All in the Family

by Fred Royall

There were six of them in all. Three boys and three girls. That's a lot, I know. But I quickly got used to them.

The sisters were the oldest. Binky and Blue. Binky was a remarkably intelligent animal and exceptionally well behaved. She and I were passionately attached to one another. Binky loved to rub her face against my girlfriend's hair brush and would often jump up on the bathroom counter when I went to take a piss. When I was finished I would take the brush out of the drawer and hold it up to her face. She would rub one side then the other, back and forth, over and over. I never knew her to grow tired of this. I would eventually have to put the brush down and go about my business but she would cry for more. I would pick her up and take her with me into the front room.

Binky had some sense of the purpose of a shower and she would wait patiently by the tub as I cleaned myself. When I was finished she would watch me towel off and then set her forepaws on the edge of the bath and look at the water level. When it reached a certain point she would jump into the scented water and set her rear end down in it. Then she would jump out and lick herself clean. Life with Bink was one intelligent stunt like this after another. She was very bright and endearing.

Her sister Blue was a real case. She had always been my girlfriend's favorite. But once when my girlfriend went on a trip to India and left the cats in the care of a friend Blue got out and ran away. She was gone for two weeks until my girlfriend returned. When she learned that Blue was gone my girlfriend was horrified and she scoured the neighborhood looking for the cat. Eventually some mother's instinct led her to suspect that Blue had crawled through a nearby basement window. She asked the proprietor of the business there if she could please look in the basement. He let her in and she called for Blue. She heard a noise and saw the cat huddled in a corner. At first she hissed, then she cried. She alternated between hissing and crying as my girlfriend approached. Finally she ran into her arms and cried plaintively. When my girlfriend brought Blue home she found that she was filthy and starved. So she fed her a great deal of food. This continued over several days and eventually developed into a bad habit. Over time Blue became morbidly obese and was never able to lose the weight. I always felt sorry for her as she woke each day with the burden of carrying around such girth. When she would jump down from the bed the impact of her weight on her feet was so strong that she would grunt in pain. Blue had been traumatized by her ordeal and was very needy emotionally. She had a peculiar attraction to me when I was naked and just out of the shower. I don't know how she sensed my nudity but she insisted on being held. It was not an unpleasant sensation to hold her against my bare chest but she tended to claw me in her passion and so I was reluctant to pick her up. She would cry and chase me until I was dressed and the fever would leave her.

The sisters were famous for their dust ups. Blue was always the aggressor. Binky suffered quite a bit for being a kind of teacher's pet. She never did anything wrong and at times would discipline the other cats. This led them all to pick on her. On occasions when Bink would do something to piss Blue off Blue would chase her sister mercilessly through the apartment, swatting her and trapping her on the floor. Bink would run and cry but Bink was a tiny animal who couldn't defend herself physically against her bulky sister. I would always grab Bink at such times and take her out of the fray, but who knows what went on when there was no one at home.

Despite their seniority the sisters were not really in charge of the brood. This duty fell to Zanuzi, a big grey and white male with a prominent pink nose that looked like a piece of bubblegum. I would often mime taking his nose off his face and putting it in my mouth and chewing on it. I thought that I might be able to market a brand of gum called Zanuzi's Nose, each piece shaped like his shnoz. Zanuzi was not a very vocal animal but he was strong and proud and full of affection. Whenever we came home Zanu was always there at the door, the first to greet us by standing on his hind legs and insisting that we stroke his head. He loved to have his head rubbed and would often sit on my lap for the express purpose of head stroking. He never tired of it and if I stopped he would turn his head to me and complain with a rare vocalization.

Zanuzi was a particularly handsome creature and a real lady killer. Whenever we had guests over Zanuzi would make a point of sitting on each woman's lap. How he was able to tell the men from the women I don't know. Inevitably the women hugged him and gushed over him. He was a real hunk. Occasionally my girlfriend would let him go outside. I disapproved of this. But Zanuzi, although he was a neutered and pampered house cat, would get into fights with the alley cats and he would always kick their asses. He would come home with the gray hair of his opponents stuffed into his claws. My girlfriend would put him in the tub and clean him up.

At night Zanuzi would sit in the kitchen windows in the dark and make sure that no other cats came around. We called this his guard duty. He took on this burden at his own initiative. While the rest of us were in bed Zanu stood solitary guard. We would all fall asleep and then at some point he would deem the house safe and come settle right next to his mother's head, right on her pillow. My girlfriend would wake at the sound of the alarm each morning and there would be warm, soft Zanu nestled against her hair.

