As a person who is owned by a black cat, I make very sure my little Pixie stays inside and safe around Halloween. The last thing I want is for some idiot to hurt my little girl. There are so many legends and superstitions about black cats. About.com/cats has a nice exploration of the history of black cats. For me though black cats mean one thing and that is Pixie. If ever a cat was perfectly named it is her.
Pixie came into our lives when she was born in the storage shed next to the house. Out of the four kittens Pixie was the brave one of the litter. She realized that inside the house were warmth, food, beds, and laps to sit on. She was smart enough to take one look at my Mom and realize she had “sucker” written all over her. Mom couldn’t figure out why this little kitten she let into the house and fed and would hold on her lap didn’t want to leave and go back outside to join her siblings. Mom was obviously not a cat person and it was up to me to teach her.
Pixie became Mom’s companion and my ally in trying to take care of her. Pixie loved Mom’s lap and would sit there for an hour and take a nap knowing Mom wouldn’t move. She really was my co-caregiver for Mom. She stayed with Mom when she passed away for twelve hours until my brother came home from work and found her.
Pixie is such a little stinker. She loves tormenting my older cat Merlin. She likes smacking him in the face. I remember one evening she had that “I’m going to smack you” look on her face and Mom told her “don’t you smack Merlin with your paw.” Pixie looked up at Mom and stood on her back paws and smacked him with both paws.
Pixie is fascinated by water. She loves to watch the toilet flush. She has even been known to try and push me off the toilet so she can watch. She will peak around the curtain when I am taking my shower. She jumps up in the sink when I’m trying to brush my teeth.
One of Pixie’s favorite games is hiding. She isn’t real good at it however. You will see her tail or her paw sticking out and because she can’t see you she thinks you can’t see her.
Pixie gets into everything. She has to explore all bags and boxes brought into the house. Everything can become a toy. Her toys get thrown around and I frequently hear a crash and go into the room where the noise occurred and see her toy in the midst of things that got knocked down. Of course she denies any responsibility. She claims it is localized earthquakes. I tell her we live in North Carolina and not California.
Pixie is my mighty hunter. She chases bugs and I’ve had to take many of a stinkbug away from her. One night around 1:30 a.m. when we were still in Indiana, I heard a flapping sound in my room and Pixie going berserk. A small bat had gotten into the house and Pixie was trying to get it. I woke my brother up and told him to take care of the bat while I tried to subdue Pixie who was jumping so high to try and get the bat who was near the ceiling fan that I was afraid she was going to hurt herself.
One of Pixie’s best qualities is knowing when I’m down and need affection. She will climb on my chest and lay there and purr and reach up and pat my face.
So that is my little black cat. She is part devil and part angel. She added years to my Mom’s life and is now down with me adding joy to my life.