When we were kids, my dad virulently hated cats. We had a few unfixed, feral cats in the neighborhood, and he took a certain joy on dumping water on them to chase em away when they started their mating songs. Not sure why he disliked them so. But he did.
Then a few years back, his aunt passed away. She had a fairly young kitten, who had been the runt of the litter and was a little spitfire. Nobody seemed to want the cat so somehow it ended up with my parents.
At first they had one cat at a time. Then in the mysterious ways of cat ownership they ended up with two. And eventually three. I was living in Arizona at the time, but when Lucky did her disappearing act, Gracie ended up being adopted into the house, and then Squeak (bringing Lucky back in the process – Meet the Ninja Cats). So I didn’t actually meet Gracie and Squeak until I next visited from AZ.
Gracie was a bit standoffish at first. She was not exactly unfriendly, but she only talked to others on her own terms and by invitation only. Eventually I was admitted to the inner circle and she accepted me as a suitable massage therapist. She and dad were the best of pals until dad’s ailment took over. Then Gracie demanded my presence more and more with her commanding whisper. She was fundamentally a shy cat and kept to her very specific territory. But if food or petting was desired, then boundaries meant nothing!
It was the funniest thing any time my mom opened tuna, or any can for that matter. Gracie would use her Ninja Cat skills and invariably appear from wherever she was in the house as if by magic. Turkey would generate the same response.
Bye Gracie! We’ll miss you!