I used to say that Zanuzi was a cat and a half and that his brother Wilson, by contrast, had been shortchanged and was only half a cat. Wilson was dimwitted and confused. He had a peculiar, aloof personality and made no effort to endear us to him. He loved dry food and would nibble all day long, but his figure was wasted and gaunt. He shed much more than the others and whenever we tried to stroke him he would blanche and the hair would come off in mats. Wilson seemed never able to focus his eyes or to be properly aware of his surroundings. I pitied him and regarded him as a loveless creature. I made a point to pay attention to him and to scratch the back of his neck, which he seemed to appreciate to a limited extent. My girlfriend used to threaten him, "I'm going to dye you purple," she would say. I didn't like this and told her to stop it.

Finally there were the babies. Precious, temperamental Little was a black cat with little touches of white, and she was a real character. She had grown up terrorized by Zanuzi and Wilson who used to chase her. My girlfriend had a custom cabinet that was made to hold a set of encyclopedias which she inherited from her academic father. Little was tiny enough to hide under this cabinet, but the boys would position themselves in front of it and hold her trapped there. They would make a peculiar huffing sound as they peered in at her. Consequently Little developed into an angry loner and frankly something of a dyke. She deeply loved my girlfriend and would throw terrible pouting fits any time my girlfriend traveled and left her. Little could sense these occasions and she would immediately refuse to eat and settle on my girlfriend's pillow where she would curl up and brood. There was no bringing her out of these dark moods. I would lie next to her and bring her treats to nibble but she would just stare at me.

Little had a very high-pitched voice and a pink mouth. It was funny to hear her vocalize and see her pink mouth open up. My girlfriend could get her to do it on cue by talking to her in a baby voice. Little would position herself atop the transom in the kitchen doorway and she would reach down and swat me when I walked beneath her. My girlfriend would be sitting at the kitchen table painting and she would call out to Little and Little would cry back in her tiny voice. Little was intensely interested in anything my girlfriend did and was often a nuisance when she was working on her art. I would pick Little up and hold her so that she could see her mother but not disturb her. Sometimes she would sit pleasantly in my arms but often she would growl at me. Little was a practiced growler and had the most interesting vocal style of all the cats. She had a repertoire of various noises depending on the occasion and her mood.

When my girlfriend was at home Little would get into her lap and writhe with pleasure on her back, making wild vocalizations. Little had an attraction to Binky and would sometimes nurse off her on the bed. My girlfriend was disturbed by this and would make her stop it, but I let it go whenever I saw it. Little also did something that I called "the bird dance," where she would get into the bath tub and then push herself up the sides of the tub and allow herself to tumble down, all the while vocalizing like a chirping bird. It was the strangest conniption fit and would overtake her for no reason.

Finally there was Nicholas, my best friend in the world and soul mate. He was a gorgeous orange boy whom we adopted as a kitten but who quickly grew into a very big, very long adult cat. He was a rascal who loved to play and tussle. He followed me around like a dog and had to be in on everything that I did. As a kitten he had been mommy's little boy, and my girlfriend used to make him a tiny saucer of oatmeal with cream that he would lap up on winter mornings. But as he matured he latched on to me and would rush me and wrap his arms around my neck just like a child. He would lick my face and ear like a puppy. I bought him many toys and we would play tirelessly. He was very athletic and could jump very high. He made a funny, sub-vocal sound that was distinctively his own and was very endearing. It was a vibrating, higher-pitched than a purr. It indicated mild frustration and he would make this noise as he chased toys and I pulled them just out of his reach.

In the living room we had a tower that was covered with carpet and had holes in it. Nicholas established this as his stronghold and he would sleep at night atop it, even when he became too big for it and his legs hung over the sides. It was funny that he never slept in the bed with the rest of us. Sometimes he would stand up and reach into one of the holes where we kept his toys and he would begin picking through them, tossing aside toys that he didn't want, as though he was looking for something in particular. It was entertaining to watch him deliberate and make choices. Finally he would settle on something. My girlfriend once received a package that came wrapped in a golden string, and this string became a legendary Nicholas toy. I tied a knot in the one end and tied the other end to a stick and Nicholas could not get enough of that string. He clawed, sniffed, licked and bit that knot tirelessly.

