When my Mom passed away in 2007, I inherited the house and her cat, Cleo. Well, actually, Cleo was my Dad’s cat. She was a birthday gift from my sister in 1990, to replace their cat who had recently died. Both of my parents loved having a cat, even though my Mom was notoriously against it until they had their first cat, Courtney, who was also a birthday present for Dad from my sister. Courtney was a white-haired cat who shed prodicious amounts of fur. I dubbed her The White Tornado because you could follow her trail through the house. She was prone to getting knots in her fur and Mom would spend hours on the couch, watching TV and combing out knots. One time Mom gave Courtney a bath in the basement laundry tub that left Courtney with a permanent cowlick near the back of her spine. I always joked that she’d broken the cat. My Mom loved to tell the story about how Courtney would quickly and deliberately walk, not run, down to the basement and hide under the couch at the first clap of thunder. Mom used to call it Courtney’s “fire drill”, which was a perfect description. So when Courtney died, it was only natural for my sister to get them another cat.
