Change

Mom never really had pets. Even when she was a kid in the country side and the place was filled with all kinds of animals, they were mostly work and no play - animals were there for their productive purpose: meat, milk, wool or egss, guarding the house or catchig rodents.

When she moved to the city there was even less interest in a pet although her uncle and aunt (who were as close to us as any grandparents would have been) had a house and a small yard and for some time did raise some animals.

So that's probably why I never had a pet growing up. We were living in an apartment building and every time I would cry for a dog or a cat, mom would say "no dear, we can't have pets inside the apartment". I remeber staying during the summer in the country side (the village where she was born) and playing with all the animals: sheep, young horses, dogs and especially cats. I found cats were nicer and I loved the fact that I could hold them since they were smaller than other animals; beside that, they would always come to you and try to get under your skin. Countryside cats are no pets though; grandma' used to hush them away from inside the house and argue with me about feeding them underneath the table. I was the only one feeding them, everyone else said they won't catch any rats if they're not hungry.

When I grew up, I forgot about wanting a pet. I guess I had other things on my mind: school, computer games, girls... and besides, I was used to not having any animals around. But then, all of a sudden, after I started living alone, I remembered everything - how I liked cats, how I loved petting them and pulling their tails (just to catch them, not to hurt them), how they sometimes scratched me (and I would leave them alone for a while, then started everything again).

So I got a cat. A little black - devilish cat named Mefis, short from Mephistofel (the Devil's name from German mythology). He was two weeks old when I got him, a little fur-ball that thought for a while I was his mother. My mom found out pretty quickly about it, since he was crying all the time, especially when I was on the phone, so she heard him. Man was she pissed! "They stink" she said; "they're dirty and leave hair allover. Get rid of it". I didn't. It wasn't easy, and the hair that he shed was indeed a problem, but I held on to him for about two years.

After I moved from the apartment I was living in (no. 13 - go figure, perfect place for a black cat named after the Devil), I moved to a small room at the university; I could see he didn't really like the small space and after a while I found out we're not allowed to have pets. My mom was happy about that as she said I could bring him to their house, where her uncle still lived and where she went each day, so I did.

He's a happy cat now, running around the yard, catching butterflies, climbing trees and chasing other cats. My grandfather loves him and the funniest thing happened - my mom started - shy at first but more and more - to grow fond of the little guy. Now they're good friends, she feeds him, plays with him and every time I speak to her on the phone she tells me about all the crazy stuff my cat's up to...

It's them in the picture above. I guess people do change.