My cat never talks to me. All I ever hear is "Meow, Meow, Meow," but he still has a whole lot tosay. The first time I saw him was through the bars of an SPCA cage on my lunch hour. He just sat there licking his paw, acting nonchalant, giving me the occasional glanceas if to say, "I don't care if you take me or not. Go ahead, keep on walking. I'll just die here with all my friends." You know the look. It's the sameone your mother gives you when she coughs and sinks slowing into the rocking chairsaying, "I am a bit weak today dear, but don't let me keep you. Go ahead toyour meeting. I'll be just fine."
In February of 1990, my husbandMerle had been retired only a few weeks and already I could tell he needed companyto keep from being bored to death. He didn't want pets and neither did I, not really. He particularly professed to hating cats and I hate smelly cat boxes. But wasn'tMerle's welfare important to me? Wouldn't a pet be good for him? I kept rememberingthose occasional glances... that thick gray fur... that name...Gandolf (I loved TheHobbit) printed on the card outside the cage. I asked Merle if we could have a cat.
He had hardly spoken his agreement when I was in the car and headed back to the SPCA. YES! Gandolf was still there! The attendant took him from the cage and placedhim in my arms. Papers were signed and payment made. "MeOW!" Gandolfprotested as I placed him in the car. "MeOW! MeOW! MeOW!"
"Sorry fella, one cat is all I had permission to bring home. Your friends willhave to find their own families!"
"Meow," he replied and curledup on the seat beside me.
When I placed Gandolf in Merle's lap upon arrivinghome, I lost him. His name was instantly changed to Sam and he and Merle bondedlike super-glue to flesh. He followed Merle around like a puppy. Sam stayed inthe garage/shop with him while he worked, and, if Merle wasn't paying enough attentionto him, would walk back and forth across whatever he was working on and rub up againsthim until he took the brush off the wall and gave him a good brushing, finally satisfyinghis need for togetherness. Then Sam would hop down and go exploring in the deep,dark jungle that was the back room of the shop... where cobwebs hung and stacks ofdiscarded furniture and leftover wood of all description made wonderful tunnels andmazes any cat would give his catnip to wander through, especially since a thrivingcommunity of crickets also lived back there.
Sam never seemed to drink muchwater until one day he happened to be in the bathroom at the same time Merle waswashing his hands. Sam pushed Merle's hands out of the way, and with his hind legson the counter top, he placed one front paw in the sink and the other reached outto the opposite edge of the sink. This way the water poured over his outstretchedleg and he drank, and drank, and drank. Perhaps he developed this habit with hisprior owner, but it has been a conversation piece ever since. When he wants a drinkhe comes to one of us, "Meow", and walks away. He keeps doing this untilwe pay attention and follow him to the bathroom, whereupon he jumps up on the counterand stares at us as if to say, "Well? Turn on the water dummy." Merlecomplains that our water bill keeps going up. He blames me for flushing the toilettoo much, but I know the real reason. We keep turning on the water for Sam and walkingout of the room. You'd think a cat who was smart enough to teach us this trick wouldbe smart enough to come get us when he was done so we could turn the water OFF again!
A few months after Sam came to live with us, I asked Merle why he and Samgot along so well when he once had said he hated cats. His reply was, "Well,I never had a cat that liked me back before." I guess that explains it!
Sam was about a year old when I brought him home and was an average size cat I suppose. Over the years, Sam has become a monster kitty. He has weighed in at 23 lbs, butis now down to about 18 lbs. Lifting him can be a real effort. Every time I seethe sumo kitty in the cartoon strip "Mother Goose and Grimm", I think ofSam. But then he fits right in with the rest of us chubbies around here. Occasionallyhe'll make a half-hearted attempt to jump up onto the bathroom counter, miss, andfall back. "Meowwww," he'll beg and, of course, we do just what he wants,flex our muscles and haul him up there ourselves.
Sam had a lot to say whenSpencer came to live with us too. Spencer was not fondly welcomed by Sam who, untilthen, had sole control of our attention. For the first six months it was mostly"Fsssss! Yowl!" followed by a "Yelp!" from the dog when he gotslapped across the nose. Sam definitely did not care for the doggie habit of tailsniffing. It took about six months for Sam and Spencer to come to an understanding. Sam understood that Spencer was going to stay and Spencer understood that Sam wasboss.
Often, we have to wonder which one of them is the dog and which oneis the cat. Spencer likes to lie on top of the couch staring out the window at theworld in catlike fashion and Sam, besides following Merle around like a puppy, comeswhen he's called. I've been told most cats don't do that. That's the one thingMerle is jealous of... the fact that I can call Sam and he can't. Sam's a wanderer. He roams to other yards near ours, but I don't think he ever goes far. Merle cancall and call and finally give up. "You call him," he says to me as hecomes in slamming the door behind him, "He'll come for you."
So,I stand on the back deck and shout "SAAAAAAAM!"
"SAAAAAAAAM! Come on Sam!" And before long, here he comes, galloping across the neighbor'syard and up the steps onto our deck.
"Meow...Meow...Meow!" Like"What the heck do you want now? You'd better have supper waiting or I'm outo' here! I left a mighty fine squirrel surveillance just to answer this call!"
No, my cat never talks to me, but he sure has a whole lot to say just the same!