The Cat House

• cat·house, noun, a?brothel.

Not necessarily.

We had a Bengal cat. His name was Sean. First time we'd ever had that breed. Fell totally in love.

We had Sean for 11-years. My mother gave him to my daughter on her second day of Kindergarten. He was a couple of months old. He was so little and so cute. He was killed, by a pit bull who for weeks had been sneaking out of what everyone thought was a locked gate. He'd squeeze back in before his owners came home. The neighborhood was in an uproar after Sean's death, and that dog was gone the next day. We assume the owners got rid of it. I don't know, maybe some of the neighbors did. Everybody loved Sean.

My daughter was DEVASTATED! She declared that she never wanted to get another cat, even when she was grown. Then nine months later, she changed her mind. She said this time, she wanted a female, and she wanted a calico. I told her almost all calico's are female. I began looking for a calico.

I found Chloe, then known as Cleo, through a non-profit that rescues and fosters animals. They vetted me and made arrangements for me to go and meet the cat. She was going to be a surprise for my daughter.

I went to the North Berkeley, aka worth $1,000,000.00+, home where the cat was being fostered. When I walked onto the front porch, there were three clean litter boxes, I stepped into the open door into the living room and was greeted by a frisky kitty running along the top of the couch. There were other cats lounging. On the wall above the couch were flyers that looked like "Wanted" posters at the Post Office, with pictures of cats and their information. The room also had two kitty condos. In the dining room, there were a couple of easy chairs, both occupied by cats. I continued into the kitchen that was blocked off and was occupied by "Bruce," who I was told was unadoptable due to some medical issues. I went into what I suppose was a bedroom, and Cleo was sitting in the window. We met, she took to me, to the surprise of the worker, because she said Cleo was kind of anti-social. I've been told the same thing about me, so maybe anti-social, recognized anti-social.

I completed the paperwork and as we were getting Cleo ready to go home with me, I asked the lady did she and the cats live there. I was thinking the proverbial, spinster 'cat lady.' She told me no. She lived in the hills with her husband. She'd bought that house as an investment and then she started fostering cats, so she used that house. She told me I was welcome to volunteer to come anytime and help with feeding, cleaning and playing with the cats. The cats lived there. By themselves. Humans just came by to take care of them, but only the cats lived there.

I'd heard of marijuana grow houses where entire houses were used to grow marijuana, but I'd never heard of a cat house that was a --- CAT house.