Readers of the 'cuff down through the years will remember mention was made several times of the experiences with cats in the Evans household. Their (the cats') antics mentioned often drew comments from readers who owned cats. There was often a comment about not being fair to dogs. We did adopt a couple of dogs, one of which was with us almost 15 years. And, when our daughter was at home, we went through the usual list of pets, ranging from goldfish to ducks to hamsters and even a turtle.
But cats have always held a special place; they are independent, can fare for a day or two for themselves if necessary. Personally, it was a story I wrote about a cat while I was still in high school and its publication that probably influenced me toward writing and eventually toward Louise and me becoming owners of the Gravette News Herald. This is probably the last 'cuff I'll write about a cat, so bear with me.
We should have named him Lucky. After all, it was lucky he survived the huge open slashes on his head and neck. But we didn't. Remember "Gunsmoke," the weekly Western that was popular back in the days when television programs provided real family entertainment which lacked the themes and language so common today? One of the characters on that show walked with a limp; his name was Chester.
The little kitten the feral mother dropped off at the back door more than a dozen years ago also walked with a limp. Hence, appropriately, his name became Chester. It was probably his mother's instinct that seemed to know the pitiful little fellow would get some help.
It was a miracle Chester survived. But he did. And immediately he settled in to become a visible part of our family.
Chester's mother, a calico cat, which is almost always a female, found her way to our back door several times with her brood of kittens which had arrived somewhere in the nearby woods where she lived. Or perhaps they were moved to a crawl space under a shed in the neighborhood where we would see them after their eyes opened. No one claimed them, but we found homes for several litters of her kittens. We named her Mama Kitty, but we were never able to get close to her.
Every cat owner can recount idiosyncrasies in their pets, traits which endear a human to become the pet's master. Or vice versa. Chester did just that. One of his traits was to crawl up on my lap and, as I pushed back in the recliner, he would walk on my chest, stand there and look into my eyes. Finally, he would collapse and, after much maneuvering, would curl into a fur ball with his head in my hand. His purr would stop and he would remain motionless until I decided it was time to move. Some of you may have shared such an experience.
Chester's other trait was that he was a true "scaredy cat." A ring of the doorbell or the slam of a car door outside would send him under the bed, where he would remain for hours. If outside, he climbed into the rafters of an outbuilding. Later, it would take him several hours to return to normalcy.
Chester adjusted when Mama Kitty, some years later, dropped off another ball of fur. Half of its tail was gone. How he lost it we never knew, but Mama Kitty sensed we would be able to take care of it. After dropping him off, she immediately headed back through the woods. We watched. She suddenly stopped, turned around as if to see that everything was okay and then disappeared into the woods.
Several years later a second miracle occurred. Old and scraggly, Mama Kitty showed up again. There were no kittens. She came close and finally allowed us to pet her while she shared pet signals to her two now-adult offspring. Like Chester and Buddy, we had her neutered so there would be no more litters. Some days later, she disappeared, probably back into the woods which had been her home for so long. She never returned.
We vowed there would be no more pets.
Fast forward several years.
While we were out looking at the postage stamp garden, we noticed two adult felines, which appeared to be twins, looking toward us from outside the fence. We ignored them. Remember, there were to be no more pets. Later we noticed them several times, and once they ventured through the fence. A rock, tossed in their direction, being careful not to hit one, sent them back into the timber.
Days passed without a sign of the two until suddenly, as we walked through the garden, we noticed one of them had returned. We ignored him. He ignored our slight and moved closer. It was then we noticed one of his eyes was missing. What fate befell his twin we never knew. But you know the rest of the story.
We named him Jack -- one eye, you know. He survived his trip to the vet and, in time, settled in with Chester and Buddy. He would stalk Chester, who would chase Buddy, who immediately would get his bluff on Jack. The tomcat trio continued to enjoy their game, pausing to eat, side by side, or stretch out in the sun on warm days. A call, first to Chester, then Buddy, then Jack, would bring them running to be petted. All was well -- until a few weeks ago. Chester began to lose weight. He quit eating his cat food. We noticed he could still drink, so we began feeding him a liquid diet. He gained strength and began scampering around like a kitten. He even resumed climbing on my chest to stare into my eyes. His plaintive look seemed to say, "Can't you help me?"
Finally, it became evident he could barely swallow liquids. A trip to the vet revealed the growth in his throat. We knew what we had to do. We buried him under the sweet gum tree.
For a couple of weeks Buddy and Jack seemed to wander, aimlessly, nosing into every corner of the house and sniffing here and there, something we never observed them doing before. They both would perch on the deck railing and stare out into the yard. Were they missing and looking for their pal? It's a question that makes a person wonder.
Today, when we call Buddy and Jack, sometimes we slip and call Chester first. Habits are hard to break. But we have reaffirmed, and this time really mean it, there will be no more pets.
Postscript: It's sad when people tire of pets and drop them off to fend for themselves. Many, if not most of them, are unable to survive and often become victims of other animals. An answer to the continual problem is to have your pets neutered, find them a home or take the animals to a shelter for adoption. That is the humane thing to do.
Dodie Evans is the former owner and editor of the Gravette News Herald. Opinions expressed are those of the author.
Editorial on 03/25/2015