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It was seven years ago today, in the midst of a rather difficult time in my life, that a young ginger-and-white cat strode into it.
I'd seen him, over the past several months, in the cold and in the snow, down in the field. He and another cat, this one black. The ginger-and-white would occasionally show up on my brick patio for the food I put out for them. The black one, not so much, and--try as I might--I was never able to round him up.
But, on March 19, 2019, the ginger and white guy decided he'd found a new home. And on that morning, I opened the door to go outdoors, and he strode inside as if he owned the place. I wrote, not quite a year later:
One cold day, almost exactly a year ago, I opened the front door and found an orange and white cat waiting for me, glaring intently at the entrance and drumming his paws rather impatiently on the brick patio. The moment he saw me, tail waving high, he marched into the house and has never left. Proof positive, I suppose, that any cat can be saved, once he decides he wants to be. (I think that’s pretty much the way it works for members of the two-legged species, as well.)
Lordy me. The phrase "toxic masculinity" didn't go nearly far enough to describe the stench of this very naturally manly wild cat. But after a visit to my lovely veterinarian, that problem was "fixed" and--although I'd never describe him as other than "alpha," at least the stink was ameliorated.
In the intervening years he has established himself as the kindest, most sociable, and nosiest cat I've ever known.
He's made friends with cats I've inherited from dying friends. Cats who've succumbed--like their owners--to cancer themselves, and who Psymon has snuggled and cuddled with until the end.
He was a staunch friend to the late Mr. She, in his last year, and he has made friends with other humans who come and go--friends, carers, and associates--all of whom remember him fondly, even if only for the difficulty of removing him from "his" people when it comes to their taking care of them, themselves.
And no one I know who's ever encountered him is in the least surprised at his incredible liveliness, interference, and nosiness, the most recent example (last weekend) of which found Psymon worming his way into and sitting in the hi-fi cabinet, on top of the Onkyo Blu-Ray player, hoping for a starring role in our next movie together.
If it's up to him, it will probably be one filmed in bed. But not in the way that you might think.
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A touching tribute.
That line reminds me of when we adopted / inherited a large (neutered male) cat ("Bud") from our next door neighbor. He was mostly white, with a little orange.
Our neighbor had found him (the cat) wandering the grounds of the medical facility at which she worked and brought him back to the large menagerie of semi-feral cats she and her husband fed. But he never fit in with the other cats at their house.
Finally (our then small children had much to say about this action) we decided to open the door for him to come into our house, and, as you said, he strode in as though he owned the place. He immediately settled in on the couch as though he had always been there. (We found he was declawed, so he had obviously been a house cat at some point in his life.)
He did have to establish an uneasy truce with the dominant female (Siamese) cat (Tiffany) who had already inhabited our house for several years. But, he rode with us in a minivan when we moved across the country, and stayed with us several more years before succumbing to old age.
The only human he ever sought out was my very anti-cat father. We have a photo of this cat sleeping on top of my napping father. So maybe my father was not as anti-cat as he made himself out to be.
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It's amazing, the number of cats I've known, who are fascinated with, and insist on snuggling up to, people (particularly men, in my experience) who say they can't stand cats. Somehow, it always seems to work out for the both of them...
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You scared me; I thought you were going to conclude that he had passed. We need more messages like this, writing about our friends while they're still around.
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I thought the same thing.
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Do you keep the "P" silent at all times, or do you pronounce it (like a mom using a child's middle name) when you wish to indicate displeasure with his behavior?
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