Crystal Fullerton Fine Art

Roamin 4X3 oil portrait SOLD

They say that people resemble their pets in appearance and temperament. I am not sure if I believe that. I sometimes prescribe to the belief that the animals choose you and you become the pet.

The painting above is of one such critter that became a part of my life by his family's choice and not mine. When we moved back to the Maritimes from Alberta we found ourselves in a small rural area with a collection of unique neighbors. The one next door to us welcomed us in and after a short conversation told us not to worry about the many and various assortments of feline wildlife in the area. They were his and he fed them. Don't worry he said I'll take care of them.

Other neighbors welcomed us and mentioned the cat issue with other words, and not all of them were so kind. Too bad you bought the house in the winter... in the summer you'll come to really appreciate all the cats! Much giggling was heard.

That summer we became quite aware of the extent of the cat issue. I clearly remember one summer evening where our family sat on the deck enjoying a BBQ, under close scrutiny of 32 cats. That number is fact as we had time to count them as they licked their furry lips in hopes of a flyaway morsel of food.

We adopted the live and let live philosophy. Kinda hard when the Toms use your hay for a litter box and even the horses won't sleep in its aromatic fibers but we decided ignorance of the issue was best. The cats were so feral many of them were only seen as earth coloured blurs and my horses and I became accustomed to the bolts of kitty streakers that usually ran between our legs. I have THE most bomb proof horses on the planet thanks to those finicky felines!

Late one August afternoon we arrived home and instantly noticed the lack of feline attendance. We had become accustomed to their presence on the steps and although one could never catch one we were slightly concerned at the lack of numbers.

Later that evening when I went out to close up the chickens I noticed one scrawny female nervously walking the deck. When I bent down in another futile attempt to get her to approach me I nearly fainted. The lower half of her jaw was partially missing. She yowled and sped off into the night. It was like she was telling me something bad had happened before she left.

In the days that followed my other neighbors told me the tale. One that was like a ritual. When the cat population got too high our "good neighbor" would load up his shotgun and practice population control. I was horrified. The problem was his in the making caused by his need to feed the wild cats. Having seen that female who survived I was incensed.

When she returned a week later, barely alive I couldn't help but feed the survivor. Soft canned food was all she could eat given her rearranged facial features and the next summer she gave birth to one female kitten. Jaws, as we called her promptly disappeared. Thus started the Fullerton Feline line of cats. Each year, a litter of kittens was born in the hay shed and of each litter only one female ever survived. We never knew why or how but as time grew on and my kids got faster each kitten would be captured, tamed and eventually adored. This went on for 7 years and when we moved from this community to our new location a small runt named "Kitten" came to.

We never fixed her as she was so small and misshapen that after 3 years and no pregnancy we assumed the line had come to an end without any human intervention. She lived in the barn with the horses and Max the dog and on really cold evenings she would totter off to the house to warm up by the stove. After a few hours she would sit patiently by the door and then return to the barn. We fed her and in return she tolerated us petting her. Decades of wild kitty succumbing to the charms of Purina and children.

On July 4 of the next summer what did we find in the hay but two small kittens. It appeared our belief that Kitten was sterile was erroneous. My kids quickly named the kittens in accordance to their temperament. Storm Cloud was a throw back to generations of wild kitty who deeply resented human interference. Roamin loved to wonder around people. As he grew older, Roamin would accompany me on my walks along the shore. My walks were frequently 3 or more kilometers long. I loved him like no other cat. His unique personality was a big as the ocean and when we built our new home he quickly became a favorite of the workers. He almost caused the death of one fellow as Roamin, true to his name, shocked a fellow working on the trusses. It was not a place one expected a cat to be but several times over the next couple of days we would come to the house to see Roamin proudly perched on the highest truss of our new roof.

Roamin visited neighbors and while we were gone during the day he would curl up at someone's house. He adored the attention...and the morsels! At 5pm he would be seen trotting across the lawn ready for his Fullerton Feast. Cloudy would usually lurk in the back of the garage hissing her dislike of Roamin and his antics. He ignored her. Roamin was the star.

As much as we loved our kitties we decided that they needed to be "fixed". We adored them but did not want a repeat of our last place. We were officially at two cats. Occasionally, Roamin had a friend visit him. Like most parents we were not too clear on whether or not his new friend was a good influence or not, but Roamin always made his rounds and always came home.

Late one summer evening my husband was driving his sister and her boyfriend back home after a trip to Greece. The next morning he woke me up and let me know that we had lost Roamin. David had found his and his friend's bodies on the nearby roadway. We had a proper burial and there were many tears shed.

Cloudy became the sole feline occupant of the house and in accordance of her new responsibilities became somewhat more tolerant of us. She stopped being so bitter and allowed herself to enjoy all the perks of being a "kept pet".

It has been two years since I lost Roamin and when a friend mentioned she was doing a basket for raffle to raise money for a Cat hospice she and her friend ran, I couldn't think of a better item to include than a portrait of my own little wild man Roamin. Maybe because of Roamin having me as his pet I have become more tolerant of folks trying to help animals. I can relate to all types of people and their compassion for those less fortunate. I make it a habit not to shoot anyone.

Maybe I am like my cat, a little wild and crazy and looking for my own truss to climb. I want to experience all life has to offer and when it gets cold outside one can usually find me curled up someplace warm and safe. So what do you think? Do we chose our pets or do they chose us?