My Love Of Black Cats ~~ June 17~Black Cats Are Beautiful Day

(©Melanie Neer~~To be published via Yahoo.voices)

I've had a love for black cats ever since I can remember, in fact, my very first cat, Babette, was a "tuxedo" cat that my mother adopted as a Christmas present for me when I was only five years old. Since then and throughout my life while I've had other types of cats, there have always, but always been black cats as part of my "family". There most certainly is an allure to the black cat. In my opinion they have a unique "catitude" all their own; perhaps they in a sense feel and recognize themselves to be "mini" panthers.

Growing up I obviously was never aware of the stigma or superstitions that have surrounded black cats for centuries. Maybe it was due to the fact that in my early childhood I've always had a great love for the Ancient Egyptian culture. Naturally I was aware of how cats in general were worshipped during that time; then of course there was the female cat goddess Bast, often depicted as a woman with a cat's head, but also of course simply as a cat. During Ancient Egyptian times, cats were so highly regarded and held sacred, that to kill a cat was punishable by death. Since black cats were rather rare during that time period most often statues of Bast were, yes, as you can guess, black cats. Unfortunately, with the passage of time, things went downhill for the feline species, and especially for black cats.

Erroneous beliefs began to crop up via early Christianity and during the Medieval period that black cats were evil and most often associated with "witches". Who can forget that part of history of how cats were rounded up and killed by the hundreds, if not the thousands. This of course, had a negative effect; without the cats to kill off the rodents, the spread of the virus occurred, known of course as the Black Plague.

As a bit of historical trivia, take the name "Pyewacket" for instance, most often associated with the name of the Siamese cat in the classic 1958 movie, Bell, Book and Candle; yet in reality, the name Pyewacket was first mentioned and known in England, and yes, as a black cat and a familiar to a witch back in 1644.

Black cats therefore, were forever considered evil, unlucky, especially if one crossed your path and as the devil's messengers. Ironically however, no such belief about black cats would exist in Celtic cultures, in fact, in those countries a black cat was considered the opposite, that is, "lucky". Yet all in all, black cats still have the stigma of being unlucky, even in our own USA, so much so, that black cats are the least unlikely to be adopted from shelters. Not only are black cats the least likely to be adopted, but even today are often targets of sick individuals who will torture or kill black cats and especially during the month of October.

Over at Facebook, I'm one of those animal activist/advocates; among other things, I regularly and daily crosspost the urgent cats needing to be rescued/saved/pulled/fostered from shelters, particularly high kill shelters. I became all too well aware of how black cats were the highest in number being listed on "death row", that is to be euthanized (a nice polite way of saying killed) since, as I've mentioned, black cats are the least likely to be adopted due to the old superstitions. One thing I did notice however, on a more positive note was that no doubt other people found a beauty in black cats also, and over at Facebook are scores of groups, pages and even "events" dedicated to the black cat to honor and glorify their unique beauty.

Some two years ago I decided to start my own group at Facebook, of which I call Black Cats Are Beautiful. Here people can join my group and share pictures of their own black cats both past and present, share stories about black cats, post cute Cheezeburger black cats photos, and in general, celebrate the beauty of the black cat. I also developed a Facebook page called Black Cats Urgent Rescue in which those black cats who need to be rescued from shelters can be posted and hopefully more people will step up to save these beautiful mini panthers.

This year I've gone even a step further, and have declared June 17th as Black Cats Are Beautiful Day and created an "event" over at Facebook as well. Why June 17th? On June 17, 2001, a black cat came into my life, and yes, I named him Pyewacket. Pyewacket seemed to have come into my life when it was the most turbulent, it was as if he appeared to be my guardian throughout the years of turmoil and was in every sense of the word was my helper and companion. Sadly and most unexpectedly, he passed on April 19, 2010. To date though I'm not without a black cat since on December 1, 2012, I adopted a new black cat, formerly known as Dot from the shelter, but of whom I renamed Ouija. My newcomer of course will never replace Pyewacket, but how could I not have a black cat in my life? To me that would be "unlucky".

All in all, to my mind, there can never be enough Groups, Pages or Events that celebrate the beauty of the black cat, and by doing so, will dispel the stigma and superstitions black cats have had throughout history.

