My Love Affair With Cats by Anita Fontana What is it with me and cats? For as long as I can remember, I have loved them. As I sit here looking at these perfect creatures lying on my bed, I can't believe I'm so lucky to have had all the cats that I've had in my life. Cat behavior. Someone gave our minister a book called Cat Dependent No More and she's been reading little bits of it to us in church each week. It's very funny. Cat behavior. How many books have been written about cats and their strange ways. Even with all the literature out there, they are still a mystery. Beautiful, silky, lithe mysteries. One at my feet, the other on my right. What heaven. The only thing better would be if they were lying all over me. But then I couldn't write. My baby, the one I raised from 4 weeks, is changing. She's not as affectionate as she was. I'm going through separation anxiety. She only loves me when she wants now. She'll sit and look at me, perfect-everything about her symmetrical and perfect; her pale gray fur with the white, almost pink, stripes, white raccoon rings around her gold eyes. Those eyes . . . closing, languid, half-mast. Those eyes that looked up at me pleading for food at 4 weeks old, begging mommy to feed her because she was too helpless to feed herself. Here she sits next to me, crouched into that catlike posture, asleep with her head up, but not really asleep. If I touch her she will protest and leave. I dare not. Only 2 months ago I could touch her whenever I wanted and she would become limp in my arms. Purr box extraordinaire. Now she rarely visits me to grace me with her purr. That sound. So comforting to me. It touches me at a deep, subconscious, earthy level. Cats are so sensuous. Their bodies so lithe and beautiful; their movements like the finest dancer or gymnast. Or is it the other way around? How many paintings, photographs, and drawings have been made of their incredible bodies. Nothing can capture the real thing. Why are these creatures here? These two are here for no other reason but my amusement and comfort. They have no real lives-eat, sleep, run around a little, tear some things apart, bite, purr, scratch, wash, poop. Domestic house cats. For their safety, we have prohibited them from climbing trees, running after mice and birds, mating with the cat of their choice, killing for their dinner. The world has gotten too dangerous for them, especially in the city. So to keep them safe and secure, we buy them catnip-filled toys instead of clover, grass that we grow on the kitchen windowsill instead of the earth's coat to eat. We feed them canned or boxed food instead of allowing them to chase and kill their prey. They raise their heads from their sleepy malaise and look at me blankly. "Is this all there is for me? To get fat and old and lazy on your bed?" My friends rescued the baby from a church window well. Her mother had abandoned her. We saved her. Saved her from what? Now she climbs the bathroom doorway instead of trees. Now she's warm in the winter instead of freezing like her sibs and her mom. Mom didn't know at the time that she was condemning her baby to a lifetime of comfort and over-indulgence, adoration and too many kisses. She's 8 months old now. A lean, healthy, gorgeous little adolescent cat. All that we went through together. I would gather her up in my arms and plop her on my chest and we would lie for hours, purring together. What ecstasy! She doesn't do that now. I feel a hole in my chest where she used to sleep. Now she sleeps at a safe distance from me. Near, but not too intimate. The sleepless nights, the scratching and biting, the kisses on the lips, the joy at seeing each other after work each day. She's still happy to see me, but only after she runs outside on the porch to see what's on the other side of the door. She prances around sniffing the air and rolling on the dirty porch floor. Such wonderful smells . . . the smells of the outside world . . . her world. She usually comes in on her own now after a few minutes, but I worry that she'll stay out too long or go too far. My baby, who I raised and nursed and cherished and spent all my energy on. This must be what it's like to raise a child. I can't imagine what carrying something around inside for 9 months is like. The umbilical connection with this furry little angel is there even though someone else carried her. I guess that's growing up. Except that she can never leave home and have her own apartment, meet the man of her dreams, know the ecstasy of sex and babies of her own. I don't really blame her for resenting me. Does she know what I've denied her by saving her? Is that why she's so distant now. My older one seems to have resigned herself to her fate. In fact, she's even begun to be more affectionate lately. She went through that arrogant stage, too. It lasted 5 years! Will it be the same with my baby also? Can I live through 5 years of her distance? Now I know why many women ke