In the mornings Nicholas rose restlessly before the group of us in the bed. And inevitable he would come in and demand that I get up and engage him. He would wrap his arms around my neck and lick my face. I would be hung over and tired so I would turn my face down and cover it with my arms. Then he would make his sub-vocal sound of frustration and dig his long arms like a plumber's rooter snake down between the gaps in my arms until he reached my face. Then he would give me just a touch of claw on my cheek. I would groan and shift positions trying to fend him off. Inevitably he found my face and would finally succeed in waking me. Sometimes my girlfriend would grab him and throw him off the bed. He would sub-vocalize very loudly and run laps in the hall. Then he would creep back in and try waking me again. It didn't matter how many times she threw him down, he would always come back.

I lived with this family of animals for a year and a half and I became deeply emotionally attached to them. We made our way through a number of crises. Nicholas got out once and was lost for two days. I found him in a basement next door and was greatly relieved. Little got out in the neighborhood and was gone overnight. I searched and called for her but she wouldn't come to me. When my girlfriend came home the next morning she was able to lure Little out from a filthy spot in an alley behind our apartment. We had no idea what had attracted her there. Zanuzi disappeared for two whole weeks and we were distraught. Finally one night I heard the tiniest sound outside on the porch and I rushed to the back door. There he stood, the prodigal son, gaunt and dirty. I called to my girlfriend and she came running into the kitchen. We smothered him with hugs and kisses. He was dehydrated and drank desperately from a bowl of water. We figured he must have been trapped in a garage or something.

It's strange how it gradually dawns on you that one of your animals is not feeling well. Zanuzi seemed sluggish one weekend and just not his usual self. Finally he started to cry in distress and we spent a long night comforting him. The next morning we took him to the vet and found out that he was clogged with a urinary tract infection. When he was drained the urine came out like tomato soup. The doctor told us we came pretty close to losing him. When we brought him safely home we felt like we had really dodged a bullet.

One Christmas my girlfriend grew tired of me and told me I had to go. I found an apartment and moved all my stuff. The cats were visibly upset as I packed and took my belongings outside. They each came to me with anxious body language and I comforted them. When I was finally packed I called them all to me and said a final goodbye. It really tugged at my heart strings. It was very hard to leave them, especially my good friend Nicholas, who I felt like I had raised to be a young man. I had no choice but to stand and leave them. Binky tried to follow me out into the hall but I shooed her back and shut the door. My girlfriend and I weren't speaking at the time so she was sitting in the kitchen when I left and I didn't call to her.

Over the next couple of years I had intermittent contact with my former girlfriend and she would call me anytime she was going away so that I could come over and care for the cats. It was funny the way they would react to me. At first they were ambivalent, Nicholas and Binky especially. They would exhibit this peculiar behavior where they would turn their rear ends toward me and then hop, jumping with their back feet off the ground. To me this said, "Well look who's here. Mr. Bigshot who left us. Who needs you?" I would gradually endear myself to all of them again and then they would be all over me. Binky was always especially glad to see me and she would just melt into my lap. When I would pick her up to walk to the kitchen and get another beer she felt as though she were boneless. She was deeply relaxed. And Nicholas and I would play for hours. Then the time would come when my girlfriend would return and I would have to leave them again. They would cry and fuss but I had no choice but to abandon them.

That was all more than ten years ago, and yet still with regularity I dream of these animals. My connection to them was one of the deepest emotional attachments of my life. My friends ask me why I don't get a cat of my own, but frankly I'm afraid of forming such a strong, loving bond with any creature ever again. When I dream of them they are in some peril and I am struggling to help them. Or they are unhappy and I am making the effort to please them. They are darling and vulnerable and devoted and loyal toward me. They are beautiful and each exhibits the charms of his or her own personality.

I was never accepted at home as a boy or young man. I left my family early and have had little contact with them since. Until I marry and have a child of my own these six animals will be the closest I've ever come to having a loving family. It's strange that such intense attractions developed between us. I assume that all save perhaps Nicholas are dead now. My girlfriend called me once and told me that Zanuzi had been killed by a car. I thought she was foolish for letting him out and I was angry with her. I would dearly love to see Nicholas again and would hope irrationally that he would remember me and wrap his arms around my neck. I used to hold him and carry him like a child. He was my boy.

In a life of rather limited emotional experience I am truly grateful for the opportunity to have lived among these creatures. They were simply marvelous. I think that creation is a source of endless fascination and I fail to understand anyone who doesn't see a divine hand at work. Truly my girlfriend's pets were animated by a vital spark that spoke to my heart. I cherish the memories of them and still they haunt me.

Copyright © Fred Royall 2004