---For Horsefeathers, because Andy reminds me of Tommy---
I grew up without pets because of horrendous allergies. My brother had snakes first, including a rather large boa constrictor. He would sometimes put the snake in my bed (claiming that it had escaped) where it would poop. This annoyed me greatly and was a source of hilarity to my brothers and father. My mother, at least, made my brother change the sheets and wash the dirty ones. Ha =)
The boa constrictor was very useful for draping around my neck when I would walk to Third Avenue at night to get cigarettes, though. NO ONE bothered me. Ever. Eventually, though, the snake got too big, and my mother gave it to the Bronx Zoo. Then my brother got an iguana, a rather peaceful creature. It got kicked out of college for smoking pot. My brother was allowed to remain, but the iguana had to return home to live with my parents. I was living in Boston, then, having graduated from college myself. I lived in Back Bay and worked for a money manager downtown. Life was pretty good. And then....(please follow below the fold)
I went to Italy with my mother, and, long story short, met a man and fell in love. We got engaged, then unengaged. I broke it off two months before the wedding.
On what would have been the weekend of my wedding, I returned to my apartment in Boston after being with my family in New York. The train had been delayed, and it was about 2 am when I got home. My apartment had never seemed so lonely before. So...empty, like my heart.
I decided that I needed a cat.
I called my allergist (who began treating me at age 3) first thing in the morning, and said, "I am getting a cat." He said, "Oh, no, you're not. You of ALL people cannot have a cat." I said, "Well, I am getting one, so you need to tell me what kind would be best for me." He sighed heavily and said, "Black cats are the least allergenic. And it must be short-haired."
Then I called my landlord, and said, "I am getting a cat." He said, "Nope, no cats allowed. Absolutely positively no cats." I said, "Fine. I'll break my lease." He sighed, and said. "Ok. No female cats. No kittens. ONLY an adult male cat." I said, "Thank you!"
Then I went to work, and announced that I was getting a cat. I called every cat adoption place in the phone book and asked, "Do you happen to have a black, short-haired, adult male cat?" And, oh frabjous joy, the MSPCA (Massachusetts Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, in Jamaica Plains) had one!
I explained that I might be a wee bit late back from lunch, and took off on the T. I arrived at the MSPCA and said that I had called about a cat. I walked into a large room, and saw the cutest tiny grey and white kittens. I picked one up, and it snuggled under my chin. I immediately broke out in huge, itchy hives. And then a woman came running up to me and said, "Are you BadKitties?" I said that I was, and she said, "Your landlord called. He said 'no kittens.' We have Tommy for you!"
All the other cats and kittens were sharing cages. Except for Tommy. He had his own cage. I bent down to look at him, and he arched his back, hissed, and spat at me. I squeaked, "Ack!!" and jumped back. The helpful lady said, "Oh, you'll love Tommy. He's a real sweetie." Tommy growled. I paled and said that I'd take him. He was put into a cardboard carrier, and I went to the desk to pay the fee. When I was done, and picked him up to leave, he jumped inside the box, the bottom gave way, and he took off like a rocket. I stood at the desk, bemused, and he was brought to me in a Pet Taxi. I said that I'd bring it back, and she said, "Oh, no, you can keep it! It's a gift!"
I brought him back to my office, where Rebecca immediately bonded with him. He actually purred for her! I said, "How did you DO that?" She replied, "I love cats. I have three." I said, "I have never been near one in my life before now." She said, "Oh, don't worry, you'll get along." Before returning home, I bought a litter box, litter, a bag of dry food, and bowls, plus a collar, a leash and a few toys.
I put the litter box in the bathroom, filled it, filled the bowls with food and water, and arranged the toys in a pile. Then I took a deep breath and opened the door of the pet carrier. Tommy stayed in, glaring at me. I was gobsmacked. Suppose he NEVER came out? Why did he hate me so much? I sat on the floor and cried. This cat thing was a failure. I had made a HUGE mistake. And now I was responsible for an enormous, scary, black cat. Who didn't like me AT ALL.
I decided to ignore him, and had dinner. He stayed in the carrier. I did the dishes. He stayed in the carrier. I bent down to look at him. He glared. I shrank back, and went to bed. He never came in.
In the morning, I got up, and went to the kitchen. The carrier was empty, and so was the food bowl. Tommy was nowhere to be seen. I called him a few times, but he never showed up. I had to go to work, so I filled his food bowl again, and left.
When I got home that night, I put on a denim skirt, opened a can of tuna, and sat on the floor in the kitchen. Tommy suddenly appeared. I waited. He approached the tuna, and started to eat it. Then he walked over to me. We stared at each other, and he crawled on to my lap. I tentatively stroked his back, and he stayed in my lap for a few minutes more.