Black Cats Are Beautiful Facebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/175852975821168/?fref=ts

Black Cats Are Beautiful Facebook Page

Black Cats Urgent Rescue Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/BlackCatsUrgentRescue

Black Cats Urgent Rescue

Black Cats Are Beautiful Day June 17 Event https://www.facebook.com/events/173780892785177/?fref=ts

Black Cats Are Beautiful Day Event

Name of Pyewacket http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pyewacket_(familiar_spirit)

Name of Pyewacket

Photo of Pyewacket (June 17, 2001~April 19,2010)

My statue of Bast which I got over 35 years ago and is a replica of a statue at the Metropolitan Museum Of Art, NY

My first black cat Babette

My current cat Ouija whom I adopted December 1, 2012

The Bittersweet Moments Our Pets Show Us

The Bittersweet Moments Our Pets Show Us:

Just One Demonstration of Unconditional Love a Pet Gave Me

This originally appeared on my Yahoo.Voices page and was published as a "display only" article and on February 8, 2011

Link to the original article is here: Bittersweet Moments Our Pets Show Us

I think many of us who have pets realize the wonderful unconditional love they have for us. They don't judge us, they don't really ask for much yet are capable of showing their love and affection to us without asking for anything much in return. They know the true meaning of unconditional love, something we humans could learn from.

I was talking about one of my cats over at Facebook. As many of my friends may know, my cat Pyewacket passed on April 19th 2010, yet this isn't about him but about one of my cats that I had years and years ago. Her name was Tippy. You might say I rescued her. It was on a warm May day, many, many years ago in 1983. I was at home and at one point, I looked out the window and saw a circle of kids tossing around a very young tiger-striped kitten as if it were a football. Enraged doesn't quite explain how I felt. I zoomed out of my apt. and went straight over to those kids and demanded they hand over the kitten to me and they did (they no doubt thought I was a looney tune). I cuddled the very scared kitten close to me and took her home.

Despite her ordeal of being treated like a mere object she didn't seem to fear me or her new surroundings considering the fact that I also had about five other cats at the time, and she quickly made herself at home. I named her Tippy since even though she was a tiger-striped cat, at the very tip of her tail was the color of an orange tabby...thus the name "Tippy".

Tippy became one of my cuddle bugs and velcro cat. She would hop on my bed to keep me company while I slept, and even gave me her version of a back message. All this attention she gave me unfortunately seemed to spark the jealousy of another cat named Bobbie. He began to antagonize her, bully her, wanted to fight her all the time, it was like a world war going on day in and day out. She began turning into a scared and timid cat and she felt her only safe place where Bobbie wouldn't bother her was to hop up into a cabinet over the refrigerator. She was to remain there for years and years after never coming down. I would have to place her food on top of the fridge and hoist up the litter pan for her to do her business. She just plain wouldn't come down.

Then one day in 1996 I was sitting in the living room when a movement attracted me from my peripheral vision. Looking directly to the "movement" my jaw dropped as I saw Tippy walking around the living room like she was the Queen of Sheba and unafraid of being bullied. At any moment I expected Bobbie to resort to bullying her again but he didn't. This should have maybe raised alarms as to why she all of a sudden decided to be out and about again, but I was just so happy to see her out and about again. She even resumed hopping up on my bed, giving me her back rubs, just as if nothing happened those years she stuck herself in the cabinet and not coming down from her "sanctuary".

About two weeks passed by after her initial daring day of her escape from her sanctuary , and Tippy remained feeling secure about being out and not afraid of Bobbie, and continued to snuggle up on my bed while I slept . Then one morning, I woke up and saw Tippy lying on the floor near the foot of my bed. I got up and went over to her to pet her thinking she was merely asleep, but no, she was still, lifeless....she had passed on. It was as if though, in her last moments of her life she wanted to be near me and why she was where she was on the floor at the foot of my bed.

I'm sure those of us who are pet owners have our own stories to tell of a pet or pets, who demonstrated their unconditional and trusting love for us even in their final moments of life. The story of Tippy is just one of many for me and I will always remember until my own final day.

Snoopy~~"Grandma's Cat"

First of all, I must point out that I don't intend to write about each and every cat or other pet I've ever had in my life as that would take an eternity, and yes I not only have had cats, but birds and mice as well. I have loved all my pets that I've had, but some have been more memorable than others. Snoopy was just one of them...and yes, there were many more.

