If a black cat crosses your path, it means she’s going somewhere. – Groucho Marx
All our cats (and we’ve had a few) have been (and still are) special, but the ones I think I’ve loved the most are the black and tuxedo cats we’ve had. Let me introduce you to three of them.
We didn’t name him right away, because we wanted to see what his personality was before giving him a name. For several days, we watched this little black kitten march around the house and run up to our other cats, wrap his paws around them, and try to pull them over, and decided he was like a little general. So we named him Sherman, after William Tecumseh Sherman, who marched from Vicksburg to Atlanta, burning everything along the way.
Sherman was part Siamese and all black, and like most part-Siamese cats, didn’t “meow” so much as “squeak.” He grew to be a pretty big cat, as you can see, and he liked to intimidate some of the others. I think he thought he was playing, and the others just didn’t like the game. We had a woman living with us for a while, and she brought her cat, Elvis, along with her. Sherman really enjoyed stalking Elvis, and we thought he might have actually been in love with him. It was pretty funny to watch, though Elvis refused to see the humor in it. Mary was especially fond of Sherman, and he of her.
We visited a lady who ran a cat rescue from her home. She had a bunch of cats that needed new homes, including this little tuxedo who was missing one eye. He would not leave me alone, and got especially upset when I got up to leave. He ran after me, and he seemed so happy when I petted him that, well, I couldn’t leave without him. Thus, Toby, or as I would call him later “Toby One-Eye Kenobi,” came to live with us.
Toby was especially docile, and for a while we had another cat that was picking on him, but that stopped and soon he was having a peaceful life with us. He was quite attached to me, and when I would sit down he would come and sit on my leg. He would also follow me around. When I would go into my office, he would come in with me, and when I went out onto the deck, he’d follow me there. At night, he had the annoying habit of pulling on closed doors and letting go, which made a loud “bang,” and when I’d get up to stop him, he’d run under the bed. Eventually, he’d get tired of the game and find somwhere to sleep. There were times I was ready to wring his neck, but could never have brought myself to do it. He was my little guy.
We adopted Jasmine from a woman who ran a Persian and Siamese rescue. She (the cat, not the woman) was neither Persian nor Siamese, and no one who came to see the cats was interested in a black domestic shorthair. Jasmine and I hit it off pretty well, and while Mary was playing with a couple of part-Siamese cats, Jasmine and I played. When it came time to leave, I said I’d like to take Jasmine with us. The woman was thrilled, because she couldn’t find a home for her, and told us we’d be doing her a favor if we took her.
When we got her home, she started tearing around the house, ears back, vocalizing a lot. The others stayed away from her, because they thought she was crazy. Which, of course, she was, and we just happen to like crazy cats. Her name didn’t really fit her, and soon we were calling her “Jazzo.” One day, Jazzo managed to run out of the garage and down the street, with me in hot pursuit. We got about halfway down the street when she suddenly turned around and ran back to our house and into the garage. Now that I think about it, that was pretty amazing, considering she was an inside cat and didn’t know the area.
All of my black cats are waiting for me at the Rainbow Bridge, where pets go to wait for their human friends to join them in Paradise. I miss them all, just as I miss every cat that’s lived with us or that’s been a part of our lives.
Black cats are just like any other cat. If you like cats, you’ll love black cats. They’re wonderful companions, a bit goofy but very loving, and they need good homes with people who love them. There seems to be a stigma about black cats: they’re associated with bad luck and witches and Hallowe’en, and that’s a strike against them for many. Plus, I’ve heard that people don’t adopt black cats because they don’t photograph well, which is just silly, as you can see from the pictures above.
One other thing: if you’re looking for a cat, consider an older one. There are too many of them who have spent their entire lives with cat rescue organizations and the Humane Society, and while they get lots of love there, they need forever homes.