Dixie

Years ago, when my girls were children, they had begged and pleaded for a kitten for so long, that I finally, in a weak moment, took them to the local vet's office to "look" at the kittens that they had advertised as being given away "free" to a good home. I knew that my husband, David, really didn't want an inside pet, so I explained to them the responsibilities of having a kitten. I thought that the "emptying" of the litter box would discourage them since it is such an unpleasant task. Wrong! That afternoon, they finally got approval from their father, and he said that on his way home from work he would pick up the kitten they had chosen to be theirs--it was a lovely little gray one with beautiful blue eyes. They were ecstatic! We went to the store and purchased the necessary items for their new pet.

Later that evening, David returned home with a tiny kitten in a box, as promised. She was a predominately gray tri-colored calico with large green eyes--clearly not the kitten they had described in detail to their dad! Though disappointed a little not to have the blue-eyed beauty they had selected, when my husband asked if he should return it and bring home the other, both emphatically shouted, "NO!"

"Dixie" immediately became a member of our family. She was about three weeks old and easily fit into the pocket of my housecoat. When the girls were at school or other activities, this became her hiding place. She went on family vacations to the beach with us and grew into a spoiled cat. What had happened to the precious little kitten?

She developed a demanding personality. In the mornings when she wanted to be fed, she would jump up on the bed and nip at my cheekbone just hard enough to wake me, so that I would get up and put out her favorite canned food. Somewhere in the course of her living with us, she had decided that I was the one to provide all of her creature comforts. I became her playmate, as well. She would hide in the most unusual places only to spring out and attack. The victim was usually me. I still carry scars from her play. I believe she thought she was a great lioness stalking her prey. In the evenings, she would curl up in the lap of whoever sat still the longest and knead a temporary bed on which to sleep. When "her highness" had perfected this sleeping place, she would curl and stretch and yawn until she finally was comfortable, and then fall fast asleep.

The girls grew up and left home, but long before that happened, it had been determined that Dixie owned the house. She allowed the rest of us to share her abode, provided we knew what she wanted and that we never failed to admit that she was the Queen. Dixie is now approaching sixteen years old. Though she doesn't always move as quickly as before, she is still the self-appointed ruler of this "castle."

Long live Queen Dixie!

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