Cat Tales 15
When the minister read this biblical passage at my sister’s wedding in 1987, it occurred to me that very few pe ople have that special love, including my parents. Mom and Dad, or, as most of the worl d knows them, Evelynne and Norman Smith, had few shared interests aside from us four kids, and we had all grown up and moved out. It seemed that they’ d neve r found true love.
Twenty years later, my pare nts still had little in common, except for daily medications and freque nt medical appointme nts. Dad, eighty-four, spent ti me on the compute r and napping, while Mom, nine years younger, watched television, read, and challenged herself with crossword puzzles. They shared meals, and otherwise either bickered or ignored each othe r.
With no one else in the house and Dad’s poor hearing, I imagined a typical day going something like this:
“GOOD MORNING, NORM."
"Beg your pardon?”
“I SAID, ‘GOOD MORNING.’"
"Oh.”
Then, fifteen hours later:
“GOODNIGHT, NORM"
"Beg your pardon?”
“I SAID, ‘GOODNIGHT.’”
With not muc h in between, besides:
“DO YOU WANT MORE SOUP?"
"Beg your pardon?”
“I SAID, ‘DO YOU WANT MORE SOUP?’”
You get the idea.
Then, on an ordinary Se pte mbe r afternoon last year, my parents, in their fifty -seventh year of marriage, discovered true love.
The day started as any other: Mom up at 7:00, Dad at 8:00, in time for his handful of medications and the breakfast Mom set out for hi m. Finishing lunch around 11:45, Mom peeled her apple and re marke d, “The Granny Smiths haven’t bee n very good lately,” to anyone who might hea r her. No one did.
Dad had just returne d from scaling a mountain during WW II in his nap, and Mom was helping Sue Grafton solve a mystery from he r love seat when the back door opened and in stepped my sister Marla and her daughter Jayme. Jayme held a pet carrier containing a pint-sized ginger tabby name d Hube rt.
“We were so surprised!” Mom told me three months later as we sat in her kitchen at Christmas. “Then we wondere d how Hube rt would adjust to living with us, but you can see he fits right in.” I chuckled as my eyes took in the furry mice strewn about the floor, the blue cloths protecting every good chair, and the living room table with two small plants pushed into a corner so Hube rt could have an unobstructed view of outside.
“Mom,” I laughed, “I think you’ve fit into his routine!” Mom sheepishly agreed. Marla and Jayme had planne d for a long time to give Mom an d Dad a pet. The perfect opportuni ty arose when Hubert wasn’t getting along with the other two cats in the house and Marla reme mbere d that he and Dad were real buddies when my dad ha d visited. The solution was a stroke of genius, perhaps a match made in he aven.
Now, at Mom and Dad’s home the mundane is entertaining. Hubert has breakfast at 7:00, like Mom, and supper at 4:30 whe n Mom and Dad eat theirs. You can set your watch by him: When it’s snack time at 11:00 a.m. and again at 8:00 p.m., he leads or follows Dad until they arrive at the treat drawer. The little cat gets involved in all activities in the house. First thing in the morning, he leads Mom to her treadmill in the basement. Whe n he tires of watching, he scampers back upstairs, returning at the precise time she finishes.
As Dad eats breakfast, Hubert sits on the table by his cereal bowl, but only if Mom is still on her treadmill. Then Dad makes his slow way down to his compute r with Hubert walking ahead of him. In Dad’s office, Hubert curls up under a cabinet or on some high perch. His favorite game involves running along the computer hutch above Dad and sending precious mementoes flying in all directions. Dad’s quiet office has never seen such excitement.
Hubert has even adopted some of Mom and Dad’s habits. Recently, as the three of the m returne d from a visit to the vet, Dad hit the bathroom, Mom waited he r turn, and Hubert headed down to the litter box.
Because I live two provinces away, I heard about Hube rt long before I met him. In our weekly phone calls, Dad’s favorite topic used to be the weather.
