Happy Birthday to My Kitties!

Tomorrow is the seventh anniversary of The House Where The Black Cat Lives. Five of the House's seven feline residents, including the titular black cat, were born on July 24, 2002.

I'll never forget that surreal visit to the veterinarian's office. Celie, the hideously ugly little stray I had been feeding had managed, outward appearances notwithstanding,to get herself knocked up. The doddering old vet hooked up his 16mm projector so I could watch a flickering red-hued vintage film about feline reproduction. I had a flash of deja vu back to the 6th grade.

I went home and started boiling water.

When Celie, barely more than a kitten herself, went into labor, she freaked out. It fell to me, the attending midwife, to nurture the five little drowned rat looking creatures she spat out over the course of that long night. I cut their umbilical cords, cleared the mucus from their nasal passages and kept them warm until Celie calmed down enough to nurse. Thank God for that cheesy film!

By the time dawn broke both cat mamas were exhausted. At least she got to stay home. I had to go to work.

Almost as soon as the kittens were weaned, Celie returned to her gypsy ways and eventually ran off for good. The first night of her absence, the kittens crawled from their nest into my bed. They've been there ever since.

The past seven years have been a rollercoaster -- and the cats have been right there with me through all of it.

During my mother's long final hospital illness, a grueling time when she often didn't recognize me, my comfort was coming home to my purring cats and their unconditional love.

When she died, they filled the void of what suddenly seemed like way too much free time --and made me feel a little less like a middle-aged orphan.

On July 24, 2005, my kitties' third birthday, a tiny, and utterly adorable grey tabby kitten with big ears and lots of extra toes crawled onto my deck. Ernie became the sixth feline resident of The House Where The Black Cat Lives. Now it's his birthday, too.

One month later, Hurricane Katrina destroyed the first House Where The Black Cat Lived. The need to find a temporary shelter for the cats, and a more permanent residence for all of us, helped keep me focused. And probably sane, too.

When we moved to the current House Where the Black Cat Lives, my cats turned the vast empty rooms into a home.

Two years later, Roxie, another stray came to stay. For Ernie, it was love at first sight. They remain inseparable.

While our permanent residents seem to have topped off, over the years The House Where The Black Cat Lives has served as temporary refuge and half-way house for a string of foster kittens.

There have been many broken lamps and pieces of bric a brac. Some shredded upholstery. A few cat fights. Four vet emergency room visits. And too many urinary tract infections (theirs) to count.

But it's a good life.

And so tomorrow, we will celebrate.

For one night, we will set aside the urinary tract health diet in favor of stuff with names like Tuna Florentine Souffle and Tuscan Chicken with Field Greens.

We'll open presents (and I guarantee you they will be far more interested in playing with the ribbon and tissue paper than with what's inside).

We'll inhale cat nip.

And we'll all drift off to sleep purring together as we have for the past seven years.

A house with cats is a happy house.