I had a message from my sister the other day. She claims that she reads my musings to her cat, and she thinks that he would like a musing about cats. No, my sister hasn’t lost it, she just likes cats.
The “likes” most likely started many years ago when we were both kids. (She’s younger). We were living way up on North Hill in my grandmother’s house in Sandy Lake, Pa. One day a white cat with some black spots came by, and my mother started feeding it. One thing led to another, and we had a house cat. It really became our cat when my mother fed it some calf’s liver, and it wouldn’t eat anything else. Cats know what they want and will stay in a huff, if they don’t get it.
Since I was the eldest child, I was able to name the cat. I thought the name I picked out was pretty classy. It was Thomas Richard Evans! Of course, everyone just called him Tom, but the thought was there. My sister’s cat who is scheduled to have this read to him is called Ollie. I do not know how she came up with that name as she never informed me. Thus, I am assuming the it is a short name for Oliver. Oliver was a great French hero so there is a good deal of class there, if one looks closely. Tom, as most cats are, was very particular. For example, when we finished dinner and came into the living room, he would wait until I sat down. Then, he would jump on my lap. He wouldn’t sit on anyone else’s lap. He most likely loved the classy name I gave him. Tom was fairly old and one day he wandered off and we never saw him again.
A few years later, we had a golden Persian cat. (By the way, he was not in a sleeper cell from Iran, although he did snooze quite a bit.) Somebody in the family named him Bobo. I am not certain who, but I doubt that it was me. Bobo is not a real elegant name. Bobo had some idiosyncrasies. One was that he would wait every morning until my sister came down the stairs from the bedroom. He would hide close to the wall so that she did not see him. When she was all the way down, he would run and bite her ankles. Makes you wonder why my sister likes cats, but she does. Ollie is much more of a gentleman as were her other cats. Bobo was a male cat. He started catting around so much that when we moved, we could not find him. Undoubtedly, there were a number of little Bobo’s to keep him company.
The Blond in the house and I have never had a cat. We were sort of substitute parents at one time. I was drafted shortly after we were married. I was sent to Ft. Gordon, Ga, and we rented a small apartment in Augusta. All of the other residents were military. One couple had a nice fat cat named Minka. Minka started coming to our unit, and The Blond got to like him. Regrettably, Minka was a male cat. He developed the Bobo syndrome, and we wouldn’t see him for long periods. That made The Blond angry, and she said no cats for us.
What we did have were dogs. The last one was a very lovable Golden Retriever named Sheba. Sheba had a varied life. We bought her in Minnesota. The Blond wanted a small dog. I saw an ad for Golden Retrievers for sale, and a claim that there was a runt of the litter available. We went and the owner opened the door and all the puppies rushed out. Once everybody saw them, there was no question we would be getting one. She was a handful as a puppy which The Blond would remind me. She became part of the family. We moved with her from Minnesota to New Jersey, and then to Florida. That is quite a temperature change. She passed away in Florida, and our youngest son still remembers her birthday in June some 35 or so years later.
I trust that Ollie is happy now and understands this column!
Barry Evans is a columnist for Villages-News.com