El Gato Blanco

A white tomcat lives with us.  He’s what’s known in the feline world as a Rag Doll.  He’s my buddy, and he’s a lucky boy to have me.  And me him.

He entered my life when he was very tiny.  As a baby he slept with me, and wrapped himself around my sleeping head.  I’d awake with him bunched up around my pillow.  He did all of his kitten business in my bedroom—eating, drinking, sleeping, playing, and sand-boxing. 

He was pretty aggressive, and those who are in the know, know this—a Rag Doll gets some size.  So, when he had attained the correct age, he was neutered and de-clawed.  Not that any of that made him less likely to bite.  Yep, he’s a biter.  Not so much now, but as a teen-ager, he was awful.  But, he loved me in his own way, and I him.

I’ve pretty much always shared my living quarters with a tomcat, starting when I could barely walk.  Always was in the company of a tomcat.  I like it that way.

This tomcat’s name is Quigley, and he’s got a swagger—when he walks, he has the gait and demeanor of a tiger.  Plus, he’s one handsome brute—not at all unlike your humble correspondent in that respect.

He moved with us to Ohio from California, and has adapted well to the winters here.  He has, on snowy occasion, turned into Tundra-Cat, bane of rodentia.

I mention that he has been de-clawed, and Lord knows the carnage he might cause with actual claws.  He catches mice, moles, birds—anything that he sets his mind on, actually.  I saw him in the front yard one spring day stalking a groundhog.

He’s quite a large animal now, and sleeps in the bedroom on a red chair.  He wakes me every morning around 4:00 A.M. to be let outside to perform his tomcat duties (whatever they may be).  His life is good.

Quigley.  A blue-eyed cat of distinction.