At the time Snoopy was to come into my life at age 15 back in 1970, my grandmother, mother and I had three cats. Babette, Biddy and Friskey. On November 7, 1970, I was on my way home from high school. Before I came home, I stopped by the "local hang-out" which at that time was a mom & pop type store, a combo soda fountain, magazine and cigarette shop. I would always stop by in that store on a nearly daily basis to see what new magazines were out. To this day I can even remember the coat I was wearing...it was a long length black velvet lined coat that I had bought at a Greenwich Village thrift shop.

So here I am in the store, perusing through the latest magazines, when in comes walking this magnificently, gleaming, dazzling white cat and guess who he went right over to? Yes, of course...me. He was gorgeous and to my mind he couldn't have been exactly a stray cat, since wouldn't a pure white stray cat be rather dingy looking? He wasn't exactly a kitten either, perhaps at least a year or two old already. All I knew, by looking at him, I wanted to take him home with me. I asked the store owner if I could use his phone so I could call up my mother who was at work. I wanted to tell her about this white cat and if it'd be all right to take him home. Well, of course she said it was all right.

I went over to the white cat, picked him up, and I noticed he had absolutely no resistance to my picking him up and holding him. Since there was a chill in the air on that November day, I unbuttoned my velvet coat, held him against me and wrapped the coat around him to keep him warm. The whole time walking the rest of the way home, which thankfully wasn't too far away from that store, he didn't struggle to get loose, but snuggled against me, almost sensing he was destined for a better life and not being on the streets.

I have no idea why I decided to call him Snoopy, since that name is associated with the beagle dog in the Peanuts comics, but it seemed to fit him. Snoopy was to live a very long life, longer than any other cat I was to have, near twenty years, but as I said, since he wasn't exactly a kitten when I brought him home, he may have been twenty-one or twenty-two when he went to Rainbow Bridge on August 10, 1990.

Now I could end the story here, but there's a tad bit more that one may find a bit fascinating and could be labeled perhaps a bit mystical or paranormal. I was to find out sometime later from my grandmother and mother, that my great-grandmother had always wanted a white cat, but never did. My great-grandmother, died on August 31, 1970 at the ripe old age of 98. To this day I can't help wonder if somehow, a part of my great-grandmother's "spirit" was in that cat, Snoopy. No, while I DO believe in reincarnation, I don't necessarily believe that a human's spirit or soul goes into an animal's soul, and yes I believe animals have souls too. I just find it an "odd" coincidence that only a short time after my great-grandmother died, here comes into my life, a white cat...the very same type of cat my great-grandmother always wanted.

And as if that isn't enough, here's more.

All total, I was raised by my great-grandmother, grandmother, and mother. I felt and had a special bond with my great-grandmother, more than my grandmother or mother. That bond was to show itself in a "paranormal" way.

It was on the last two weeks of August of 1970, that my grandmother, mother and I were away on vacation in the Lancaster, PA area, hundreds of miles away from my great-grandmother who was still in her apartment. One night, late we were all in the hotel room watching Johnny Carson, when suddenly I became aware of the overpowering scent and of which, I recognized as the favorite cologne of my great-grandmother. I asked both my grandmother or mother if they could smell it, and of course, both looked at me as if I was daft. The next morning, we got a very early phone call. It was from a neighbor of my great-grandmother's who told us that my great-grandmother had to be hospitalized after a bad fall, she didn't make it and passed away. When did she die? August 31, 1990. When? The exact moment I smelled her scent hundreds of miles away in that hotel room. It doesn't end there.

Now my grandmother, mother and I are home. My great-grandmother's funeral had come and gone, some weeks had passed. Very late at night, or I should say in the early morning hours I was still awake reading. Both my grandmother and mother were sound asleep. I was engrossed with my reading when around 3:00 a.m. something compels me to look up from the book I was reading. Very clearly, at the entrance to the bedroom which I shared with my mother, was my great-grandmother's spirit. YES! I saw her! Then in a few moments her spirit vanished. I didn't freak out about this "appearance" to me, since while raised in a Christian upbringing, my great-grandmother, also Christian (Catholic to be exact) was "into" the metaphysical, mystical and paranormal herself, so I had been in a sense "weaned" from early childhood to acknowledge these "realms", therefore, for something like this to happen to me, that is her appearance to me just seemed rather "normal".

