone. Sometimes I think I see them out of the corner of my eye. Every once and a while I can still feel Tiger Lily sleeping next to me at night. I honor their memories the only way I know how, by sharing their adventures with anyone who has the time and the patience to listen.

So, what's the morale of this story? That sometimes, when it comes to your parents anyways, no, doesn't always mean no. While it was a terribly manipulative thing that I did so I could have pets in my life, I needed those pets. I really mean, need, not want. These pets kept me safe and comforted me through some of the hardest years of my life, and I wouldn't have made it without them.

Genevieve often recalls to me, "You were a child that always knew what you needed. You'd never ask to go to the doctor, unless you knew were sick. You'd say, 'I need to go to the doctor.', and I knew you meant it." Sometimes you do know what's best for you and in this case, I really needed a friend. I really needed that unconditional love. I needed to be responsible for someone other than myself. These were the things I needed, and the things I still need to be happy. Know yourself, know what you need, and communicate it often.