Kitty

     It was probably fifty years ago that my son and I took a pottery class from the Hayward Area Recreation Department.  I can’t remember now if we were actually enrolled in the class together (I think not) or if he occasionally accompanied me just for fun.  I do remember that I worked on the wheel – a kickwheel, I think – and Charlie fashioned pots by hand.
     I still have a lovely little green pot that he made.  I use it every day as a spoon holder.  It has one tiny chip on the rim but, other than that, it has held up remarkably well considering all the hard work it’s done.  (And as my friend Gordon would say, “Haven’t we all?”)
     For years, on top of the roll top desk, my father kept a small yellow and blue animal figure that Charlie had made for him during that time period.  If I had ever known its identity, I had long forgotten it, so a few years back I asked Charlie what it was.  He was absolutely incredulous.
     “It’s a kitty!” he said, and I knew, as only a mother can, that by forgetting, I had sinned.
     Of course, what else would it be?  Our family has always had cats.  There has been the occasional beloved dog, as well, but all-in-all, we are a cat family.  That proclivity came from my father’s side of the family so, in retrospect, it was entirely appropriate that Charlie give him the pottery “Kitty.”
     My dad used to tell about the evening routine when he was a boy at home in Roxbury, Massachusetts.  At eleven o’clock “sharp,” his father would wind the tall grandfather’s clock in the hall, put the cat out, turn off the lights and go up to bed.  There was always a cat.  Dad, too, always had a cat – usually two —  at a time; he thought they liked each other’s company, especially when they were kittens.
     Charlie, also, has cats.  Right now he has Happy Kitty who must be close to ten, and Frankie, named for his blue eyes by the rescue shelter where Charlie got him.  I’ve never been sure why Charlie kept the name.  It’s not as though Frankie can recognize it; he is stone deaf.
     This little pottery cat is named Kitty, of course.  Even though his coat is bright and cheerful, he always seems to have a slightly anxious expression.  He tugs just a bit at my heartstrings… but in a good way.