Willow

This is Willy, short for Willow-My-Furry-Pillow. He's our new old cat. We re-adopted him, except the first time I adopted him, the summer before my senior year of high school, he had a tail. Willie is a big cat. Something between a small dog and a raccoon. He may still weigh more than Gerret, or at least it's close. As can be observed, he has beautiful blue eyes. They were a selling point.

My adoration of cats started early. I was given a cat for Christmas when I was 18 months old. He was cream colored and mild tempered and I loved everything about him, especially that he was mine and he slept on my bed. During his reign in my parents' house, many other cats came and went. He outlived them all. I knew it was because his intellect was a step or two above the rest. Then he got old and died a couple months before my 17th birthday. That was fairly devastating to me, so I begged my parents for another cat. After almost six months of debating and some good convincing on my part, my dad finally consented and I skipped off to a farm to catch my kitty. The woman in charge wasn't there that week and I knew I couldn't just take the cutest kitten hiding under her porch without asking. So I visited a few times while I waited. I must admit that this cute kitten was feral. I couldn't even touch him. He would hiss and spit and scratch and bite. I knew he was the one for me. And then the day came for the lady's return. It turned out that she had her eye on the same wild ball of white fur. So, I did my best to convince her that he was the one for me. She was doubtful. I did a little more convincing. "Well, if you can catch it, it's yours," she gave in. That was all the go ahead I needed. He hissed and clawed the whole way home.

He didn't come with stripes. They appeared later. At first, he was just this little white thing with blue eyes and a skinny black tail. He was so small that, after being shut in the door more than once, I attached a bell to his collar so everyone was keenly aware of his presence (even if they still weren't thrilled about it). Not that he should have been hard to ignore; he couldn't sit still. And he grew like every kitten does. He was a big old cat before I left for BYU. When I came back he had filled out quite a bit and had strangely won my dad's heart. The two of them were all buddy-buddy and cuddled on the couch every evening, so I threw my hands up and left again for school. Sometime between leaving for my second year at BYU and moving back four years later, my parents acquired four more cats and Willow lost his tail (and some skin on his head, and almost his life, and a bit of dignity) in a fight. My mom claims he was fighting coyotes and I think that sounds pretty cool and tough, so that's what I tell people when they ask where his tail is.

So, now that we're back, we took it upon ourselves to take him under our wing because he asked us to. I think he was getting tired of being low on the totem pole. He's not as wild as he once was, but he can be kind of moody. He only takes affection if he asks for it, otherwise it's smart to leave him alone. We cut him a break, though. After all, he started out absolutely untouchable, has gone unloved for quite some time, and lost his tail in what was probably a pretty fierce scramble for his life.

Here's to Willy, our monsterly cat.