Big sweet Mel is new to the shelter. He's a handsome red tabby, a medium hair freckle faced boy, shy but lovey once he's coaxed out from hiding.He's enjoying my vigorous head to tail pets when we're interrupted by loud voices. A group of adults, all speaking loudly in a language I can't identify, something eastern European, maybe. Whatever they speak, it's not cat-attuned – they're way too boisterous for the comfort level at the shelter.
All at once, like some late 90s flash mob, two or three of them open condo doors and walk in to greet the cats. This is not supposed to happen. There's a sign in front, as well as a small eye level request on each condo door, saying you're not allowed to go in unless accompanied by a volunteer or staff member.
Admittedly, the signs are only in English, and some of them have been washed a little blurry. But these folks weren't even closing the doors behind them as they called back and forth across the hallway. Mel hid and I stood up, but a staffer darted in even faster and shooed people back out of the condos.
The cats didn't appear all that bothered. Venus had an almost eye rolling "what next" expression as she gazed down from the top of her perch.
Anyway, back to Mel. The photo doesn't do justice to how pretty and how darn red he is. He reminds me of Sam, my childhood piano teacher's cat. Think of that, a piano teacher's cat – hanging around the house while stranger children came and banged on a loud musical instrument. He was a pretty cool customer.
This was long ago and far away, in an era of questionable behavior. Think Dads driving mammoth cars with no seatbelts and open cans of beer, Moms smoking while they served bacon and eggs, kids not driven around like overscheduled CEOs but sent outside to play with vague instructions to be home by dinnertime.
The teacher had a little recital for students. Picture a bunch of geeky piano lesson kids who don't know each other sitting around afterwards eating cookies and Kool-aid. The teacher's ice breaking entertainment? She made little slippers out of paper and rubberbands and put them on Sam's feet. Sam bounced around the room frantic and comical while everybody laughed.
I don't condone the action, wouldn't recommend it, wouldn't laugh now. But when I see a vivid red cat, that decades old bad behavior still comes to mind.
2 comments:
Dear Anne,
I read your lovely and eloquent tribute on SF Gate this evening. I lost my friend Natasha after 15 years in December of 2005, and once I leave SF after 30 years, hope to make a new feline friend, now that I've allowed myself to grieve for over 2 years. An acquaintance of mine I heard about waited 10 or 15 years! Just wanted to thank you for this heartwarming article. Sending love, from another cat-fan Lauren
Hi Anne,
We lost our beloved Rottweiler dog to cancer in January. After the diagnosis (they couldn't do anything for it) we were able to bring her home for almost 3 weeks of wonderful deeply appreciated days until, as you say, she told us it was time. I have never been so sad in my whole life.
I know cat and dog people don't always see things the same way, but your essay really captured the cat version of the many tiny memories and details that I too sat up writing as my dearest friend slept. Thank you for this. Jean S.
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