It’s funny — when I was a boy, I was a dog person and didn’t much care for cats. Moe was a German Shepherd who came into the lives of my brother and I when we were about 12. We both rode our bicycles to a house that had been converted into a cafeteria where we caught the school bus every morning. Every afternoon, when we got home, Moe would look at us expectantly and if either of us said, in a very flat voice, “Do you want to go for a ride?”, Moe would come unglued, jumping up and down and prancing about in excitement. Off we would go, with frequent stops so that Moe could jump into the fields surrounding our house and chase rabbits and God knows what else. He would come back, tongue hanging down to the ground and run to the nearest canal for a drink and a cooling bath. Then, off he’d go again. Moe lived to be about 5 years old – he died from the treatment for heartworm. In those days, the treatment was strychnine, I believe, and he was too badly infested with heartworms to be able to survive the poison. I don’t know that heartworm was all that well-diagnosed in those days. Of course, we didn’t have much money and couldn’t afford regular vet checkups, either.

Those childhood experiences (there were other dogs and cats, of course) somehow didn’t translate into a pet of my own until much later in life. I’ve had 5 cats in the last 10 years. Two were strays, one of which died suddenly (there is an interesting story about that one, too!) and the other probably got killed by dogs. Six years ago, an ordinary olive-colored tabby came into my life. He was part Siamese, I was told, which might explain why he cried so much on the way home. He nearly drove me nuts with his incessant cries and he is still a very vocal cat! He is also very smart, another trait of Siamese, or so I am told. One night, I was sitting in my chair in the living room, reading a book, when I heard the door handle turn.

Startled, I looked towards the door, for I had heard no footsteps or any indication that anyone was approaching the house. I was amazed to see the lever handle turn down and then, after a few more attempts, in came Squawk (yep – I told you he was a vocal cat!). The door is a little bit out of plumb, so once he pulled the door handle down and leaned against the door a bit, the door opened. From then on, he pretty much came in whenever he pleased. If I didn’t want him to come in, I had to lock the door and then listen to his complaints when he couldn’t come in! I had a dearly loved orange cat for about five years who learned from Squawk how to open the door from the outside and the inside. Squawk never has figured out how to open the door so he can go outside, but Sneaky put his paw under the door after pulling the handle down and pulled the door open so he could go out. He was an amazingly friendly and gentle cat who I greatly miss.

Recently, a friend gave me a female orange tabby. Did you know that 90% of orange tabby cats are male? And that 90% of orange tortoiseshell cats are female? This girl was skinny as a rail and needed lots of food and love, which she got plenty of. Now, she is fat and sassy. I was afraid that Squawk would not like her but he adjusted to her presence rapidly and now they are a real pair. Kit Kat (that’s her name and also my favorite candy bar!) hasn’t learned the door trick and I’m not sure that even if she does she is big enough to stretch high enough to reach the door handle. This afternoon, I fed Squawk about 4 p.m., his usual feeding time, and after a while, he came to me, telling me that he wanted to go out. I let him out and looked for Kit Kat, as she usually comes for food at the same time. No Kit Kat. I went back to what I was doing and then, about 5:30, I looked for her again. Still no Kit Kat. Oh, well. Around 6 p.m., I heard the door handle being pulled down and went to investigate. Squawk was on one side of the living room and Kit Kat was busy chowing down at the food dish! I can’t help but think that Squawk went out in the woods and told Kit Kat that it was time to eat. Kit Kat, not being able to open the door, asked Squawk to open the door so that she could eat. Squawk, being the gentleman that he is, obliged. So there I stood, amazed, looking at Squawk and Kit Kat. Squawk then got up, ambled to the back door, and asked to be let out.

Shortly, Kit Kat finished and wandered into the room where I was. She groomed herself and looked contented. I heard the door handle again and here comes Squawk again, crying at me. I picked him up, thinking he wanted pats, and walked into the living room. The food dish was empty, so I thought maybe Squawk was instead telling me that Kit Kat wanted more food. I went to the food bin, got a handful, and put it down on the plate. Kit Kat came running over and proceeded to demolish that food also. Squawk, contented that he had gotten food for his buddy, settled into my lap for an extended petting session. After awhile, he had had enough, so he jumped down and sat at the back door again, waiting to be let out.

First, he lets Kit Kat in so that she could eat and then he comes to me, telling me that she needs more food.

Aren’t cats amazing? Or, perhaps I should say, aren’t pets amazing??