Cat person

By Ben Olson
Reader Staff

At one point in my life, if someone told me they were a “cat person” or a “dog person,” I would’ve rolled my eyes at them.

The idea of marrying your entire personality with the fact that you kept a cat or dog at home seemed, to me, ridiculous.

Dog people, in my mind, were sweaty, violently friendly and smelled of bagged poo they kept in their purses. Cat people were odd, misanthropic and ate eccentric dinners alone with errant twigs jutting from their hair.

Sure, we had dogs and cats when I was growing up and I loved them all dearly, but it was a child’s love. I felt the same way about baseball and Calvin and Hobbes comics.

It wasn’t until my 30s when I realized what it meant to truly love a pet. That’s when Nacho Gato walked into my life. Nothing would ever be the same.

My first memories of this American shorthair were shooing her out of the backyard garden I shared with my partner Cadie. Later that winter, as the temperature dropped and snow blanketed the ground, we often saw her sitting on our recliner chair on the front porch. With a white bib of downy fur under her chin and dramatic whiskers, Cadie and I fell hard for her.

She was warm and friendly, allowing us to pet her when coming and going from the porch, but we never thought to allow her inside. She was obviously well taken care of. But a month or two later, I came home and saw Cadie on the couch with a guilty look on her face and the cat on her lap. 

“It was just so cold out there,” Cadie pleaded with me. 

That’s how Nacho came to be “our” cat — by adopting us. We learned later that she belonged to our neighbors, but had rebelled and left home after they had a baby. Ever since she started posting up on our porch, Nacho made it clear that we were her new handlers.

Her name reflects how she came to us, as in “Not yo’ cat.” We eventually allowed her to spend the night inside, but not in the bedroom. Then she was allowed in the bedroom, but not the bed. Then she was sleeping on the bed and we’d have to jackknife around her if we wanted a good night’s sleep.

Little by little, this animal burrowed into our hearts. She’s filled with personality. She has about 20 different meows that all mean something different, from the purring greeting she gives when we let her in to the urgent meow when she has to do her business to the almost noiseless croak she makes when she’s content.

Somewhere along the way, I realized that this cat was part of our family, whether we asked for it or not. We feed and brush her, we buy her toys and expensive treats. It’s a firm house rule that when she occupies one of our laps, that means the other has to do all the tasks that need doing because we’d rather die than upset Nacho.

Dog owners have to put their friends in kennels or get someone to watch them when they leave town, but when we go sailing or backpacking for a few days, we just pour extra food in her dish and she takes care of herself.

Since moving into our new home last year, Nacho has really begun living her best life. She spends hours sprawled out in the backyard grass, belly exposed to the world and only stirring to eat the occasional mayfly.

Over the years, she’s earned numerous additional names, all with the Spanish theme of her first name. When she skulked across the room like a raccoon, we called her “mapache.” When she croaked like a frog, we added “rana.” Cadie began calling her “Maria” for some reason, and, as she’s getting on in years, she’s also known as “abuelita.”

When the world spins a little too fast for my liking, she’s always there to greet me when returning home from work, hopping onto my lap and nuzzling her face into my hands. 

Sometimes, while enjoying my cat therapy on an especially rough day, I’m filled with dread at the thought of her not being there someday. We never learned how old she is, but suspect it’s somewhere around 13 or 14, which means someday we won’t hear her beautiful purring anymore, we won’t feel her nuzzle against our legs anymore, we won’t fall asleep with the rise and fall of her breath by our side.

I’m head over heels in love with that cat and I’d do anything for her. 

I wouldn’t have it any other way, because the love I feel back from her is real. It means something. While dogs seem to love anyone with a treat in their hand, cats are more discerning. Instead of “puppy dog eyes” melting your heart, cats will look at you as if calculating how long it would take to eat you if push came to shove. Earning the love of a cat always seems like a higher hurdle. When I see her avoid the neighbor kids or shy away from our visiting friends, I know she’ll come out of hiding the moment they’re gone and be there for us to pet, to talk to, to sit with and to love.

After years of avoiding the label, my fate as a cat person is sealed and I’m not ashamed to admit it. She’s more than just a companion, she’s the best part of this world. May she always have a sunny patch of grass to occupy, in this world and the next.