My First Cat

I remember getting my first cat when I was about four or five years old. I don't remember where my mom got it, or if someone gave it to her, but I was happy to have a pet I could play with; we already had at least one dog, but I don't remember ever playing with them even though one would beg for food during meals in our tiny kitchen; my mom or anyone else would throw scraps of tortilla or even a whole tortilla out the kitchen for the dog(s) to go eat outside. We didn't know to treat pets the way people do in the United States.

The cat, however, we treated much better, and we fed it with soft pieces of tortilla and milk, and she'd lap it all up; once in a while she'd get some chicken soup, too, and she started getting a bit fat.

Mom later told me the cat wasn't just fat; she was pregnant and would soon have kittens; must've been that chicken soup! Sometimes she'd come home with a live rat and would play with it tossing it around till the rat or mouse moved no more; I think she "only meant to pet them." She kept getting fatter and fatter; darn mice of men!

Sure enough, one day the cat was meowing nonstop and walking around in circles; mom said the cat was ready to have her babies and got a box ready for her, and we showed it to her and left both in a corner of our bedroom.

In the morning, we were surprised to see 'mom' gently grooming and feeding about six kittens; they looked kind of ugly and slimy, and their eyes were completely closed, but my mom said they'd be opening them in a few days.

Cat mom kept a close watch on her kittens and would only leave them for short periods of time; when she returned she'd meow her heart out and head straight for the box, and the kittens would immediately get a hold of a "bottle" each. It was fun to watch how they'd dig their little paws into mommy's heaving stomach, but she never pushed her kittens away when they were little.

Before the week was over, the kittens had almost completely opened their eyes, or we'd wash the gunk off with warm, salty water; the kittens were also starting to climb out of the box, but mom would gently grab them by the neck with her mouth and put them back in the box; no kitten got a beating for trying to escape!

Once the kittens were free to roam the bedroom, I got to hold and play with them, but cleaning after their presents was not much fun; it was no Chanel No. 5.

We'd got to keep only one kitten and gave the rest away, but when that kitten grew up and had her own kittens, she wasn't as great a mom as hers; this one would eat her own kittens; yikes!

The next time she had kittens, we kept one that was completely white, but when she had her own babies, she didn't know what to do with them, and grandmother would take care of them and would chase mom when she'd try to eat the kitten, shoo!

Grandmother got to have many more kittens and was always a great mom and nice to all, but her offsprings never learned to be good moms, chusma, chusma!

I loved when she cuddled up with me even though mom didn't want the flea bag in the house, so I'd sneak her in when mom went to sleep; she snored, so I knew.

Sometimes she'd catch me by surprise at weird hours of the night or early in the morning, and she'd grab the cat by the tail and toss it outside. This was a common practice with your townspeople, and nobody even winked; wink, wink!

I loved watching mom cat play with her child(ren) and how they'd chase each other and jump over chairs, beds, and fences till one pounced upon the other, "Tag; you're it!"

Then came the day to say adios to my dear cat; I'd be leaving to the United States, and the cat had to stay behind, and I was sad for a long time.

When I was in El Norte, I'd wonder how my cat was doing, or if she was still alive because I knew my brothers were probably not looking after or feeding her. I also wondered if she'd had any more kittens, and I missed her and my brothers even more.