TABITHA/ TABBY

Tabitha/Tabby

After some years with no cat and living on TV ads for cat foods instead, I gave in and thought maybe it would be reasonable to hope to outlive another cat. The last thing I wanted was to abandon an old, sick dependent pet. So I went to our local shelter to select a kitten, a small buff-orange one. There were no kittens of any kind. I cruised the cages. A small, tentative paw reached out and said, “Take me, please”, so I did. She had an ordinary black and grey tabby pattern, with an angora type face and longer hair around her neck and a bit of buffy ruffle on her chest. Her tabby pattern was perfect, mirror matched on both sides and her tail was long haired.

Of my four special cats she was the most psychic, not very smart, not helpful, expecting care and love. She knew how you were feeling especially if you were ill. She stayed with you and asked for the minimum of service.

Also she was the only one of the four who did not have confidence in my ability to take care of her in emergencies. She was easily frightened and panicked, racing off wildly to hide. [This trait brought on a problem for my neighbor one day.] When we went to the doctor, she screamed all the way and when taken from her carrier, she shoved her face into the crook of my elbow and kept it there during procedures. Not a wail on the way home.

One night I had two guests in the dead of winter and maybe we did not pay much attention to Tabby. When she asked for the door I let her out. When the guests left and Tabby had not returned, I panicked. I called and my visitors searched the yard and especially her hidey-hole under the front cement steps. No response. By 4:00 AM when my newspaper lady arrived I enlisted her help. At daylight I tried again under the porch. A faint mew! She was O.K. but she did not try to come out. The opening had been to a slippery slope but getting back up was impossible for arthritic legs and could have broken her spine.

Gita, care taking neighbor, came over and I went to get my fireman neighbor. [In those days firemen rescued cats]. He could see Tabby. The ground was hard-frozen and I could not dig it but when I proposed hiring a crane to lift the set of cement steps just as it had been dropped there, Fireman Brown thought enlarging the hole was a better idea and he did that, God bless him!

Still Tabby would not stir at my coaxing. So with sincere thanks I dismissed my good neighbors and waited at the hole. After a few moments of quiet Tabby poked her head out so I was able to pull her free none the worse for her experience.

Now about Tabby and the tender touch: Besides the gentle paw at the Humane Society Shelter that won her a good home for years, Tabby continued to use her touch to “win friends and influence people.”

Tabby earned her keep thereby. As always there was a table at arm chair level on the left of the big chair where I took my meals on a tray. Probably she got some tidbits from my tray at times but I don’t remember. I do remember the little ceremony of concluding each meal with the same dry food she liked so well.

It was handed to her one by one in response to an incredibly delicate touch to a bare arm resting on the arm of the chair. To my surprise she would accept the pieces from my friends seated in that chair, always bringing a look of pleasure to the face of the giver.

One of my dearest memories is of my brother’s reaction. He was not fully in tune with my permissiveness about cats in the house. This day he stopped in on a visit and saw the little game. I persuaded him to take my place and supplied the bits and instructions. Tabby cooperated. Her first touch was magic. I had never seen such a look on my brother’s face, a look of wonder at being so moved.

Tabby died at age 15 or 16 of cancer of the mouth. She went over to Gita’s for that purpose one evening but I went and brought her home to her table. She never moved all night and I knew it was time. In the morning she did not resist my taking her to be put to sleep. As I waited for her doctor we were at a window with a bird feeder outside. Incredibly Tabby aroused to excitement at the sight. She was the one of the four with the strongest wild instincts.

Her place in her yard was ready and I put her in it. This time I said, “No more cats” and I meant it.

Then years later, came Keisa, the Companion Cat whom you already know, but whose resume needs a bit more detail.