Why is there no Year of the Cat?

In a few weeks, the Chinese calendar is ushering in the Year of the Rabbit. I don’t know of many friends who were born in the rabbit year. But then, I don’t have too many friends who tell me their age. (Tell me what animal you are under the Chinese calendar and I can easily deduce from there your year of birth.)

I am actually fond of rabbits. I wanted to have one to pet as a kid. My wish was partly granted when my Mom came home one day with a bunny — actually a toy that I had to wind to make it hop.

My sister was so thoughtful she vacationed with friends in Baguio and brought me home a rabbit’s foot — fashioned into a key chain. At night, I’d caress the furry foot, but wishing I had the rest of the animal’s body parts with me — alive.

Sensing my loneliness because I couldn’t have a pet rabbit, my Dad presented me with an old dog one morning. It was our neighbor’s and the family didn’t want it to conk out on them. Why my Dad thought a geriatric canine creature would cheer me up, I was never able to understand. After naming it Robert — after Jaworski — I totally ignored it and it became everyone’s pet, but mine. It lived a few more good years and turned out to be a good dog.

I only got over my desire to have a pet rabbit when I grew up. I didn’t think grown-ups needed pets. Of course, I got it wrong. All my friends have pets. But they have cats mostly. I never liked felines, unfortunately. I’m still trying to figure out why.

Ali Sotto’s husband, Omar, and I would get into arguments — with him defending the virtues of his pet cat Brazen. To say that I can’t stand Brazen is an understatement. Every time I went to their house in the past and the cat was there, we’d get into a staring match. I’d lose half the time.

Now I think I have an ally in Drew Arellano because when Ali left for Madrid three years ago, it was his Dad, Atty. Aga, who kept Brazen. But Brazen started pooping on Drew’s sneakers. Now, I can start an anti-Brazen society with me as president and with Drew second in command.

Toni Rose Gayda had long been convincing me to take care of cats. She had a few stray ones that she wanted me to have. I’ll send you their picture — they’re so cute, she once tried to sweet talk me into it. Flatly I told her that even if she had those cats’ images cast in bronze I still wouldn’t like them. She hadn’t given up on me yet and she has reason to be hopeful.

Until a decade ago our friend Louie Heredia also hated cats. He had Labradors — those huge canines.

On Dec. 1, 2001, however, he saw outside the gate of their La Vista home a kitten he presumed must have been only two weeks old. It was fed and allowed into the yard, but he didn’t think much of it. It was just a pusakal, after all. It was dime a dozen.

But when he flew to San Francisco shortly after, he began missing the kitten. Three weeks later, he came home with a custom-made collar that bore the name Ningsky. That was going to be the cat’s name.

At six months, Ningsky was spayed so that it doesn’t become like other tomcats that leave home when it becomes amorous. The feline, according to Louie’s computation, is now 60 in cat years — old enough to get a senior citizen’s discount at Mercury.

I think he spoils Ningsky too much. It only eats cat food from the can — Friskies and Whiskas. It even thumbs its nose up on Louie’s fried tilapia, which is a favorite viand.

And for a couple of years now, Louie had been sending friends personalized Christmas cards with Ningsky’s picture on them. Ricky Lo was nice enough to share this with the Funfare readers and published it alongside Christmas cards that bore photos of human celebrities who remembered him during the holidays. What a lucky cat.

But Ningsky is truly special — so lovable, insists Louie. He thinks I should also have a cat. Toni, Ali and Omar think so, too. Drew, I need you to tell them no.

I think I’m going to get it from Kathy Moran, editor of this paper’s pet section. Cat lovers must now hate me. But I’m sure they’ll understand and eventually realize that I’m not exactly a pet-hating person, especially when they find out that I grew up caring for chickens and ducks that multiplied in our yard. I nurtured several generations of them and it wasn’t my fault anymore that some of them ended up in my Mom’s oven.

Give me any pet, really — but not cats. They can be, well, catty. They scare me and intimidate me. They think they’re far intelligent than me — and they could be right and I sense they know that.

But if they’re so bright and smart, why didn’t they get a slot for themselves in the Chinese calendar? There’s a Year of the Rabbit and Year of the Lamb. Why, even a Year of the Rat.

Meow all they want but, hah, there’s no Year of the Cat.