Flickr User Tasumi 1968
While doing some research into family matters and becoming totally frustrated and stuck at a dead end, I called a social worker that I thought might be able to help.
At one time, she and I had a business-social relationship but, as it happens, I hadn't spoken with her in close to 20 years. But the minute we heard each other's voices and started chatting, those long years quickly melted away. At the end of the conversation, for a reason that still eludes me, she began talking about one of her cats. She had no idea that cats were my passion, or that I no longer am an active social worker who underwent a career change and am now writing about pets.
Her kitty, Mr. Piggy (named in deference to his rather plump physique), is a black and white fluffy male, who hangs out in her neighborhood. For the past two years, he occasionally drops by for a proffered luxurious plate of white meat tuna, or some tasty scraps of rare roast beef. If he is so inclined he visits with her for a few minutes, but once his appetite is satiated, and he’s content with the touch of her loving strokes on his soft, long fur, he makes a bee-line for the door. My friend suspects the reason for his hasty retreats is to visit more of her neighbors in hopes of adding some variety for his discerning palate.
After we ended our call, I got to thinking that while there are those cats that enter into our lives as a permanent family member (with all its attendant rights and privileges), we occasionally encounter a remarkable kitty who may just be passing through, or checking out if our digs are sufficiently suitable as a long term residence.
The conversation with my old friend brought back a memory of a time, years ago, when we lived in a wooded area in New York. One sunny afternoon while sunbathing on my porch, I experienced a rather unexpected close encounter with a huge black cat, which in reality more resembled a miniature black bear. His muscles that rippled with every step he took were easy to see through his short, coarsely textured coat. He was an extremely outgoing feline, rubbing up against me, and purring. I translated this behavior as “Hey lady, can you spare some food?”
In response to his request, I quickly grabbed a can of cat food, and a dish of cool water. The refreshments quickly disappeared, and ultimately so did the cat. But the next day there he was appearing on my doorstep, once again.
Every day, around noon, the black cat came to call! I named him Dunstan (Scottish for “out of the woods”). And as soon as I discovered Dunstan was a tom-cat, to prevent more little Dunstans from flooding the neighborhood, arrangements were immediately made to have him neutered. Of course he was invited as an overnight house-guest to recover in comfort in our downstairs bathroom.
I will never forget the big black cat whose purrsonality was so endearing. Stay tuned for some of the exciting adventures we shared with Dunstan over the years he deigned to spend with us.
Tell us about your experiences with a stray kitty that melted your heart in a comment.