Learning to Like Cats

 I am not a cat lover.
It was bred into me.
I was born to a Mother, who didn’t like cats.
No, “didn’t like” is way too mild, she HATES them, she has a cat phobia, she won’t even look at pictures of cats.
It’s a pretty strong emotional reaction.

Anyway, as a child of a cat hater, I learned to hate too.  I never wanted a cat, I didn’t like them around, they annoyed and irritated me, digging up my garden and flowers.

Then we moved, to the country, and we have mice, lots and lots of mice.
Everywhere.

And, after much thought, and a post from a friend on facebook looking for a new home for her cat, a mouser, who was neutered and had all his shots, I gave in.

The cat hater got a cat.

And is slowly starting to like/love this cat. 

Our cat is named Stitch, he is an adult cat, that honestly has the soul of a dog.
Not knowing much about cats, only the bad stuff, I figured he would be aloof and onery, eating my chickens and using the garden for a potty. 

Was I wrong.
He is friendly, pleasant, good natured, doesn’t potty in the garden, comes when I call him, teases the dog, watches the chickens, and goes on walks with us.
(funny, huh, when I walk in the mornings he follows the whole way, I’ll walk a couple miles with this funny guy trailing me) 

Most of all, and what finally won me over.
He loves the kids. 

And is so patient with Monkey and all her tail grabbing and ear pulling. 

I have yet to sit with the cat in my lap or even pick it up…. my past prejudices are still strong, but I do give him a bowl of cream on occation. And Monkey adores Stitch.