To Be A Cat

Oh, to be a cat.

To spend a life sitting in windows and watching the squirrels at play. To sleep in a circle of sunlight, climb the Christmas tree once it's fully decorated, to have meals catered and a clean sandbox each morning. To be coaxed and sweet talked and spoiled, to be forgiven no matter how much mischief I might cause. To have a small dog to chase and torment and siblings to conspire against. To be admired, adored, and yet still fully armed. These are the thoughts I see in the eyes of my cats and hear when I imagine what their voices might sound like, these independent and elegant creatures, each one such an integral part of my life. The dogs beg for attention, strive to please, protect and serve. The cats simply take their lives and comforts for granted. Oh, to be a cat.

I began with just one in the early 70's, a tiny grey and white tiger called Tiffany, who soon grew to a substantial, placid, and sweet natured animal. One evening, sitting in the one chair we had at the time and working a cross stitch Christmas ornament, I got up and left for just a moment - hardly gone for a breath, it seemed - but it was time enough for my beautiful cat to swallow the needle and the attached thread. Out of our minds with guilt and panic, we rushed her to Angell Memorial where an xray confirmed our worst fears - improbable as it was, she had indeed swallowed needle and thread, both rested securely inside her while she appeared her usual serene self, if a bit puzzled by all the attention. There was more bad news to come - the needle, the young vet assured us, was not the problem since digestive acids would break it down in no time at all. The thread, however, might not dissipate, could in fact, tangle her insides and basically strangle something essential. We were to watch her closely at all times and bring her back at the first sign of distress - the surgery might not be needed, he took pains to tell us, but if it was, it was imperative that it be done at once.

It was a rocky and stressed out week. We watched her every move, sleeping and awake, stalked her to and from the litter box and hovered over every meal. If she coughed or sneezed, we jumped for the car keys and the night she made rabbit chasing noises in her sleep, we were halfway out the door before we realized she'd been dreaming.

After several days of nearly suffocating her with attention, we returned to Angell Memorial and a second exam and xray, after which the vet pronounced her thread free and healthy as a proverbial horse. He was not able to say the same for either of us and strongly recommended less worry and a good night's sleep.

I had never imagined this kind of attachment to a cat, didn't suspect it was the first step on the feline road of no return. I didn't know it then, but my life had subtly changed direction, slightly away from people and slightly toward animals. And I've never taken a single backward step.

Oh, to be a cat.