Forget your dirty mind.
Renoir, a two-year-old black long-haired Angora male rescue cat, is the pussy that rules my 73 year old life. He is my second shared cat. Years ago my brother and sister-in-law asked me if I could keep their rescue cat Thomas for a few months while their new puppy matured. Thomas was 15 at the time and didn’t relish having a frisky puppy disturb his senior years. Thomas became part of my family and lived to 21 when he passed peacefully. Everyone told me to get another cat but I was weary of “just another cat” after six wonderful years with Thomas.
Fast-forward to 2008 when Sally Jessy Raphael and her husband Karl Soderlund asked if I could keep their rescue cat Renoir while they stayed at their home in Nice, France. Renoir was adopted from a local shelter at 6 months and was then almost one year of age. He's black with some while spots and looks very much like Thomas. But could any cat be so great? Renoir is a joy. Friendly, playful, curious (you know what they say about curiosity and cats). He likes to look out the windows of my apartment, which I can only open a crack since I am on the 4th floor. I learned how to cat proof the house as Renoir was adventuresome and managed to get into spaces from whence I was positive he could not remove himself. I was wrong. He was nimble on his feet and never broke anything.
The love was obvious. Mark, who is my editor and computer guru, had cats growing up. He roughhouses with Renoir who loves it. The only problem was Renoir then decided to play with my feet or hands and his gentle, but sharp teeth and claws constantly drew blood. When I do yoga he sits down next to me and watches. When I work at my computer he often jumps onto my lap to help. Sometimes he sits on my shoulders. I feed him and clean his litter box. He loves Mark and tolerates me. Marks mother sympathizes.
I am an early riser (around 6:30AM) and Renoir began training me. Mark left his door open so Renoir could leave his room early in the morning and sit outside my closed door. He meowed until I opened the door (the training began). He then jumped up on my bed and would sit on my face, whipping his long tail. If I attempted to fall back to sleep Renoir would systematically knock off everything from my nightstand, one object at a time. Mind you, he never did that during the day or evening while sleeping on my bed. He knew that the noise would keep me up. I threw out my alarm clock because Renoir was there every day at the same time. He also liked to sit in my chair at the kitchen table while I prepared my meals. There are two chairs and he never got up on the chair next to the one I always used. The training continued. If I neglected to feed him and change his water early in the morning he would show his disdain by pushing over his bowl and scattering all the food and water that was left. That training lesson was completed.
A loving animal is great therapy for a senior citizen. Whenever I am tense or bothered Renoir senses it and cuddles next to me purring away. The mere stroking of his fur was therapeutic for me and relaxed all my tension away.
Here is to Renoir. You continue to train me well. I am your humble servant.
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