And then comes Snoopy, whom we later were to nickname "Grandma's cat", since as I have said earlier, my great-grandmother always wanted a white cat, but never had. And why did this white cat, a little more than a month since my great-grandmother's passing suddenly makes it's appearance out of the blue and then come directly to me that day on November 7, 1970? Coincidence? Who knows.

Friskey: The Cat That Was To Be My First Heartbreak

Friskey...The First Heartbreak In My Life
May 19, 1968-July 5, 1975

I'm not really writing this in any particular order, but since I have already mentioned about Friskey, I thought I would relate what was to be my first heartbreak. Friskey came into my life on May 19, 1968, some six years after our very first cat Babette. He was a silver tabby cat who grew quite enormous. Uh, no, he wasn't fat...LOL. Just a gosh darn big cat. While large and maybe intimidating, he had the heart and love of a teddy bear, and one could never ask for a more gentle creature than he.

Since we didn't have that many cats at the time, when my grandmother, mother and myself would go away on vacations, usually to the Lancaster, Pa area, we took the cats with us. In fact the picture of him I have here, was taken on just such a trip and at the time we usually stayed at the Howard Johnson's that was there.

Sadly, Friskey was to only live about seven years and to this day I blame whatever happened while he was at the vet. The nearby vet we started taking our cats to, beginning with Babette, we had trusted completely, and never questioned his "professional" services. I would later, many years later find out that other people had had their own horror stories with this vet.

It was during the last week of June of 1975. At the time I was away for a few days visiting a friend, and when I came back home, Friskey wasn't there. My grandmother explained that one day, while I had been away, and my mother was working at the time, suddenly Friskey had some kind of health problem, but not knowing what was wrong, took him to our vet. The vet we trusted and had by now been going to for many years.

The vet kept Friskey there for nearly a week. When we asked if we could see him, the vet refused saying it would upset Friskey. At the time, we didn't realize how wrong this was. If you have a pet with a vet due to a health problem, one has the right to see their pet...we didn't know this, and like I said, since we trusted the vet, we thought he knew best. Finally, we had enough of it, and demanded to have our cat back as no one was telling us, what was wrong with Friskey. You have to remember, this was long before anyone thought of suing even a vet for any kind of malpractice.

He, the vet agreed to let us take Friskey home...No explanations what was wrong, no medications were given to us...nothing. Also since he was in his traveling case, we didn't notice anything suspicious until we got home. Once home and out of his carrier case, it was only then that we noticed his one leg was all bandaged up. Like what the hell was this?? Again, the vet offered no explanation when we called to find out what was what.

Friskey of course wasn't getting any better, only worse. His one leg that was bandaged up became weaker and we then took him to another veterinary place...one that was open 24/7, even holidays and had a noted good reputation. The news wasn't good. After the vet examined Friskey he told us that the leg had gangrene. Like how the hell did that happen? There had been nothing wrong with his leg when my grandmother took him to that first vet, and he certainly didn't give us any medications to combat any severe infections.

The vet gave us two options. The one was that Friskey's leg would be amputated, and he would then need physical therapy to get him used to walking on three legs...all at a cost I might add that was astronomical. The second option, as you can guess was the more difficult one...to have him put down. Neither my grandmother or mother could deal with the idea of putting him down, and left the decision solely up to me. Gee, thanks, like I really wanted to make such a lousy decision...but the two of them just couldn't give the word to have it done.

But what could we do? We just didn't have the money for the first option...it was way too expensive. I remember so vividly...being outside the exam room with my mother and grandmother...our tears were flowing uncontrollably...but it was me who had to give the final okay to put him down. That happened July 5, 1975, and Friskey is buried at the Wantaugh, Long Island Bide a Wee Cemetery. He was the first cat in my life to go to Rainbow Bridge...and one day, when it is time for me to pass from this world, I can meet him again, as I hope to meet all my "babies"

The Cat Family Begins To Grow

To this day I'm not really quite sure whom my mother really got our first cat for, me or herself. She grew up with pets all her life, and even when she married my father was around pets, as my father's father (my grandfather) breed hunting dogs. So she was used to having pets around her all the time. Before she got married there was Gypsy...a beautiful Beagle. The picture below shows a family photo of my great-grandfather, great-grandmother, and my younger, before married mother holding Gypsy in her lap



She probably no doubt claimed, since I was an only child, never to have brothers or sisters that she thought a pet would be ideal for me, thus the arrival of Babette, and the reason the idea of a cat, rather than a dog, was that technically speaking pets weren't allowed in our building, and she figured since cats were quiet, and one didn't have to walk them, no one would know about having a pet.

