OK Don and Don, I’m taking the challenge to write about one of my pets as a child growing up in CV. His name was Tom and we called him Old Tom as he aged.
Tom was an orange tabby cat of the male persuasion. He had rough “targets” in orange against a white background on both sides. He was a big, strong cat that had never been neutered (we didn’t even think about such things in the 1940s).
Tom was the scourge of all the cats in the neighborhood. If one dared to enter his domain he or she would get a sound drubbing from Tom. Tom was a great hunter and we would be presented with dead birds or dead mice on our doorstep from time to time. These were his trophies and he was justly proud of them.
To say that he was MY cat would be to overstate the case. We were his humans and he let us live in his house so long as we provided a steady supply of food, water, and an occasional bowl of milk. Tom would jump up on our laps to be petted when it suited him, and otherwise he could be found napping most of the day in a spot of sunlight.
Tom needed his sleep because the nights were his prowling time. We never knew what he did or where he went at night. Gradually, over the years, he acquired more and more scars. His nose was a mass of healed scratches and his coat was threadbare in places where there had been more serious injuries. He limped on one front paw, which was missing two toes. He would sometimes be gone for several days at a time and we more than once gave him up for dead, only to find him lying outside the door too weak to make a sound.
I would nurse him back to health and he would return to his tomcat ways. Finally, there came the day when he was gone for nearly a week. When we found him outside the door he was barely breathing. I put him on his blanket and tried to get some water into him, but it was no use. Tom breathed his last and expired in peace. I wrapped him in his blanket and made a grave for him in the back yard. A small stone marked that spot and I would often look out there and remember my fearless friend.
I had other pets as I grew older, but none had quite the personality and zest for living dangerously as Old Tom. Perhaps that was a lesson that I learned from him. I’ve traveled far and wide over the world and consider myself more or less a nomad in my old age. I like to think that Tom would be proud.
2 comments:
Cats are interesting animals and I've known a few, one to which I even became attached. Now mind you they don't generate instant empathy from me as many dogs do. Maybe that's because I was born a Leo (cat sign).
When I bought my farm on Caney River down near Elgin there was an ugly one-eyed queen living in the barn. She shortly had four kittens. About that time someone dumped another litter near my place and they come to live with me. Three more arrived from somewhere and soon I was up to 13 cats and 11 of them were females. I knew I had to take steps so I went to Sedan and Coco Sutton DVM (RIP) who ran the CQ Co. animal shelter loaned me anesthetic and instruments to neuter the lot of them. I set aside a morning and neutered 11 queens and 2 toms. I let them recover for a few days and took them all but one to the animal shelter. I kept the wildest most shy queen to be my barn cat\mouser. As time past she tamed down and loved to rub against my legs and be stroked. She especially liked to moniter the fish cleaning process and always got fresh tidbits from the catfish I was processing. She was not a house cat but would linger by the screen door and silently reproach me as I let Ol' Yeller into the porch and his box.
"Kit Kit" had her places in the barn summer and winter. When I was away the renter left her water and catfood and she was a good hunter. This went on for 13 years til one day I had a call from Alfred (renter) who told me he hadn't seen Kit Kit. When I came back in the spring I searched the barn and finally found the dessicated carcass of Kit Kit snuggled into one of her "places". Yes, I missed having Kit Kit around.
You did Old Tom proud, Gary! And, Don, you've got to write a book! Both you and Gary are great story-tellers!
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