 The
Cat's Meow
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| Issue 6, Vol. 4 | Lover Cat | February 6, 2005 |
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Double Duty |
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As a member of a "dog family," I had long been conditioned to believe that cats simply didn't possess the ability or desire to be loving companions. This belief was so deeply ingrained that, while I didn't actually dislike cats, I found them, for the most part, uninteresting. Arriving home from work one afternoon, I discovered a cat at my doorstep. I ignored him, but apparently he was not offended, because he was there again the following day. "I'll pet you," I told him, "but there's no way you're coming in." Then one night soon after, as the rain beat down and thunder clapped, I heard a faint meow. I couldn't take it anymore; I became a cat owner. My new roommate, now named Shotzy, quickly became more than just a stray cat to feed. I liked the way his soft purring greeted me every morning and the way he nudged his head against my leg when I came home each day. His playful antics made me laugh, and soon Shotzy seemed more like a longtime friend than a pet I hadn't really wanted. Although I suspected Shotzy had been an outdoor cat for a good portion of his life, he seemed perfectly content to stay inside, except for one remarkable exception. As if an alarm had gone off, at about 6 o'clock every night he'd cry to go out. Then, almost exactly one hour later, he'd be back. He did this for several months before I finally discovered what he had been up to. One day a neighbor who knew about Shotzy showing up at my doorstep told me she thought the cat might belong to an elderly woman who lived down the street. Worried that I had mistakenly adopted someone's pet, I took Shotzy to the woman's house the next day. When a white-haired woman opened the door, Shotzy bolted from my arms, ran into the house and made himself at home in a big recliner. The woman just threw her head back and laughed, saying, "Jimmy always did love his chair." My heart sank - my Shotzy was obviously her Jimmy. I explained I had taken him in and only discovered the day before that he may have already had a home. Again, the old woman chuckled. She invited me in and explained that the cat did not belong to her. "But, I thought you called him Jimmy," I questioned. The woman, who said her name was Mary, explained that Jimmy was her husband's name. He had died about a year before, just a few months after being diagnosed with cancer. Before Jimmy died, he and Mary would eat dinner at 5 o'clock every night. Afterward, they would retire to the living room, Jimmy to his favorite chair, to talk about the day's events. The couple had followed that routine every night for the 60 years they were married. After Jimmy's death, with no other family nearby, Mary said she just felt lost. And more than anything, she missed their nightly after-dinner talks. Then one night a stray cat meowed demandingly at her screen door. When she cracked open the door to shoo him away, he ran straight to Jimmy's chair and made himself comfortable, as if he had lived there forever. Mary, who had never had a pet in her life, found herself smiling at the animal. She gave him a little milk and then he cuddled on her lap. She talked to him about her life, but mostly about Jimmy. At about 7 o'clock, at which time she normally turned on the TV and made herself some hot tea, the creature slipped off her lap and went to the door. At 6 o'clock the next evening, the cat was back. Soon, Shotzy and Mary had their own routine. "Now, I believe in the Good Lord," Mary told me. "I don't know about all that reincarnation stuff, but sometimes it feels just like I'm talking to Jimmy when that little cat is here. I know that sounds strange, and I guess it doesn't really matter; what's important is that the cat is a real comfort to me. But it's interesting to think on, all the same." So Mary and I continued to share Shotzy. At my house, he revealed to me the many daily joys that come with living with a cat. At Mary's, his presence served to fill the six o'clock hour with happy companionship. Our marvelous cat seemed to have an uncanny knack for always being in the right place at the right time. © Lisa Hurt Reprinted from Lace's Chicken Soup Page |
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