Now when I ask, “How’s Hubert?” either of my parents can talk nonstop for ten minutes!
Phone calls are also often interrupted, like when Mom calls out, “Norm, what’s Hubert got?” or Dad exclaims excitedly, “There’s my kitty!” as I’m bragging about his granddaughte rs’ exploits. Dad keeps me up-to-date on the latest round of “bite the foot,” in which Hube rt nips, paws, and bites Dad’s socked feet, while Dad loudly encourages him and laughs Uproariously, even whe n blood is drawn.
When I finally met Hubert at Christmas, I was struck by how affectionate he is. He loves people, runs to see who’s at the door wheneve r the re’s a knock and narrows his eyes with pleasure when he’s being petted or held. If you’ re headed some whe re, he’ll get in front of you, especially if you’re on stairs, and plop down on his back so that you just have to scratch his tummy bef ore you can procee d. My pare nts have come close to trippi ng on this feisty feline, but they never get angry at him.
While my daughte rs stacked presents around the little Christmas tree clamped tightly to Hubert’s plant table, Mom urged Dad to get his camera. On his return, Ste ph and Maddie posed, presents in hands, smiles on faces. Dad started to focus, but then said, “Wait! Where’s Hubert?” Mom left the room, calling out, “Hubert! Hube rt Smith!” She returne d shortly with the happy cat lounging contente dly in her arms. The girls embraced Hube rt, and the picture was taken.
Photographs of Hubert gazing wisely into space grace my parent’s refrigerator and the kitchen wall as well as Dad’s desk. Mom has only one photo in her bedroom, of Hube rt with that same wise gaze. My mother speaks to Hubert in a baby-talk voice, referring to herself and Dad as “Momma” and “Dad.” Dad’s “Hubert voice” is one I haven’t heard since I was a small child in need of discipline, a mock-angry voice good-nature dly scolding the cat with, “No, no, no!"
"Your fathe r spoils Hubert worse than anyone,” Mom confides.
A while ago Dad had the flu and only Mom spoke in our weekly call. “Dad will be up and about soon,” she said. “Hubert keeps us going.” And he does. Knowing the little cat is depending on the m to feed and care for hi m launches Mom and Dad out of bed in the morning. Whe n Mom re tu rns from the bathroom in the night, she knows Hubert will be lying on her floor. She can’t see him in the dark, so she carefully makes her way, and when she comes to the waiting cat, she picks him up, kisses his soft forehead, and the n gently puts him out of the room and closes the door. She has learned that his nighttime antics will keep her awake if he’s allowed to stay in her room.
Recently Mom visited us in Alberta. Dad chose to stay home “with Hubert,” and the two of them di d just fine. “He’s perfect company,” Dad says. My elderly father and his two- year-old cat delight in many of the same pastimes, including napping in the sun like old dogs. Hubert also enjoys being up high, say, on the fridge, and exploring territory “where no cat has gone before.” I tell Dad that Hubert is like him, because Dad was a paratrooper and commando in World War II and Hubert is just as brave and foolhardy. This makes Dad smile.
Hubert doesn’t have meltdowns or mood swings, and even though Mom and Dad swear he talks to them, he neve r talks back. He’s excited by birds outside the window, food in his dish, and strangers knocking on the door. He brings a smile to your face, even if a moment earlier you we re irritate d or sad.
And when you’re holding him and you’re both warm and conte nt, you feel like the luckiest person in the world. Love and laughte r fill my parents’ home again. There are kisses and caresses and soft words. No one could have pre dicted that, at this point in their lives, true love would find them. And it’s all because of one of God’s small creatures.
I believe in angels. I am convinced they are sent to us when we need the m most. I can even say that I’ve met an angel or two, including one whom my Dad calls his “tender little kitten.”
Love is patient, Love is kind
And is not jealous;
Love does not brag
And is not arrogant . . .
Hubert has shown us love in the truest sense of the word.