Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: MONDAY, April 4, 1994 TAG: 9404080009
SECTION: EDITORIAL PAGE: A-9 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Monty S. Leith
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
It's not the same.
But the cat is warm. And he snores, which is comfortingly familiar.
Also, his presence accounts for any strange night noises in the house. "Oh," I tell myself reassuringly, "it's just the cat."
I used to try to explain all of our night noises to overnight guests. "That would be the mice," I'd say, describing their particular form of scratching. Other explanations have included the 'possum under the house, the 'possum on the front porch, the snake (thankfully, no longer resident), the fox (and sometimes her dying prey), the screech owl and various household cats: on the windowsill, on the screen door, on the roof.
Now, if we have overnight guests, I say, "Don't worry about any strange noises you hear in the night. It's just the cat."
I like to believe that's true.
This cat, Richard Wilbur, is not so old, but I can't help thinking of him as old anyway. The way he lazes about. The way he needs his evening bowl of milk. The way he lies in my lap, gazing up at me with absolute devotion.
I'm not imagining this. Others have commented on it.
"That cat loves you," they say, some of them with disgust.
It's true.
What they don't know about Wilbur's apparent devotion is that he has no need to lie in my lap expressing affection unless there are others in the house to see it. When it's just he and I, he sleeps on the chair by the television.
Unless, of course, he wants to watch television (he likes, especially, nature shows about birds), in which case he sits on the couch with me. But with me, not on me.
When it's just he and I, he knows that I know he loves me. So why should he put himself out?
Wilbur particularly dislikes my child visitors. When the nephews and niece are around, he sulks on the back porch. He goes out there alone - a place he never visits unless forced to - and curls up on the rug we put there for him soon after he arrived.
He glares. If that doesn't work, he feigns illness. He refuses, flatly and unequivocally, to acknowledge the children. They tempt him with toys, with food, with loving pats on his head. He turns a cold shoulder toward them.
The minute they've left, though, he goes to the toy basket, pulls out the very toy the children were tempting him with, and lays it at my feet.
Yesterday, I made a slipcover for Wilbur's favorite chair. He was ruining the upholstery - shedding all over it. But if it's his favorite, why should I make him change? Hence, the washable slipcover.
It's a very attractive slipcover, if I do say so myself.
Do you think Wilbur has sat on it even once?
Well, once. I put him there. He stayed for maybe two minutes.
The old fart.
I think I'll invite all of the children up for the weekend.
Monty S. Leitch is a Roanoke Times & World-News columnist.
by CNB