From 1962 until 1968, Babette remained my only cat. Then one day, on May 19, 1968, which was my grandmother's birthday, the two of us were on our way home from visiting at my great-grandmother's home. We were walking by an old mom & pop owned TV repair store, and the store owner who knew us, said, "Oh, look how that cat is following you. Sure enough we turned around and this tabby colored cat had been following us along. Uh, needless to say, I asked my grandmother if we could take him home, and she said yes, thus we now would have two cats. It was during these early years, that whenever we went away on vacation, we, that is my grandmother, mother and I, would take the two cats with us. For years and years, my mother's favorite place to go, kind of ad naseum, was the Lancaster, PA area, and would either stay at the Colonial Inn (which no longer exists) or the Howard Johnsons which amazingly from a search I did, does still exist. Memories came flooding back of that old Howard Johnsons we went to as I happen to find, probably my one and only existing photo of Friskey


Our cat population would grow once again a few months later, during the month of January of the following year. My grandmother was on her way out the apartment to throw trash out into the incinerator, when prancing up as grand as could be was a black and white cat who had a ribbon around her neck. She must have been someone's Christmas present, but not anyone in the building, as no other tenants had cats. She quite majestically followed my grandmother into our apartment, and on January 14, 1969, Biddy was to become our third cat. This is a picture of her when she was quite a bit older, and I purposely had tied a ribbon around her neck, reminiscent of the day she arrived into our apartment.


To be perfectly honest, if we had judged the personality of a cat by using Babette as a model, we might not ever had gotten another cat. Not that Babette was "bad" but just wasn't much of an affectionate feline. This opinion changed however, with both the arrival of Friskey and Biddy, the two most loving and affectionate kitties going. Friskey would turn out to be a rather large cat, yet with the heart of a teddy bear, while Biddy was almost comical in that she considered herself the "grand~dame" of the dwelling, milking attention whenever she could get it.

My Love For Animals

©M. Neer. All rights reserved. No photo may be used without permission


HOW IT ALL BEGAN WITH MY LIFE WITH PETS


Hi, there. My name is Melanie, and I've had pets ever since I can remember, and now that I'm 52, I could never imagine life or be without some little furbaby companion, just as I'm sure many of you couldn't imagine being without an animal companion of some kind.

To be honest, I think it was my mother's idea to think in terms of having a pet, rather than me being a pesky child begging her to have a pet. She herself grew up with pets. My mother and father were married on December 4, 1954, I was born November 19, 1955, and my parents were divorced on December 7, 1957. Since my father's side of the family were in California, where I was born, my mother came back home to home base, which was Jackson Heights, NY. So my mother and I (my only being a year and a half old) moved into and with her mother and grandmother. So it was my great-grandmother, grandmother, mother and I all living at the same large apartment.

During the years of 1957 to 1961, in which we remained living there, we never had pets that I can remember, maybe just goldfish. But sorry, one can't, or at least I couldn't really relate to fish as a pet. When my grandmother, mother and I moved out of my great-grandmother's apartment (oh, yes she was still alive, by the way) in October of 1961, I guess it didn't take long for my mother to realize that maybe there was something missing in our lives....a pet. So on December 8, 1962, a little over a year that we had moved into our new apartment, my mother went to the then Greenwich Village Humane League and picked out our first pet, a black and white kitten.

It probably could be viewed that my mother got the kitten as sort of a Christmas present to me, but as I hinted before, I think it was she who wanted a pet more, and named the kitten Babette, which is the French for Barbara...uh, which just happened to be my mother's name...strange coincidence when I think of it now.

Well I hope I don't get pet lovers up in arms against me, but if I had judged how cats were in general by this first cat, I probably would never have had another cat again. To put it mildly she wasn't the most affectionate of cats...very aloof, and very much a loner, despite the love we all gave her. Yet I have to admit one of the great distinctions about Babette was that she literally saw me grow up. Here I was about six years old, and in elementary school when I she came into my life, and she went to "Rainbow Bridge" on December 3, 1977 the same year (in June) when I had graduated college.

I actually managed to dig up a photo of both me and Babette taken September 1965 when I was 9-1/2 years old