Ziva is my cat. She is my only constant, live-in companion since Marjorie passed away.

For the record, my wife and I, at least I, were never cat people. Or so I told myself. That went back to the day as a young’un when I had to put a rat out of its misery after a farm cat had been “playing” with it. 

We had Teddi first. She was a big brown Chow/Poodle mix, originally the kids’ dog. When the kids left the house, Teddi became our “doggie.” She was our doggie for about 15 years. That pretty much defined me. Dog person. End of story.

Then one day an exterminator was doing an “exclusion” project in our condo on S Battery. Essentially, he was plugging up every visible opening to keep varmints out. You see, our neighborhood had roof rats, and we needed protection.

As he was leaving, he mentioned, almost in passing, “If y’all had a cat, the rats would sense that and go elsewhere.”

That was all it took. We started shopping for a cat that day.

That’s how Nicole came into our lives. She was a Ragdoll cat, and we had her for about 13 years. No roof rats in sight.

After Nicole came Ziva. She is also a Ragdoll. We acquired her from her breeder as a tiny kitten about four years ago.

Now it’s just me and Ziva.

She is usually a comfort. Just there. Late at night, she sometimes runs and jumps and knocks things over. That keeps me awake. No good. But when the house is quiet, she usually sleeps at the foot of my bed. I must admit, it is comforting just to see a living being close by.

She’s not fond of being petted by hand. Her preference is to flop down at your stockinged feet and have you pet her with your foot. That requires me to hang on to something. I AM eighty freakin’ six years old. Crazy cat.

My morning routine includes feeding and watering Ziva, cleaning her litter box, and making sure she has some yummy treats. That routine matters. At 86, routines help you remember to do important things. Empty the dishwasher. Take your meds. Keep moving. Ziva depends on me, and in a way, that helps me stay on track too.

She is low maintenance, but I do need someone to care for her if I’m down or away somewhere.

I hope she’s got another 5–10 years. Who knows? How ’bout me. Do I got 10 years left? Who knows?

Somewhere along the way, without asking permission, Ziva turned me into a cat person. Not the kind who admits it easily. Just the kind who values the company and is grateful not to be alone.

By the way, yes, Ziva is named after Ziva David of NCIS. Marjorie and I were big fans.

Enuf.