He eventually began sleeping on my head, to which I objected, as I would awaken to find my eyes nearly swollen shut. I finally got him to sleep against my chest, and I would take Benadryl every night. Tommy was a great help in getting me up every morning. If I didn't immediately get out of bed to shut off the alarm, he would hit me on the nose until I did.
One beautiful summer day, I thought it would be nice to take Tommy for a walk. I had never seen anyone walking a cat before, but thought they probably just let their cats laze about the house all day. So I attached the leash to his collar, and off we went. We got to the park without incident, I took off the leash, and then Tommy suddenly bolted into a bush. I crawled in after him and when I emerged, extremely disheveled, clutching my cat, there was a police car parked on the path. Both the officer and the captive in the back seat were laughing uproariously. I have no idea what they thought was so funny. I reattached the leash and we strolled home.
Some time after that, I brought him to our beach house. We took the train to New London, and then the ferry to Orient Point, and my parents picked us up. That night, I went out with friends, and returned home around 4 am. My mother, looking both exhausted and furious, was sitting on the kitchen stairs with Tommy. She said to me, "You left your cat, and he was crying. I have been sitting with him since 1 am, when he woke me up. You have got to stay home with him! I am not doing this tomorrow night. He is YOUR responsibility!" I was in big trouble =( Tommy kept me company as I played Scrabble with my parents on Saturday night.
Tommy would disappear in my apartment every once in a while. It wasn't huge--it was a one-bedroom with a large walk-in closet and a coat closet, plus a third closet that had roof access by way of a ladder and a trapdoor. So I couldn't imagine where he would hide. He was 16 pounds, pure black except for a white patch high on his chest. I knew that he hadn't escaped. I was on the third floor, the windows had screens, and the door was always locked. But I did wonder where he went. So one day, I searched. He wasn't under the bed. There was no place to hide in the kitchen, which was basically a galley kitchen with an alcove for a table. He wasn't under the dresser. I finally found him in a corner of the coat closet. He had closed his eyes, and put his head down to cover the white patch on his chest. He was nearly invisible. HOW could he have known to cover the patch? Did he? He wasn't sleeping. He was scrunched into the corner.
Years passed. I got Nebucchadnezzar, a 5-month-old black kitten, three years after I adopted Tommy. I really wanted a baby, but my boyfriend at the time bought me a cardboard baby cutout instead. I was not amused, and we broke up shortly afterwards. Tommy, Bookie, and I moved to New York, and lived happily in a teeny apartment on 63rd Street between Madison and Park. I got engaged and unengaged one more time, and Tommy and Bookie gave me love and comfort.
Then I met Kevin the Horrid in Bermuda, got engaged to him, and the three of us moved to Colorado. We lived in KTH's nasty little house for a while, then I dumped him and we moved to Capitol Hill. At this point, Tommy was about 16 years old. We'd been together for 14 years. Bookie was 11, and still looked and acted like a kitten. He'd never gotten very big. I started dating David the Gorgeous, who wouldn't let me bring the cats to his house on the weekends when I stayed with him. That should have been a red flag, but I finally started to think about dumping him when, one weekend, after more than a year of dating, I put a few things in his laundry basket and started down the stairs. He said to me,"Is your laundry in my basket?" I said yes, and he said, "I'll get you your own basket. I don't like other people's laundry touching mine." Ohhhkay. I took my clothes out, put the basket back, and departed. When I got home, I called my mother, who said, "That man is waaay too anal for you." I was going to dump him right then, but we had a few pre-planned social obligations.
Tommy got very sick. I took him to the vet, who told me that his liver was failing. I went to Harrison Memorial Animal Hospital, and tragically discovered that I made just a little too much money to qualify for their sliding-scale fees. I couldn't afford the treatment otherwise. One weekend, David and I had a black-tie thing to go to, so I stayed with him. When I got back on Sunday night, Tommy was stiff and dead in the litter box. I was devastated. First I called David and dumped him, then I called my friend Blaine, who volunteered for MaxFund. He and his partner, Josh, showed up and took Tommy away in a black plastic garbage bag, to have MaxFund cremate him.
Bookie and I mourned for months. Bookie moped and constantly looked for Tommy, and I would cry when I got home and Tommy wasn't at the door. Ever since the early days in Boston, whenever I came home, Tommy (and later Bookie) were always at the door to greet me.
I still miss him. He was the best cat ever. I've loved all my subsequent cats, but Tommy was special. Bookie was eaten by a coyote shortly after we moved to the house where I live now. I miss him greatly, too. He never quite grew up.