The Truth About Stripey

My 13-year-old kitty, Leo, has been battling an inoperable jaw tumor for almost seven months now. With cat on my brain, I've had more than my fair share of pet conversations lately.

A couple months ago, my sister, Javadudess, and I were reminiscing about the various domesticated animals of our youth. We were both a little vague on our first -- a little female cat named "Stripey" (whose name illustrates the danger of letting young children name your pet.)

Stripey joined our family sometime during the years my sister and I were in grade school.

She wasn't with us all that long -- but on the "Why?" our memories failed us. Javadudess thought Stripey had had a flea problem, and I recalled something along the lines of recurrent urinary tract infections.

Regardless, we both believed that there had been some sort of health issue that ultimately led to little Stripey's mysterious removal from our household, and most likely a trip back to the SPCA (insert funeral march here.)

Recently, our parents were visiting my house.

Since my brother, The Boy Who Knows Everything, and his family weren't present to defend themselves, talk naturally turned to suggestions as to how they should run their lives.

Dad: I think (The Boy Who Knows Everything)'s family should get a dog.

Me: Why not a cat? They're so much easier to take care of.

Dad: I've never really felt the same about cats since I saw Stripey eating the babies.

Me (puzzled): You mean rabbit babies?

(Note: Among our menagerie of childhood pets had been a puppy that ate rabbits -- which became glaringly apparent when he regurgitated the fur on the family room rug. A special memory of my youth.)

Dad: No. Her dead babies.

Me: What? Stripey had babies?

Dad: Yeah, they were born dead...and I guess it was instinct or something, but I found her eating them. She had one of the babies' heads in her mouth when I saw her...it's hard to forget something like that...

Me: I didn't know anything about that! You guys didn't tell us...

Dad: I might not have told anyone. It was pretty upsetting.

Well, as bad as I felt for Stripey (and her babies) at least the quick return to the SPCA finally made sense.

The moral of this sorry tale: Spay and neuter your pets, lest they suffer Stripey's fate!

(Oh, and enjoy your dinner...)