Panterina (or Rina Bina, as I usually called her) was a feisty little character and was
curious about EVERYTHING. One day she was curious about what would happen if
she were to sneak up on me and insert her claws in my rear end while I was
studying on my bed. I believe that was her first (and only) flying lesson.
She did a fine job of it, too, flying 10
feet and landing on her feet, as cats are wont to do. She had her question
answered… And she never tried it again, so I guess she learned the lesson well.
She was also interested in learning how
to knit. Ah, she loved those knitting needles immensely; she always tried
taking them out of my hands. I will admit that she made it rather difficult for
me to knit with her hanging on the needles while trying to add new stitches.
One thing could be said about living with Rina Bina: life was never
boring.
When she reached a certain age, Nino
decided she should have kittens. He thought totally black kittens would be nice
and he knew just where to take her: there was a place with a seemingly endless
number of black cats. He’d been living in that neighborhood far longer than I
had; I just took his word for it. I wasn’t convinced it was the best idea he’d
ever had, but I gathered her up and we walked to the black cat street, as we
ended up calling it.
With some misgivings, I let the miniature panther go join all the other cats; immediately, some of the pushier cats came forward. From their attitude of studied nonchalance, I knew they were males. There were others who studiously ignored her, which I assumed were females. They might have been males who thought she was below their level of expectations, though.
We decided to let her stay over night
and then go get her the following afternoon, figuring that 24 hours in that
group would be more than sufficient. Arriving there, however, we ran into a
snag that I thought might present itself. Which of all those cats was my Rina
Bina? They all looked exactly alike, and when we called her name, she
nonchalantly ignored us, just like all the others in the neighborhood. So now
what?
Well, I came up with a viable solution
that only a musician might think of. One of my favorite songs from the ‘60s was
Eddy Albert’s version of “Guantanamera”. I love to sing and I would sing this
song all the time to Panterina, inserting the words Pantera Nera, tu sei la
Pantera Nera (Black Panther, you are the black panther) and the song became
hers. So, when she decided to ignore us, I started singing “Pantera Nera…”
One of the cats lounging on the porch
started twitching her ears. Nino went and picked her up. Since she was also the
only who didn’t scramble out of his way, we knew we’d found the right one.
She presented us with six beautiful
kittens, five of them with pure black fur, and one, an adorable, sweet-natured
male, was black. No doubt about the color of his fur, but the tips were white,
giving the impression of being dusted with a light layer of snow. We gave the
other five away easily, each one a mini version of their mother, including the
feisty attitude. We decided to keep Dusty, though.
I like orange cats, but I guess black ones
aren’t all that bad, either. I’ve had that endless stream of black cats, and they’re
okay.
