Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: TUESDAY, February 7, 1995 TAG: 9502070057
SECTION: CURRENT PAGE: NRV-2 EDITION: NEW RIVER VALLEY
SOURCE: MELISSA DEVAUGHN
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
Or at least I wasn't until three weeks ago when I became a foster parent to Speck, a spunky, long-haired cat found wandering around a compost pile, starving and cold, after Christmas.
As soon as my landlord showed him to me, I lost all resistance. Opening the door to the bathroom where he was temporarily staying (to avoid my landlord's four other cats), he rolled over on his back to show me a hairy, snow white belly. He playfully batted his paws in the air and meowed.
Then he got up, and with that cool confidence most cats possess, sauntered over to check me out. I could hear him thinking to himself, "Hmm ... I wonder if she'd make a good master?" when really he had no choice in the matter. It was me or the alley, bud, so naturally, he came with me.
It took me nearly two weeks to name the animal - more because I refused to become attached to him than for a lack of suggestions (Al, I thought, for Alaska, since he looks like a little polar bear? Pinky, said my landlord, for the pink nose and lips?) I finally settled on Speck, for the gray specks of fur on his lips and under his chin.
Now that he has a name, I'm pretty much announcing to the world that I am once again a pet owner, something I have resisted since I lost my dog and close companion, Ruby, last spring.
Having grown up with dogs, it has taken some getting used to, having this cat around the house.
I can't take him everywhere with me, like I did with Ruby, who used to ride shotgun in my front seat. I took Speck to the movie store last week and he wailed the entire three-quarters of a mile and back.
At home, he meows constantly, but I don't know why. He pounces on imaginary mice or bugs that only his eyes must see. He eats the dried bread crumbs, orange peels and banana skins in my little compost bowl next to the sink (a habit he hasn't kicked since his alley-cat days).
Last week, he took to climbing into the shower the moment I was out, getting his long fur all wet. I thought maybe he was thirsty - nope, water bowl's all full. He just sits there and watches the drain.
At night, he likes to get up, say, around 3 a.m. to eat his dry food (very loud crunching), then comes back into the bedroom where he jumps onto the bed.
When he purrs, I am lulled back to sleep by the rhythmic cadence of the idling-engine sound coming from his throat. But most of the time, he wants to play.
He starts by crouching down in front of my face, his long whiskers tickling my nose. I turn my head to the right, he climbs to the other side of
the pillow. I turn my head to the left, he goes back. If I lose patience and push him off the bed, he's back within seconds, this time at the top of my pillow, between my head and the wall. Then a tug at my head, and "Ouch!" he's pulled my hair with his teeth.
But for all these minor irritations, Speck is a very nice and affectionate cat.
As I write these words, Speck is lying on my lap, purring softly, watching me type. Every now and then a paw will dart out to catch my fingers, but for the most part, he is content to just lie here and be - be the unique and special creature he has become during his short stay at my house.
When I come home in the evening, it is nice to hear his welcome as he rubs against my legs and follows me into the kitchen. He sleeps by me as I read before bedtime and he stands guard for me as I shower in the morning.
Speck has also taught me to be more tolerant of his species (I just saw "The Lion King"; maybe that has something to do with it, too). I no longer find the book "101 Things to Do with a Dead Cat" funny. I no longer cheer for the mouse when I see a cat in mid-chase.
And while I may never be a true "cat person," Speck, in my opinion, will make a pretty good roommate.
Melissa DeVaughn is the education reporter for the New River Current.
by CNB