How did a cat live to be nearly 19 years old with ME around??

When I was in my early teens, my second-oldest sister was given a cat by my Dad's sister. This cat was "Friday." She was dark grey & white, a shorthaired, green-eyed kitty.

She used to make me laugh. One of her favorite things to do was go outside & investigate her yard. She'd never leave it, just go out & see who had visited her property. She'd go out by the woods that was behind our house, & Mom or one of us kids would see her out there & yell for her to "Get back in this house THIS MINUTE!!!" She'd come running as fast as she could; the minute her claws hit the linoleum-tiled floor, all four paws would go in different directions, & she'd slide--SMACK!!--into the wall. She'd shake her head & look at us, wondering why we were laughing at her.

Or else she'd go to jump up onto the back of the couch, misjudge the distance, & sail right over; BOOOOONGGGGG...her head would hit the heating vent (what we called the register).

One of her favorite hobbies was tearing up the German Shepard that lived down the street. Poor Princess...first of all, he--yes, HE--had to live with a name like "Princess." Then, every day, he'd come to all of the neighborhood houses, begging for a snack...he had this way of sucking in his stomach & his cheeks, & looking at you with the saddest eyes you've ever seen...he made it look as if he hadn't eaten in a week! He usually was at our house around 3:00 in the afternoon, looking pitiful. Who could refuse him? All of us knew he was well fed, but the "LOOK" got us every time. Well, sometimes Friday would be sunning herself under the lilac bush beside the back kitchen porch; here would come Princess, nosing around...all of a sudden, there would be the most horrible sound...a devil cat growling, hissing & spitting, a pitiful YELP, & then a whining that faded off in the distance as Princess ran off; this poor dog's nose was a mass of scar tissue. Do you think Princess would learn? Noooo!!!

She was definately NOT a mouser. She'd see a mouse or mole or chipmunk, & would go after them; we thought she was fixing to tear them up. Not Friday! She didn't have the heart of a killer. She wouldn't hurt or kill what she caught...she'd just beat 'em up for a while (playing with them), & then let them go. They'd run dizzily around, but always managed to live another day. Some mouser!!!

One time, I had gotten a "water-pik" for Christmas. I was using it in the upstairs bathroom, & heard little clawing noises from the other side of the door. When I opened the door, I saw Friday, & bent down to give her a pat. The mouthpiece of the water-pik slipped out of my mouth, & a jet of water hit poor Friday right between the eyes! She didn't stick around, let me tell you.

I had to have a little fun with her, too. My favorite thing to do was walk up behind Friday, especially when she was sound asleep, with her head on upside-down (you know how cats sleep) & go...PSSSSSSST!!!!

ME-OWWWW!!!! All four paws would be off of the floor, all of her fur would be spiked out, & her tail would get absolutely HUGE. (So would her eyes.)

My mother would get so furious with me. "KARLA!!!", she'd yell. "Quit torturing the cat!! How would you like it if someone did that to you? What are you trying to do, give the cat a heart attack?? Stop laughing...it's NOT that funny." (I thought it was...how she'd fur out & jump a mile.)

I didn't do this every day...just when the mood hit me. About once every two weeks, I'd PSSSSSST the cat, just to see her reaction. And about once every two weeks, I'd get yelled at again. (Mom had no sense of humor, I thought.)

This went on for several years. When I joined the Air Force in 1983, Friday got a (much needed) reprieve from me. While I was away at Basic Training, my twin sister told me that one day, Friday was found dead...Grandma had found her paws up in the breeze-way. (It wasn't my fault!!) She died of old age...we'd gotten Friday when she was 3 years old, & she lived to be nearly 19 (how long would that be in cat years?).