Recently, my niece Rachel found this white ceramic cat at my parents’ house. She carried it downstairs by herself.
The cat had been a Christmas gift for me years ago and was a prized possession. This was during a period when I was nicknamed “Pussycat Doggie Girl,” thanks to my habit of crawling around houses on hands and knees, either mewing or barking depending on whether I felt more like a cat or dog at the time.
I think that’s my father’s handwriting. He’d also have been more likely to include the date.
Sometime to shake things up I would be a horse instead, but somehow “Horsey Girl” didn’t stick as a nickname.
Thirty-some years later, my niece has taken up this animal-impersonation habit, completely on her own and much to the amusement of everyone. Here she is, a momma cat carrying her kitten.
She’s also been playing with the ceramic cat. She’ll put it and her stuffed kitty in a laundry basket and then crawl in with them, three cats in a nest together.
As adorable as that sounds, my parents decided I should take the ceramic cat to my own home — one tiny step toward clearing out clutter from their place. For now it’s in my living room. My live cats have taken little notice of it, until tonight when I took these photos to share on the blog.
I always thought of the ceramic cat as larger than life-size. It’s only now, seeing my real housecats next to it, that I see it’s been just about life-size all along.