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This is Baby. His given name was "Little One", because when Teri first got him, he was so small that he could fit in her hand; he was a tiny kitten.
But somehow he acquired the name "Baby" instead, and that's how I was introduced to him. Perhaps he got that nickname because of his temperament; he was the mildest and gentlest cat I ever met, and I've met many of them. He never bit, or tried to claw, or in any way evinced even the slightest sign of bad temper ever. He even put up with all sorts of indignities from the small red-headed creature who entered his life when he (Baby, that is) was about eight years old:
It seemed more than anything that Baby wanted to be a mother. He would lick and clean the other cats in the house tenderly and lovingly, even though they soon tired of it and would try to bite, claw, or fight him. But he never really fought back. He just kept trying to take care of them.
The only time he reverted to his feline nature was if there was a mouse in the house. Then, he was all cat. Although the other cats in the house were younger, faster, and in one case had all their claws, it was always Baby who managed to catch and kill the rare mouse that dared enter our house...unless we were able to rescue the mouse and deport him to safer climes (that is, far down the street).
We did not think that Baby would stay with us as long as he did. The vet told us early on that he had a fairly bad heart murmur. But for all his meekness, he was a cat with a fierce will to live, and to eat, and to sleep on Teri's lap. He stayed with us until he was eighteen years old, gentle and loving to the end. We miss him, and we will never forget him.
"They did not love him for his glossy coat,
nor his white shirt front and white paws,
nor his great green eyes, no, not even for the white tip to his tail.
They loved him because he was himself."
But somehow he acquired the name "Baby" instead, and that's how I was introduced to him. Perhaps he got that nickname because of his temperament; he was the mildest and gentlest cat I ever met, and I've met many of them. He never bit, or tried to claw, or in any way evinced even the slightest sign of bad temper ever. He even put up with all sorts of indignities from the small red-headed creature who entered his life when he (Baby, that is) was about eight years old:
It seemed more than anything that Baby wanted to be a mother. He would lick and clean the other cats in the house tenderly and lovingly, even though they soon tired of it and would try to bite, claw, or fight him. But he never really fought back. He just kept trying to take care of them.
The only time he reverted to his feline nature was if there was a mouse in the house. Then, he was all cat. Although the other cats in the house were younger, faster, and in one case had all their claws, it was always Baby who managed to catch and kill the rare mouse that dared enter our house...unless we were able to rescue the mouse and deport him to safer climes (that is, far down the street).
We did not think that Baby would stay with us as long as he did. The vet told us early on that he had a fairly bad heart murmur. But for all his meekness, he was a cat with a fierce will to live, and to eat, and to sleep on Teri's lap. He stayed with us until he was eighteen years old, gentle and loving to the end. We miss him, and we will never forget him.
"They did not love him for his glossy coat,
nor his white shirt front and white paws,
nor his great green eyes, no, not even for the white tip to his tail.
They loved him because he was himself."
-The Fur Person
