HOW I MET MY CAT Delilah By Traci Rash
From cats, I have learned the beauty of giving pure pleasure. And that cats smile.
M
y orange Tabby kitten came to me in a brown cardboard box from a pet store. She was a gift from my husband after an argument. He returned with dinner in a plastic bag and a kitten in a cardboard box. Sounds cheesy, I know, and it was so uncharacteristic of him. It remains one of the most beautiful things anyone has ever done for me; like a bouquet of flowers that lasts for twenty years. This is likely the worst scenario in which to get a pet. After a fight. As a gift. From a pet store. But she and me, we’ve been together for thirteen years now, and this is our story. I can’t believe it took me hours to name her. She was a companion for my seven-year-old Himalayan, Sampson. Beautiful, patient Sampson now had his nemesis, the fiery haired Delilah. As a kitten, she would gobble up her food and head straight to his bowl. He would curl his big paw into a fist and tap her on the head at her imposition. Thunk, thunk, thunk. Thunk, thunk, thunk, thunk. She would squint her eyes and put her ears back, incredulous, but he taught her manners in his gentle way. They grew to a healthy tolerance and provided companionship to one another. I had hoped they might love each other, but I don’t think they ever did. Much like my husband and I.
Years later, after my divorce, Sam passed away at seventeen. I had been thinking it was time I put him down, and he had been sleeping so soundly of late that I thought I had roused him from death many a time. That morning, I awoke to a prince frozen in sleep in front of his dish. I called in sick for work, wrapped him in his blanket, put him in my carpetbag, and embarked on a weeping hour-long train trip to my Mom’s house. Anyone who has buried an old pet understands that journey. I buried Sampson in my Mom’s backyard—the very backyard I had been married in—next to her dog, Buddy. I am an animal lover. Indiscriminately, I love dogs and cats, albino axolotls, and exotic goldfish. But I understand cats. I was nine when I made a bed in my bedroom closet for my pregnant cat, Mindy, from an oversized shoebox. She gave birth in the middle of the night. I don’t even think I woke my
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F ALL/ WINTER 2013/ 14