Left to right: Maine Coon cat, Edd “Kookie” Byrnes, tiger-striped Tabby

My Real Memoir: Cats I Have Known and Loved

I’m not a died-in-the-fur “cat person.” That implies a species-specific specialization (say that five times fast and you win a kitten); I’m an all-round animal lover. I love otters (who doesn’t?), sparrows, mice, marmosets, and mongooses (mongeese?), even critters of the slithery persuasion (apart from the one who deceived Eve). But among the animals I’ve called family…most have been cats.

It began when I captured a couple of feral kittens. Being more pantherae than felis cati, they soon escaped into the suburban grasslands. But the rest of our cats captured us.

Right after we’d moved to our semi-planned community, I rescued Zipper from a truly evil man. He was my bestie, and I was his hero.

A short time later, Mom acquired a bestie as well. She’d found him curled up against the milk bottles outside our kitchen door. Unlike short-haired Zipper, he was a lush little bundle who loved to nibble buttons. And so, along with Zipper, we now had another garment closure-themed cat named “Buttons.”

Whose name quickly became a misnomer.

The Field across the street from our house was a vast, untamed veldt. So Buttons began hunting, and hunting, and hunting. Consequently, he morphed into the largest, catliest cat anyone had ever seen. Being at least part Maine Coon (or possibly lion), Buttons soon became “Mr. B,” a feline Sean Connery who liked his mice shaken, not stirred. He was feared by every tom, and adored by every molly. And the scars he acquired (“you should have seen the other cat”) only made him more magnificent!

Mr. B feared nothing, including the notorious Vacuum Cleaner. He hit it, bit it, clawed it, and stood his ground. Mom found this endlessly amusing, and taunted him with it, mercilessly. After which, he would come and find me, wherever I was, and bite me in retaliation–but never Mom. Mr. B’s sun rose and set on her. If he could, he would have had a heart with “Mom” tattooed on his bicep (catcep?).

Zipper, on the other hand, was a lover, not a fighter. And among those he loved was flirty little Missy next door. In the heat of passion, Zipper and Missy failed to use protection, and voila: two tiny Missys and one mini-Zipper arrived. Missy’s human mom Julie (who soon became my mom’s best friend) insisted we “do the right thing” and adopt Zipper Jr.

Zipper Jr. officially became “Ginchy,” the beatnik term for a “cool cat” (popularized by Edd “Kookie” Byrnes on Mom’s favorite TV series, 77 Sunset Strip). Ginchy’s full name on his veterinarian’s office birth certificate was Ginchell Russell Teemley (Mom’s play on my name, Mitchell Russell Teemley), indicating that we were brothers.

He was aptly named. You didn’t tease Ginchy. He teased you. He was the shrewdest cat I’ve ever known. When we played hide-and-seek, he’d almost immediately figure out where I was. But when he hid, I was completely mystified. If he was a chess player, he’d have beaten Bobby Fischer. I always felt he was smarter than me. But I didn’t mind because, well, we grew up together and…

He was my brother.