The Legend of Kitty: Our Furry, Feral Family Member

How one tiny cat ruled our home, haunted our bathroom breaks, and stole our hearts

Earlier this week, I shared a story about my very first memory when I was almost 3 in 1982 and how delighted I was that there was an actual picture of the memory. If you missed it, take a quick read and then pop back. This part is more… feline.

---

---

In telling that story, I didn’t reference the cat, Kitty, that was sitting on what would eventually become a 6-foot-tall bird feeder. I didn’t remember her sitting there; she wasn’t really part of that story.

Let me tell you about Kitty.

Kitty’s Origin Story

Before I was born, my parents lived in Churchill, Manitoba, the Polar Bear Capital of the World. One day, in the middle of January, with temperatures hovering around -30°C, a woman phoned the pharmacy where my mom worked asking for chloroform. My mom asked why. The lady had found a half-frozen stray cat outside, but couldn’t take in another cat, with no animal shelter in town, she didn’t know what else to do.

My mom told her she couldn’t hand out chloroform, but said she would talk to her husband about taking in the cat.

When my mom called my dad, all she had to say was “there is a cat…” and he said, “Yes, where is it?” 

I could only find a few pictures of Kitty. Here you can get a sense of how small she is.

The cat was tiny and looked like a kitten, so they called her Kitty. She never did grow very big and looked like a kitten her whole life.

Though that wasn’t the only name she had…

Ridiculous Pet Names

My dad has a real talent for ridiculous pet names. Kitty was also known as Crapper Cat, Railroad Kitty (he’d gently drag her around by two paws….don’t ask), and my personal favourite: Bouquet de Kitty. That one came from him holding her upright by all four paws in one hand. She looked like a very angry, furry bouquet.

One day, my mom took my sister and me to the grocery store when we were around four and six years old. We had bought some cat food, and the cashier asked my sister what the cat’s name was. Without missing a beat, she replied, “Kitty Crapper Cat.” The cashier looked utterly stunned. We still laugh about that to this day.

Here are a few more ridiculous pet name gems from our family pet archives:

Our Childhood Dog, Bichon Frise

Real Name: Casper, like Casper the Friendly Ghost, because Bichon Frise are white.

Dad Name: Shit-for-Brains.

To be fair, Casper wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but we loved him all the same.

My Current Dog, GoldenDoodle

Real Name: Sudo, because we are software developer geeks.

Dad Names: Queen of Sheba and Pork Chop

Queen of Sheba, or QOS for short, because she’s a high-maintenance queen we’re all expected to serve. Pork Chop, because if you have a ball in your pocket, she’ll follow you like it’s meat.

My sister’s first dog, Schnoodle (Shnauzer/Poodle Cross).

Real Name: Scruffles, a name he earned on the day he was rescued, thanks to his gloriously scruffy look, complete with long ears and grey-black curly fur.

Dad Name: Killer Kowalski. Named after the Canadian pro wrestler Wladek “Killer” Kowalski, a legend from the wrestling shows my dad loved as a kid.

Scruffles was a little dog with a BIG attitude. He was rescued around the age of 1, but we figured he had earned his big attitude living on the streets of Toronto before he was rescued.

Scruffles earned the Killer Kowalski name fair and square after going toe-to-toe with my sister, her husband, my dad, and a neighbourhood possum. Like I said, “small dog, big attitude.”

These names might sound outrageous, but in our house, they were a form of love. If your pet didn’t have an absurd nickname, were they even part of the family?

One Scary Cat

Had Kitty and Scruffles been alive at the same time, they would have either been fast friends or sworn enemies. They were both little animals with BIG personalities.

Kitty was half Siamese, and boy, was she ever mean. I was so scared of Kitty growing up, I never once picked her up, and she lived until I was 15 years old! I NEVER PICKED HER UP! She would hiss at you for looking at her the wrong way.

One of her favourite places to sit was between the heat register on the wall and the toilet on the main floor. If I went in to go to the bathroom and she was there, I would back out carefully and hold it until she left.

She occasionally came to sit on my lap. When this happened, I didn’t move a muscle. I was not interested in getting bitten or scratched, and I knew what was good for me.

My very tall uncle would sit in the living room with his hands hanging over the chair. Kitty took offence to this, and when he least expected it, would attack his hand.

My dad would sometimes play “Hear no evil! See no evil! Speak no evil!” with the cat, where he would take her paws and cover her ears, then eyes, then mouth, or lovingly terrorize her in other ways like Bouquet de Kitty. To get revenge, she’d go into my mom’s dresser when they left the house, open the drawer and rip her nylons out. Dad got away scot free!

Kitty, plotting her next move.

Worse than a toddler

If my mom left the linen closet door open, she would jump in and have a nap. My mom would see the door open and close it, not knowing the cat was inside. It had the kind of latch that could be pushed open from the inside. When she woke up and the door was closed, she would pounce on it to open, causing the door to fly open with a bang. As luck would have it, my mom was often walking by at the time, and it would scare the pants off her.

And that was just one of Kitty’s signature moves.

Sometimes we’d come home and find her lounging in a hanging plant, nestled in a macrame holder like it was a hammock, just swinging away. Other times, she’d be proudly eyeing a goldfish she had swiped right out of the aquarium, ready to chomp it down.

And of course, there were the occasional “gifts,” a dead bird brought into the house like a trophy, dropped at our feet with great ceremony.

She also had a profound and unwavering hatred for car rides. When we were at the lake for the summer, we would have to catch her and keep her in the house for a full week before we left for the summer, so she wouldn’t take off into the bush to avoid the car ride home.

My mom says she was worse than a toddler, and that’s saying a lot, because I was a very stubborn toddler….

The Cuddle That Never Was

As much as I was scared of Kitty, so scared that I am still afraid of cats today (seriously), I loved her fiercely. I was so sad on the day my parents told me they would have to put her down that I even thought about picking her up for a cuddle. I thought about it. I never said I did it. That cat was mean!

That photo I shared earlier this week might not have been about her, but of course, she was there. Kitty was always there, lurking, judging, plotting, hissing… and, in her prickly way, loving us back.

Because no matter how much of a menace she was, she was family.

And in our family, that means ridiculous nicknames, a few battle scars, and stories we’ll never stop telling.