MY TALKING CATS
A Strange but True Tale
As I was drafting yet another blog about our corrupt former president, pointing out how he projects his own vile behavior onto his opponents, I thought “Why do I continue to lend energy to this bozo, when he has already self-destructed?” And besides, I’m clearly preaching to a congregation that agrees with me. So today I offer my readers something entirely different: my version of a silly cat video, the true story of my talking cats.
First, for those who don’t know me well, I have by choice lived most of my adult life alone. I have enjoyed relationships with some wonderful women over the years, but few have moved in with me. One of them was a creative artist who called herself A.J. A.J. brought her cat, a large female domestic shorthair named Pan. Pan was an elegant cat, clean, quiet, and no trouble at all. A few years earlier, one of my daughters had given me a tiny kitten I named Samantha. Sam was a mongrel but carried the traits of a Maine Coon and eventually grew quite large also. Compared to Pan, Sam was a tramp; full of fun and always getting into trouble.
Sam and Pan never became close, but always seemed to be in the same room together, albeit on opposite sides. Pan clearly looked upon Sam with disgust, while Sam learned to clean herself by watching Pan from across the room. Sam loved to be held and petted. She was the runt of her litter who, until she outgrew it, would sleep in a cubbyhole in my desk while I worked. Pan had been mistreated as a kitten and could not tolerate being picked up or dozing on anyone’s lap.
One day A.J. decided to teach our cats to talk. She had read that cats could be taught to mimic and perhaps understand the meaning of a few words. As I recall, she managed to teach them five or six words, but only two stuck: out and now. These are both words she chose because they fall within the range of a cat’s normal voice. When Sam or Pan spoke, though, there was no question what they were saying and what they wanted. When they said now, it was delivered with a sense of urgency. When they said out, they emphasized the hard T, as in ouT!. When they were hungry, they would sit in front of the refrigerator and say “now”. When they wanted to go on the deck, they would sit by the slider and say “out”.
A.J. eventually moved on but left Pan with me and Sam while she explored a more nomadic life. About the same time, the cats and I moved to Cape Cod where we lived quietly alone together for many years. Neither cat lost her vocabulary, though, and they continued to speak clearly when they wanted to eat or go outside. After retiring early from full-time work, I joined a team of economic consultants in a position that required frequent travel of a week or more. By then both cats were getting old and needed regular attention so I would leave them at a kennel while I was away. They, of course, hated the disruption of our quiet routine.
My favorite kennel was a small facility run by a group of women who loved cats and gave them the care and attention they needed. On our first visit there, I brought Sam and Pan in their separate travel boxes, which I set down while getting them registered for their stay. Both of them hated riding in the car and were loudly complaining over and over, “ouT! ouT! ouT!”. The woman at the front desk thought they were hysterical and called the entire staff to come meet my talking cats. That’s when I knew I had found a great place to board them while I was out of town.
Eventually the best of pets move on, leaving us with deep holes in our hearts. Pan was 18 when her kidneys failed. I knew she was close to the end when she kept asking to be held and would sleep in my lap for hours while I worked. Only three weeks after Pan went, Sam followed at age 15. I have never wanted another pet, although my home later became the favorite bed and breakfast spot for my daughters’ cats while they travelled. And no, I never tried to teach their cats to talk.
(Top photo: Sam as a kitten; middle photo: Pan was a very serious cat that never smiled; and last photo: Sam, the tramp, chillaxing on the deck.)