Hares and Cats

All I remember about our first cat was that she was Siamese and had to take medicine regularly. I don’t think that she lived very long. Our second cat wasn’t in our house long before she got out and was taken by the neighbor who had no interest in giving her back.

Then we got Snowball.

Artistic reimagining of the foul beast.

Snowball loved to hide all day, coming alive at night and causing chaos after dark. Her favorite place to hide was in my room, where she would wake me up in the middle of the night with her under-the-bed explorations. Though she hid in my room, Snowball did not care for me. She only wanted to sit on my mother’s lap and rub her butt on my dad’s leg, much to his horror. She covered the house in her white fur and curiously orange vomit. To put it plainly, Snowball was dumb, neurotic, and gross. So of course, she lived with us for twelve years.

I hated that cat. Hated. Considering that her final act was to die under my bed, the feeling was probably mutual. I’d lived happily with the family dogs (a series of large mutts) my entire life; however, my loathing of Snowball was so complete that I swore off cat’s forever.

Soon after moving into our first home, a tiny thing with an oddly shaped, unfenced yard, we got our first rabbit. While she was about two pounds of fluff and rage, she also loved to snuggle, often falling asleep on my chest. I was hooked.

Oh, hello. My name is Mr. Sweetie Boi.

With several more rabbits through the years, I started to feel like a different person. Bunnies taught me how to sit still and calm someone who is nervous and scared. They taught me how to comfort the vulnerable. They taught me that even the tiniest creatures can have very loud opinions about aesthetics. (One day, I will tell you all about Mr. Mocha and decor.)

When I first created The Hare and The Pear, I was deep into my Bunny Lady era. I've already written about why I chose a pear. Hare just made sense. (Yes, I know hares and rabbits are different, but artistic license isn't science.)

Last March, we knew the end was drawing near for our sweet, gentle Java, a Holland Lop who'd already lived over a decade. Since we were experiencing a crisis in our home at the time, I didn't want to face Java's impending loss without another furry friend in the house.

While I was browsing Pet Finder for buns, I started to think about cats. I did not want a skittish puke monster in my house, covering it with fur and keeping me up all hours of the night. But what if a cat, still being all of those things I can't stand, was super affectionate to my daughter? She was having an incredibly difficult year, and my extroverted only child could use a friend.

I relented. We would adopt a kitten as long as the cat met two requirements: it needed to love my girl and not trigger my husband's allergies.

We got the right cat on our first try.

Here to steal your heart.

Paint was four months old and took our house by storm. Playful, sweet and trusting, our new kitten quickly bonded to each of us, even having a preferred snuggle position with each member of the household. Above all, she adores my daughter, waiting eagerly for her to return from school and needing to check on her constantly to make sure she's okay. Bringing us laughter with her antics and comforting us when we were sad, Paint was above and beyond what we needed. She was healing our broken hearts. If you've seen the tuxedo cat who is a staple of my social media stories, then you know Paint continues to delight.

In retrospect, Snowball was probably suffering. We’d gotten her from a family friend, a police officer, who had confiscated her. I don’t remember what the details were, but I can’t help but wonder if she’d been in a drug house and gotten hold of the product. She certainly had not come from a home that made her feel safe. Getting her fixed would have gone a long way to curbing some of her less desirable behaviors, but we didn't know that in the 80s. Dying under my bed was still a choice, you little menace.

Do I still adore rabbits? Yes. Have I become a bit obsessed with cats? Completely. Do I want another feline in my house? Slow down. Paint has only had two furballs in a year. The only way I could have fewer furballs from cats is if I limited them to drawings.

Hey! There's an idea.

I've been painting cats in all of their glory, from flirty to friend. Soon wicked, playful, naughty and nice. If you follow me on Instagram, Facebook or Pinterest, you'll know when the next cat is dropping in my shop. And none of them will hump your leg.