Time enough for a mixture to happen: children grew up and moved into lives of their choice, I retired from three jobs and finally labeled the last one in capitals, some deaths left empty spaces, and Smith members replenished numbers of the annual enumeration. On June 24, 2000 this is the notation in a journal. “Our last sighting of Ferdinand. He left through the porch cat door and stalked the birds by the feeder for old times sake before strolling down the alley.” Our nuclear family didn’t have pets because the edict for DMS growing up was NO PETS. Somehow cats slipped under the admonition. They have their own definition of belonging. Over 17 years we were home base to three felines. Eidelweiss was a long-haired white cat who moved in a haze of floating hairs which she seemed able to shed at will. Her one gift of belonging was to sleep on the stomach of older son if he napped on the couch. She had already lived a tough street life and died young of feline leukemia. Her passing left the youngest child bereft. I got a free Siamese/alley from a litter and he was bedded down with an alarm clock to mimic his mother’s heart beat and was carried around looped over an 8 year old’s arm like a waiting to be hung up towel.
Cats mostly require that their routine be understood by you. Said Ferdinand wanted to stay in the house at night. First feet up put his food in a bowl on the porch. He then went on his way to hassle the birds and head down the alley for two houses to bask in the sun on a table in Mrs. Jackson’s back yard. She made no contribution to his upkeep, but would take him in her house if the weather changed before we all came home in the afternoon. Then the stories get tangled. Son 2 came home from college in New Orleans with Fred, similar in color to Ferdinand, yet definitely with well-honed wharf skills. The cats kept their distance if humans were watching. Fred, though, would sit on the floor staring at Ferdinand as he tried to sleep in a chair. We came home one Sunday after the catfight, but blood had been drawn and tufts of hair were on the floor. That seemed to clear the air for a tenuous peace.
As I typed, I realized that over a quarter of a century details grow dim. I would have needed the whole family together to sort what happened in what order. Yet, I kept remembering details of one or another human sitting with a warm furry body next to their leg while they read a book or watched a movie or ate a snack. The interaction of closeness and caring mattered to both of them. That in itself is a Bible verse.
Care about them as much as you care about yourselves. Philippians 2:4
Let Me Tell Ya 