THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1997, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, February 9, 1997 TAG: 9702070252
SECTION: CHESAPEAKE CLIPPER PAGE: 02 EDITION: FINAL
COLUMN: RANDOM RAMBLES
SOURCE: Tony Stein
LENGTH: 78 lines
Miz Phyllis and I got a 1997 calendar from the Humane Society of the United States and the January page has a nifty quote: ``Dogs come when they are called. Cats take a message and get back to you.''
How true. Most dogs I have met could work as friendly greeters at Wal-Mart. Most cats could screen reservations at a snooty French restaurant. This is not to knock cats. They are different. Pickier, maybe, but capable of wondrous companionship and quiet affection.
And if you have a feeling for felines, this is an appropriate time. It is national Adopt A Cat Month, and there are plenty in residence at the Chesapeake Animal Shelter. Give them a call at 487-2212 or hustle on over and bring home a friend.
We have had four notable cats in our lives. The first was Cassie, a stray Miz Phyllis rescued from brats poking her with sticks.
You know how cats are supposed to hate water? Apparently nobody told Cassie. She wallowed in her bath like Cleopatra on the Nile. She would go to sleep in the sink and, if you didn't hold her up, squander two or three of the legendary nine lives.
Then there was Fido. Yes, we knew Fido was traditionally a dog name, but this cat frolicked with our dogs so much that he almost added ``Woof'' to his vocabulary. As a matter of fact, he had a large effect on our lives and on the entire city. Phyllis was driving home from church in 1972 when someone in the car ahead of her dropped a kitten out of their car window.
Phyllis gathered up the kitten, took it home and looked in the phone book for a Chesapeake humane society. There wasn't one, so the kitten found a home and Phyllis found a cause. She organized the Chesapeake Humane Society, a thriving group about to enter its 25th year.
After Fido came Baby, remembered at our house as the Siamese from Hell. Baby was deceptively sweet-looking, but I think her purring masked diabolical chuckles. Like the time she found our three dogs asleep in the living room. She gave each a painful bat on the nose and ran like a bandit with a posse close behind.
Then there was the time she decided to drive me semi-nuts. Phyllis was out of town and Baby and I were alone. One night, I hadn't seen her for a while so I called. No Baby. I spent half an hour in a no-luck search and finally sat down to think where else she might be. Suddenly she walked into the room.
Same thing next night. No Baby. Forty-five-minute search this time. Still no Baby. Suddenly she appears. OK, third night, no Baby. I look high and low. No Baby. Finally, I look higher than ever before. There she is, on a closet shelf close to six feet up. Gazing down with an expression that said ``Cheers, dim-wit, you figured it out.'' No one will ever convince me the cat wasn't deliberately hiding. Not to play; to prove who was boss.
Baby developed a habit of suddenly scratching ankles so she wound up with an elderly couple who were willing to risk the match. They later said she was the sweetest cat in the world. Good for her and good for our slowly healing ankle scars.
The last Stein cat was Henry, best and brightest. He was brought to our door after he lost an argument with a car. We took him to a vet named Henry Parker, who gave him an examination and a name. Then we put an ad in the paper and waited for the surely distraught owner of such a handsome cat to call.
No one called, which was good, because by the third day of his stay, I was so fond of him that I probably would have straight-faced lied if the owner had appeared.
Henry was mostly my cat, but his indulgence had a limit. One day, he gave me his special greeting of a combination purr, meow and small leap three times. I was so busy that I ignored him. When I finally finished my business, I went to mend fences. He was sitting in the living room, back to me, tail twitching in a grim, steady, obviously angry rhythm. Only the humblest of apologies restored his usual good nature.
There are two pictures I have of Henry, one mental, the other an actual photograph. The mental picture is of Henry and our little terrier named Smitty cuddled together in the bed they shared. The photograph is of Henry nose to nose with our old beagle named Duke. Dogs and cats need not be enemies if they are members of a patient and caring household.
As I said, if you have a feeling for felines, this is the time to adopt from the city shelter. But only if your feeling is bolstered by the realization that any companion animal is an on-going responsibility.
Remember, cats really aren't smarter than people. They just like to give that impression.