When it comes to the age old decision of cat or dog, I've always considered myself a dog person. As a young kid, I can only remember my grandmother's cats hating me. And deservedly so, (apparently cats do not enjoy baths, and especially don't enjoy being shampooed). Yet, when the family brought a puppy in when I was six, I would spend the majority of my christmas money on presents for that little dog. For whatever reason, I just had a soft spot in my heart for dogs. Perhaps it was that loyalty to my dog that wouldn't allow for me to accept any other kind of pet.
Then came the day my mom brought in a stray cat. I was less than thrilled, and very reluctant to accept the presence of any feline into my house. These feelings only grew when I learned this cat would soon be having kittens, and was not just over-indulging in meow mix. A house of cats, my nightmare. But this is where Frisky's story begins.
He was the one kitten born with a gimpy leg. A yellowish/orange, happy little furball that flopped around from one corner of the house to the other. By all means he was dopey. And in the face of irony, I insisted he be named Frisky. Not only for his gimpy leg, but because Frisky is such a cliche cat name that it seemed funny to even use it. Regardless, Frisky managed to carry his dopey traits from kitten to cat. He actually handled his gimpy leg remarkably well. Sure when he would walk he waddled slightly like a penguin, and when he ran he hopped like a bunny rabbit, but he could get around as well as most other cats. Although he did lack alot of the agility of the typical feline.
Frisky was never quite a normal cat. I think that's why I liked him so much. Were he normal, well then... he would just be a cat. If anything, Frisky was more like a dog. He never knew it or tried to be like a dog though. He was perfectly content just being his Frisky self, and I was perfectly content in letting him indulge us in his "Friskyisms".
He typically could be seen waddling around the house with his tongue sticking out of his mouth, often with a glazed over look on his face. If he saw you walk near the cupboard, he would run over and beg you for treats. He would constantly jump up on furniture like a normal cat, but would often fall off. If he hadn't seen you in a while he would happily run up to you and give you attention. If you happened to wander into one of his play areas outside, he would excitedly hop to you with a "meow" and look that said, "Wow, you found me! Want to play?"
I'd say all signs point to dog. But above all, I would have to say that my favorite thing about Frisky was the blind optimism and pure innocence he brought into each day. A little reminder to me that it doesn't take a lot ot be happy, and happiness is what matters.
Sadly, a few months ago Frisky disappeared. Likely taken by a hungry coyote while playing outside one August day. With the new year approaching, I just wanted to write a proper goodbye and share, with the few of you actually reading this, the light that was his "Friskyism". Bye little buddy. I hope wherever you go you won't change.
