In the beginning....

Okay, so that's a cheesy way to start off my first post about my first cat, but whatever.

March, 1996. I was living in Mali, West Africa with the Peace Corps. I lived in a "city" called Sikasso: three paved roads, 100,000 people. The house I inherited from the guy I was replacing was a pretty big compound with a main "modern" house, a garage, a gazebo, and a bungalow. In this bungalow lived a Bamabara man by the name of Coulibaly. Coulibaly's main occupation was that of a garabou or witch doctor ("traditional healer" in PC terms, but I find "witch doctor" packs more punch).

Anyways, after having cat-sitted for a fellow volunteer Coulibaly noted, rather amusingly because pets - especially cats - are not a common thing there, my attachment to the cats I was cat-sitting. One was a wiley female grey tabby and the other was a big 'ole black Tom. Coulibaly was especially impressed with the black Tom, which was odd because the Bambara believe that solid black cats shape shift into sorceresses at night.

In any case, I returned the cats to my fellow volunteer. Soon after, Coulibaly had to go into the bush to gather up medicine. When he came back a week later, I asked him for my souvenir (a sort-of joke there). He plunked down on my porch, a cardboard box with airholes containing an 8-week old, solid black, male kitten. I was mildly shocked to say the least. I brought the kitten inside and the rest is a very long, intricate history. I will get into that at another time.

To make an exteremely long story short: when my serivce was complete, I packed the cat up and come June, 1998, my Dad drove to JFK airport to pick up a fully mature, non-neutered, semi-feral black male cat by the name of Jakuma (whch means "cat" in Bambara. Creative, aren't I?) His journey to the States included a 48-hour layover in Brussels, due to his missing his connecting flight.

From there, after a thoroughly first world neutering, we moved to Ithaca, NY where he grew in his first winter coat at the age of 3. His first stab at a winter coat came in a little patchy, but come winter '99 he had gotten the hang of it. He had also gained about 4 pounds and had serenly adjusted to the life of your average American housecat.

We then moved to Brooklyn, where I started my first "real" job in March of '99. When I swtiched apartments that November, I still had the same landlord, Howard (RIP), and never was there a greater cat lover. Whe he brought the keys over, he also brought over a pet carrier with two 6 week old kittens. He had kept insisting that Jakuma needs a friend and had just rescued a pregnant female a couple of months earlier and would I like one of these kittens, ready to be weaned from their mother in a few weeks? He paid for the first round of shots and let me deduct the neutering 4 months later from my rent.

Enter Apollo. A playful (what kitten isn't?) little brown tabby. After a questionable couple of days with Jakuma growling at the bathroom door where Apollo was kept, he came around. Not only did he come around, but Jakuma and Apollo became the best of friends. They cleaned each other, used each other for pillows. If Jakuma would accidentally get a little rough and hurt Apollo after a wrestle, he would give him a tender lick. Really, the best of friends.

On March 24, 2007, Jakuma died in a car service on the way to the Animal Hospital on Warren Street. From the description I gave the vet, it became apparrent that he had had a stroke. While 11 is on the young side for an indoor cat, I think anyone would agree that he had a hell of a life.

I was, of course, devastated, and Apollo became confused, sad, and then needy. After sufficient grieving time, on June 2nd, 2007, I adopted an 8-week old grey and white tuxedo kitten and called him Sebastian.

And that is currently cat #2.