Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, February 1, 1993 TAG: 9302010237
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A9 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: MONTY S. LEITCH
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
MORE THAN A CAT AN OLD FRIEND GOES QUIETLY
ABOUT 13 years ago, on a miserably cold spring night, I found a kitten in our driveway. Such a tiny kitten she'd still fit in one hand.I carried her down to the house, named her Carrie Chapman Catt, and introduced her around. She caught and ate a mouse half her size (which greatly intimidated the older cat already living with us), and settled in. Three weeks ago, while sleeping on the sunny front porch, she died.
Carrie could be a real pain. She didn't meow; she whined. Timid little passive-resistant "never mind me" sounds that demanded attention. When she sat on a lap, she worked her claws endlessly, sometimes drawing blood even through layers of clothes. And she needed a lap whenever she was in the house. Some nights she'd circle the room a hundred times, going from my lap to my husband's, mine to his, mine to his, each of us pushing her aside irritably, saying, "Who rattled your chain?" Finally, she'd give up and make her nest on the couch.
She could be endearing as well, though, snuggling onto my feet for an afternoon nap, or needing a lap at just the same moment I neeeded a cat on mine.
I called her my Skitty Kitty, because she cared so little for people she didn't know. When guests entered the house, she took refuge under the piano, behind the books in the library, or on top of the washing machine. After 13 years, I knew all her hiding places.
Her timidity arose, I think, from poor eyesight. She wasn't always sure what stood before her and so, just to be on the safe side, she skittered away. If the mystery guest wasn't too loud, she'd sometimes return. Demanding a lap. Demanding a little scratching behind the ears.
I once saw her out in the field, nose to nose with a fox, trying to figure out, "friend or foe?" They consorted in this manner for a while, and then went their separate ways. She occasionally "entertained" male guests, despite the futility of their actions, and I know for a fact she included snakes in her outdoor diet, because I once saw one writhing in her mouth.
Despite many invitations she wouldn't enter my office, but she liked to sleep on the step in front of the door. That spot catches the afternoon sun, and I think a little of the heat from inside must have leaked out onto her back. I still catch myself hesitating, just a beat, when I open the office door, to give Carrie time to yawn and move out of the way.
Of course, she's not there anymore. But sometimes I think I see her. Around the yard, around the office, around the house. When I come downstairs in the morning, I still start toward the front door, to check for her on the porch, to let her in and give her a bowl of milk.
It embarrasses me a little to be grieving so. After all, she was just a cat. But everyone whom I've told of her loss has grasped my hand and said, sincerely, "Oh, I'm so sorry!" It's something we all know, although it may embarrass these others just a little bit, too; but a cat of 13 years is more than just a cat. And I miss her.
\ AUTHOR Monty S. Leitch is a Roanoke Times & World-News columnist.