Strange Notations From a Laborious Life

 My sister and I  bought a house in late 1996, just up the road from my parents. We were very pleased with our little three bedroom duplex, built on a vacant block where I played as a child. It was a quiet battle-axe block type street and most of the homes were built in a similar design to ours although some were different. A nice street and I enjoyed living in it.

 Some time after we moved in, I can’t remember exactly how long it was, a beautiful Manx cat turned up on our front door step. He had a little friend with him, a tan coloured cat which looked a little like a Siamese but time and memory is playing tricks on me so I really can’t be sure. There is an old maxim that you don’t own a cat, it owns you and that is very true in the case of these two fellows. They soon made themselves right at home.

At first, although as a rule I love animals, I wasn’t keen on inviting these two interlopers into our house let alone our lives. Owning a cat is like getting involved in a relationship which you know is unhealthy and is ultimately very hard to extricate yourself from. I ordered that they must stay outside and at first this is the way it was although my sister bought them a basket and it was funny to return home from an outing or to walk out the door first thing in the morning to see the two of them curled up in it, huddling together for warmth and comfort. 

 The little tan cat had a weepy eye and appeared a little unhealthy. These two had been living on the street for sometime so it wasn’t a surprise that one of them at least wasn’t in the best shape. Our little tan friend soon disappeared as cats are prone to do at times. Who knows where they go to die? Do they know it is time? Or, to paraphrase a famous song, did,”curiosity kill the cat”? We never found out.

 That left our Manx friend alone to face the world by himself. He was a grey coloured cat, built high in the rear end like a hot rod and of course he had no tail, the major distinguishing feature of the breed. My sister sourced from others in the street that he had been owned by an old lady across the road who had died and been forced to fend for himself, abandoned by those who should have been responsible for him. His name was Wow Wow and we soon found out why. At first sight in the morning or on return from outside errands he would assuredly greet you you with a meow that certainly sounded like “Woooow”! Again and again! It was no wonder his name had stuck.

 As Wow Wow was a Manx cat with a bobtail he soon simply became known as “Bob” although we still called him Wow occasionally.

 One day we returned home to find Bob had gotten himself into trouble somewhere and a huge gash had been opened over his eye. Matted blood and other weepy fluid gave the wound an impressively gory look. He didn’t appear to have been hit by a car as the rest of him was fine. Perhaps he had been kicked? In fact it looked ominously like he had been hit with an instrument and not wanting to take a chance that the culprit was still around waiting for him, we finally took Wow in. And he never left!

 Wow Wow, or Bob as he was now more commonly known, soon took an authoritarian role in the house like a dictator who has seized power through sleight of hand. Luckily for me at this point, my sister was the main object of his desire, demands for fresh food coming many times a day, sleep impossible due to the wants and needs of a cat who believed he had the right to walk over you literally and figuratively during the night.

 But he was a sweet boy and after my sister moved on I was left to look after him myself and in many ways, and I know this will sound silly to some but perhaps not to others, he became my best friend. Who knows if cats feel that sort of emotion but he certainly gave the impression of wanting to be with you.  Unfortunately it seemed that he wanted to hang with you all the time!

 I would return home from work at night and he would be waiting at the window, peering through vertical blinds layered in cat hair, peering out into the night, looking for my car. He would run to the door, loudly “wowing” as he came and, once I was indoors, he would head for his plate where a day’s worth of cat food was already piled high but of course, as it was now stale, he would expect the plate to be refilled.

 After a few minutes he would be looking for me, coming into my room as I stripped down from my work gear and into pyjamas or more casual wear. I would watch television and soon enough he was on my lap, kneading my thighs, sticking his claws into my skin, oblivious to the pain he was causing me. Finally, he would lay down, nestling as deeply as he could, often between my legs, causing me great difficulty any time I needed to move.

 Accessing the computer was no different. Soon he would be on my computer desk, sitting on the keyboard so I would have to pick him up and lay him in my lap as I surfed the net, making what should have been an enjoyable experience one that was less comfortable than I desired.

 Eventually he would get sick of me and go to sleep on the couch which would then require me to sneak off to bed, lest I wake him. If he came to bed at the same time as me he would invariably want to get under the blankets and cuddle up as close to me as he could, leaving me with a mouth full of cat hair as I tried to fall asleep. If I managed to get away without him noticing, the reprieve would be short lived. Sometime after retiring, obviously aware that I had skipped off without him, he would jump off the couch and I would hear his paws padding their way through the house to the foot of my bed. There would be a slight hesitation as he tried to gather whether or not I was there and then a jump onto the bed. I would feel the wet nose on my face and if I tried to ignore him and turn my back he would soon walk over my pillow and with it, my head to get to his desired position, snuggled up under the blankets, against my chest. Ah, the life of a spoilt cat.

 And yes, I did try to close the door at times but he was too smart for that. There was enough knocking and “wowing” done at the door to ensure he wasn’t kept out for long!

 Of course time goes by and catches up with all of us and Bob was no exception. He was an adult cat when he came to live with me so I only had him for ten years but what a time it was! It was sad to see him in his last year, his body failing him as the life ebbed out. He was feeling the cold right down in his bones and he would sit at the opening for the ducted gas and let the warm air blow on his chest whereas during most of his life with us he had hated our ducted gas heating and did his utmost to steer clear of it.

 Eventually, cancer claimed him and we did what all good pet owners do and put him out of his misery although I am sure he would have wanted to stay with me as long as he could. But it was time.

 It is amazing the effect animals can have on us and Bob was one of those “once in a lifetime” pets which you hear people go on about. He was a very special personality and imposed himself and his will upon everyone he met, forcing them to love him as he loved them.

 My abiding memory of him is watching as he walked through a neighbour’s front yard on a cloudless and gorgeous winter’s day, pausing every now and again to smell the flowers which grew prodigiously in their garden. A cat who obviously enjoyed the beauty of life.

 I have some pictures of him in my room and some of his ashes in a pot on the shelf above where I am typing now. I think of him now and again and still miss him terribly. He was “a cat in a million” and won’t be forgotten any time soon by those lucky enough to have had their lives enriched by his presence in it.

 Rest in peace Bob.