When I was a teen, these many moons ago, I had a friend. His name was Geoffrey. In freshman year he tried out for cheerleader with us girls and, lo and behold he got on the squad with us.
He always hung out with the girls after that. Very helpful. He knew about hair and make-up. What the lastest fashion fads were. Impeccably dressed and groomed everyday. He even came to a few sleepovers with us.
We graduated and scattered to the winds.
10 years on, I ran in to him. He was working as a cosmetologist in Little Rock. We exchanged numbers and email and promised to stay in contact.
I got busy with my family and never reached out. I never did Facebook. I assume that’s why I never heard from him. Out of the blue I got a call from him directing me to go online and read an email he’d written. I did.
He had gotten a purebred Persian cat. Needed advice. I answered his questions the best I could. Being no expert.
It snuffled alot. I assumed and told him it was ok, possibly caused by its smushed face. It shed alot. I recommended lots of brushing. Then: the BIG one, his life partner was allergic and the shots and meds weren’t helping. He might have to rehome it.
Here it comes, I sez to myself. A few days pass and I recieved an email. “Wouldn’t I like to have a purebred Persian cat?” White/silver tipped. Blue eyes. Oh, god. I had just gave over a foster cat to its forever home. I was cat poor. Oh, my.
I agree to visit and see the cat. That went poorly. I laid on my tummy and looked at her under the bed. A beautiful animal. I went home.
3 days later I get an email. Life partner is in the hospital. He had a severe asthma attack. Persian had to go. Geoff was desperate. Ok, ok. I’ll take the cat. He brings the cat in a carrier and many supplies snd a looooong Pedigree. Oh, joy.
I left Persian in the carrier in a dark room room for awhile. A few hours later I decide to go check this cat out. She’s in a bed room and I slip in quietly. Turn on a lamp and hear a meow. Awww! So sweet. I open the crate and am faced with a white demon, hissing and spitting. I slammed the door shut and run out. Shutting her in the bedroom for awhile longer. I must think on this.
There’s not another alternative. The cat can’t live in a crate. It must need to pee and eat. I fix a litterbox and a meal. I take it in the bedroom and sit it all down, open the crate and leave. Shutting the door behind me. I heard one tiny meow. Awww!
The next morning I peep in. The food is gone. The litter is used. I don’t see a cat.
Later the same day I prepare more food and water. Poke it in the door and leave. Again.
Rinse and Repeat for 4 days.
This is getting old.
Persian needed to assimilate.
I open the door and walk away. I continue to see the litter being used and food being eaten. No cat. I hear a tiny meow occasionally.
It’s been a good month. I’ve seen only glimpses of the cat. It’s a big house. Many hidey-holes.
One day I was sweeping the deck. French doors open. I saw a flash of white. No more food was eaten the litter was not used again.
The cat, A purebred Persian, White silver tipped, blue eyes was gone. Forever.
Guess what her name on her pedigree was?
Precious Memory. Yep. Not even kidding.
Never saw her again.
I realize your cats been gone for years and probably got et by a bear. Anyway, here’s my runaway cat story.
I posted this here before but I had a big black and white cat that was an indoor-outdoor but always hung around the house when he was out. One day he disappeared. Looked for him and left food out for him but no sign. We lived in a somewhat sketchy neighborhood, not far from The 'Hood. I didn’t expect to ever see him again. Over a year later I got a call from a lady wanting to know if I’d like to pick up my cat. At first I thought she was talking about my other cat that was right there with me. Nope, she had my black and white cat! I went over to get him (about two miles) and he looked exactly the same, fat and healthy. The woman that had him had only had him about one day. When I told her how long he had been gone she was shocked. I took him home and he acted like he had never been gone and the other cat barely seemed to notice he was back. Had him many years after, I believe he was around 20 when he died.
Well here’s a sad cat story. Jessie, who lived across the street from us when we moved in, had three cats. One of them disappeared. It was gone for three weeks. At least part of that time it was locked in my storage shed (which wasn’t mine at the time, it was during the time when the house was for sale and no one was living here). It eventually got free, when someone (apparently) looked at the storage shed (I noticed when I looked at the storage shed that it kind of smelled like…cat) and the cat went back home.
The three cats had all been great friends before. But once the lost cat returned home, the other cats did not accept it. They snubbed it, they hissed at it, and it had to be fed separately because the other two wouldn’t let it at the food. They never accepted it again.*
I met Jessie when I was looking for my cats, which I thought had somehow gotten out when we moved. They hadn’t, they had just both found a really, REALLY good place to hide. Cats don’t like moving.
Jessie asked if I would like one of hers, as it no longer got along with her other two. And that’s when I got the story. It was almost like she blamed me, even though at the time it was not MY storage shed.
Cats are strange.
*A few months later she moved. As of that point the cats had still not gotten back together, and she thought, possibly, they might re-bond over moving, but she offered me that cat again. Having found my two, I declined. If that cat’s own former friends didnt’ like it, why would my cats like it? Anyway three cats is too many.
Another sad story:
Back in the '70s I was living in a garden apartment out on Long Island with my cat, Socrates. A coworker had a litter of black lab puppies, and I took one. I figured the cat would get used to him while he was still small. Never happened. The dog ate the cat’s food, and the cat generally hid from him. One day, as I was leaving, Socrates slipped out of the door. He had never been outside before. I went around calling him, even left the door ajar with some cat food just inside (which the dog ate). I went out every day, hiking through the woods, calling the cat. I put up “lost cat” notices. No response. Then a hurricane hit. I knew, if Socrates was still out in the elements, he wouldn’t survive. He never showed up.
Meanwhile, the dog grew and grew and grew. Until one day, I found him near my apartment, with his throat cut. It was probably a neighbor whose loud music I had complained about. I moved out of that place very soon thereafter.
Whew, Beck, I was afraid the story was going to end with the death of your nice friend. I hope he’s alive and well out there.
PS You were a cheerleader? AND a dancer? And you’re tall and slim and leggy with long, blonde hair? I’d settle for being any one of those things!
Poor kitty! Poor Beckdawrek, trying to do the right thing!
In my head, I could hear Susan Raye singing “Precious Memories.”
~VOW
You forgot to say how smart and well read I was.
(Let’s not bring Mathematics into this discussion)
Another shaggy cat tale (from the vault of Becks life):
Mid-daughter(age 10) and Big Wrek went to the market for me. The name of the market was ‘Smittys’. She heard mewing and walked around the building. She found a tiny brown cat shivering and meowing louder than seemed possible. She convinced her Dad it needed to come home with them. He agreed, reluctantly.
They got home. Holy crap that animal stunk. We got her in a bucket of warm soapy water. We changed the water 3 times before we saw a difference. The cat was not a brown tabby at all. She was beige, with a very light orange spot or 3. We treated for fleas and took her to the Vet. She was already spayed. Older than we thought. Just tiny.
The ‘itty bitty Smitty kitty’ (call name Baby) lived for 6 years as an indoor/outdoor cat. She was a sweet addition to our family.
Foundly remembered.