Finding Home: A Journey Through Time & Cats

May, 1965

My parents were living in Southfield then, but looking for something closer to St. Williams in Walled Lake where my older siblings attended Catholic school. Funny, because my folks were public school teachers. Other than Cass Tech where they both taught, I get the impression they didn’t think much of the quality of public education elsewhere. Or maybe they felt that a Catholic bend would help my brother and sister develop a better moral compass. Whatever the reason, a listing in The Detroit News classifieds under “Country Estates,” caught my dad’s eye. It was a 3 bedroom/1.5 bath brick ranch on three acres of wooded property in what was then “the sticks” (Novi). It listed for $35,000.

“Oh, John – we can’t afford that” my mother balked.

On their dual teacher salaries, my best estimation (and I’m likely being generous) was around $10K. To put this in perspective for 2024, this is a couple with two elementary-aged children, making $98K a year, buying a house for $345K. For an established couple that grew up during the Great Depression, this was a mortgage they had never conceived possible for their modest income.

“Let’s take a look anyway.” he urged. “Looking is free.” I can almost see him flash his disarming smile. Mum relented and off they went into the balmy spring morning.

The house sat atop a hill and nestled into the edge of a mature forest that spread behind it for several miles. They drove up a steep gravel driveway to meet the real estate agent. She let them through the front door and an immediate right into the kitchen. The agent pointed out the spacious breakfast nook and a built-in buffet for keeping dinnerware, the Thermador oven built into the interior brick chimney wall with matching stove/grill on the peninsula. They round the corner into the living room and Mum stops dead in her tracks.

The main feature is a long stretch of windows that spans almost the entire length of the room with a view of nothing but the great expanse of woods that made up the backyard. In the early spring, the leaves were just starting to bud. The towering dark trunks of the mature maples and birches stood sentry in a swirl of misty green. Mum said it was like an enchanted fairyland.

“Oh, Johnny…“

They went home that afternoon and talked with my grandmother (my Mom’s mom). She offered to help with a down payment. They secured a load through Detroit Teacher Credit Union that allowed them the suspend payments during the summer month when they weren’t drawing a paycheck (not that they ever took advantage of that). The ink was just drying on the paperwork when mom found out she was pregnant with me.

That fall, my siblings were enrolled in public school, but never once did my folks believe they had made the wrong choice. It would continue to be the family home until 2013 when my mom, now by herself, could no longer care for such a big house.

Fifty one years later…

I rolled up to a similar sprawling brick ranch. No massive woods, but a nice wide brambly tree line that obscures the backyard neighbors even with the spare November branches stripped of their summer glory. I had looked at a dozen houses. All were OK, but nothing spoke to me. I was about to put an offer on another house, if for no other reason than I was just tired of looking. My friend and real estate agent, Kurt, told me I should check this out before I do anything else. “It’s cool – you’ll like it.“

It was listed at $219K and while it was not at my hard stop price, it was dangerously close. As I drove through the neighborhood, my mouth was agape. Huge houses sat back from the road on massive rolling golfclub-esque, manicured lawns. I’m way out of my league!

I pull into the long driveway lined with sculpted junipers and fun retro globe lamps. The surrounding houses are nice, but without the intimidatingly, perfect lawns. OK, this is the “low-rent section,” I giggled. I fit in now. I stepped from the car, and the first one to greet me wasn’t Kurt, but a small grey cat that mewed pitifully and bumped it’s head against my leg.

“Well hello there. Do you come with the house?“

It mewed again as Kurt came over and scooped it up. I scratched the top of her head and she purred madly. This would be my third house purchase, but the first time I ever felt at home within a minute of stepping foot on the property. I didn’t wait to think about it. “Kurt – I want this house. Let’s make it happen!”

I later found out the mystery cat was dubbed “Molly” by the next door neighbors. It turns out, a not-so-responsible household in an adjoining neighborhood had Molly as a pet, but never fixed her. I don’t have to explain anything past that. Molly would pass a few months after I bought the house, but her offspring continued on, and often with sad results as they would succumb to disease, a roving coyote or a speeding vehicle.

It took a few years, but I eventually took the TNR (Trap, Neuter, Return) training and successfully trapped and fixed Tiger Lily, Molly (a different one), Lil’ Googie and Tater Tot. They now all sport a clipped left ear showing that they are fixed. The population has stabilized. I feel a real sense of accomplishment now when I see them gathering for their meals.

I too, have no regrets buying this house. My mom found her home among the trees, and the green of her ancestral homeland, Ireland. My home is among the cats.