by Beth
At the age of 57, I sit here trying to remember my life without a cat – and I can barely manage more than a few months at a time. And while I have loved them all, for so many different reasons, as many as the differences in their personalities, I want to share with you the story of one very special guy.
'Smudgy' came into our lives 25 years ago, on the same day our second child - second son, was born. He has been gone from our lives for about 8 years now - but never from our hearts...
He was the 'keeper' from his mother's first litter - the kittens she was never going to have we so smugly thought before she - and we - were caught off-guard by the neighborhood 'stud'. (Taken to the family vet for neutering, I can still remember my husband shouting into the phone - 'what do you mean, pregnant??!!' - my God! ... for the briefest of moments I thought he had another woman! (He did, but she just happened to be feline...the 'other woman' who always greeted him fresh from the shower by climbing into his lap and standing there with her front paws planted on his chest, and combing his freshly shampooed beard through her teeth, for the water?, the scent of the shampoo? - and I never knew which one of them enjoyed it more...)
And nobody, nothing has ever made me more jealous than my own cats! This man who had never liked cats, had never owned a cat - yet even when we were first dating, and the cat of my life at that time (dear Mittens), while always the affectionate type, would make an absolute fool of herself in the attempt to gain his attention. He would arrive for an evening of a tv movie, popcorn, and company - she would take charge the moment he sat down by draping herself across his shoulders like a living fur-piece, kissing his ear, whispering 'sweet nothings', and actually calling for him after his departure like a love-lorn mistress - to the point one night I can remember asking her if she thought he was her boyfriend or mine??!!
But - back to 'the Smudge' ... he was one of six - of his mother's first litter - and the smallest, lightest silvery-gray ball of fluff - a whisper of color that almost wasn't even there, with eyes the same color as his fur, like somebody's smudged fingerprint, thus the name - but somehow, the one we all (husband, older son (9), and I, all gravitated to - the 'keeper'... We found good homes for all the rest, but this tiny, delicate creature would remain 'ours'. We did have him neutered as early as the vet would do it - but not before his mother was pg again (probably by the same generous gene donor as the first litter - found them good homes too, even a couple of them to families who'd adopted from the first litter! - before finally catching her between pregnancies and getting her neutered - boy!, were we ignorant of feline sexuality or what!?)
Did I say 'tiny - delicate' even ? - in reference to 'the Smudge'? Hah! Within a year he grew to this magnificent specimen of 'what IS that?!' (peoples first reaction on meeting him...) - 24 lbs of pure cat - all muscle, no fat - the vet's first reaction at his 1 yr check-up - 'WHAT have you been feeding him??!! He’s not fat – he’s not overweight – he’s just ... BIG!!'
Two daughters later, he had become the ‘Lord-High Protector’ of the human babies in our household. This actually did happen twice. The day each of the girls was brought home from the hospital, he hung out on the periphery of things, just seeming to bide his time. When, at last, things had quieted down, he approached the bassinet the baby was lying in, and walking on his hind legs, never touching the bed at all, he completely circled it, his nose searching the air for the scent of this new ‘what-is-it’, gently emitting the strangest little chirping sound, and finally turning his head to look at you and ask what ever he was asking just a little louder. Told, ‘it’s ok – go ahead,’ he would lightly as a feather jump into the bassinet, have a full body sniff and sight exploration, jump down and over to me, stand in my lap and kiss me as if to say ‘oh, thank you – you’ve brought me another one!’ He promptly took up residence at the foot of the baby’s crib (yes – in the crib), and would frequently come to the stair landing to call to me when he thought the baby needed me, even when they were not yet enough awake to start crying themselves – he just always knew...
He was the cat who even when he was still bigger than the baby, never offered to bat or scratch a child, even when their explorations of him were not as gentle as his of them. When he had all he was willing to take, he just got out of their reach ... and would sit and watch from some higher perch, with what could be interpreted as the smile of an indulgent ‘Auntie’.
There was the time all the kids plus part of the neighbors’ gang were having a wonderful time in the yard, evidenced by all the laughing, squealing, involved in what ever games they were playing – and a big, but still puppyish, black Lab decided he wanted to be part of the fun (you must know how goofy and playful Labs are around children!?) – and started up the drive into the yard. Suddenly, from out of nowhere appeared ‘the Smudge’!! (And I swear to you, if I had not seen this with my own eyes, I would never believe the telling either...) about 6 feet in front of the Lab, he reared up onto his hind legs, with every single slate-gray hair on his body standing at right angles to his skin (even his tail was HUGE!! He looked at least as big as the Lab, if not bigger!!) - walking on his hind legs, batting the air with his front paws, and growling the most horrible sounds you have ever heard from any living creature – well that dog started back-peddling, and finally turning around, took off down the street ki-yi-ing like he’d been whipped, when the Smudge had never even laid a whisker, let alone a claw, on him!!
Smudgy exited our lives one very cold, snowy winter day – an untimely end to a gloriously devoted life.
My husband, ever the ‘practical’ one, took his body, which I had wrapped in one of Smudgy’s favorite items – an old baby’s ‘receiving blanket’, and said he was going to take him to the town dump – what else could one do in the dead of winter?! I will never forget the look of horror on the face of that son, my high school junior at the time, who shared a birthday with his old friend ... he never raised his voice – just looked so sadly at his father saying ‘the hell you will – you just give him here to me!’ And taking that precious bundle, he proceeded to the backyard, and spent the rest of the day at the end of the yard under the weeping willow, with pick and digging bar, making a hole in the frozen ground, until he deemed it deep enough to hold his friend. He came back in the house only once that day, when it was time – to ask me if I ‘wanted to come’. And together, we laid one of the loves of our lives to rest. I cried – he didn’t ... I think he had spent the whole day working that out – but his action that day is one of the most treasured gifts he could ever possibly give me.