Saturday, April 16, 2011
A (successful) feline missionary
Six years ago today, Harry Summers was born. About 10 weeks later, he joined our family. Today, we celebrate Harry even more that we do every other day.
What facets of Harry should we focus on here? His great beauty, only starting with his being a redhead? His intelligence and independence, both so often exhibited? His regal demeanor, which like his trust, was built slowly?
Maybe Harry as a feline missionary, since that’s exactly what he was. Harry converted Joe and me. Just as he did a turn-around from what we think was a feral kitten to a thoroughly domesticated cat, we became his happy servitors and caregivers.
Before Harry, we were proud, lifelong “dog people” who skirted cats in social settings and in concept. Once we saw the tiny orange fluff ball who became Harry, we were charmed into becoming different people.
Told he was a girl, we called him “Orangina,” a name that lasted till his first vet visit. After some re-thinking, he became Harry, and ever since, the name has seemed perfect for him. Amber eyes, long stripey fur, a huge fluffy tail . . . and a pre-meal whine that carries all over the house: that’s Harry.
So thoroughly did Harry convert us that we concluded two were better than one and he needed a pal. With Billy’s arrival four years ago (see Feb. 3 post), we had the “Summers boys.”
And so, “Senor Harry,” “Harrycat,” “Darling Harry,” “Harry H. Cat,” “Mr. Harry,” “Harry the Cat,” and “Rajah” . . . Happy birthday, pussycat. We’re just wild about you!