For Woody
1990-2000
From the day you first came to live with us – your love was so freely given. After a summer of resistance, I persuaded you – though my use of quiet strength and perseverance – that I could be trusted. I would not harm you.
I knew right away you were a special kind of cat – a real survivor. My first sighting of you was as a kitten in the woods with your mommy cat and the 3 other kittens in your litter. You were so eager to “check me out” – going ahead of the protecting presence of your Mama. I referred to you as “Curious George” then.
As the summer heat grew, I saw only you alone in the woods - a sad-eyed kitten with a dirt-smudged nose crouching in the Rhododendron bushes – terrified of the lawnmower man.
Every day, on my lunch hour, I came home from work to feed you – nudging offerings of nine lives poultry dinner into the underbrush. I talked to you in dulcet tones as you would to soothe a fussy baby. Still, you were wary – careful not to get too close; me – in my gray linen skirt and blazer, high-heeled pumps and nylon stockings stalking you in the bushes while the summer humidity melted away my make-up. I knew I could take care of you if you would let me.
Finally, by late summer – the sun slipping behind our building – casting long shadows over the woods – I made my move. While you were eating, I grasped the scruff of your neck and pushed you in the cat carrier. I felt badly having to be a bit rough with you but I knew that was the only way to get to you. Rushing the carrier in the house as you thrashed about inside, I released you into the safe confines of our bathroom. Sheepishly, you slipped out of the carrier like a child that peaks from the stairwell on Christmas Eve hoping to catch a glimpse of Santa. Then, you gently rested your chin on the top of my shoe and purred with sheer contentment - all the struggle of summer gone replaced by love’s sweet surrender.
At your first check-up with the Vet, I nervously waited a most tense fifteen minutes – relieved to learn the results of your Feline Leukemia test were negative.
“Will you be keeping kitty?” they asked.
“Yes, I think I shall.” I answered.
“Do you have a name for him?”
“How about Woody” I said after the place you were discovered.
Your new daddy, Rick, wasn’t happy with that name. He preferred to call you Dodger or Figaro after the cat in Pinocchio you so resembled. He liked you just the same though.
Kayla, our calico queen, was initially displeased and cantankerous with you – hissing and baring her teeth. She looked demonic at times like Linda Blair in the Exorcist. But you hung in there – waiting for her come around. Eventually, the two of you would sleep side by side.
Always, the sweet-tempered “Little Dude” you loved being near to us – sleeping by daddy’s side – your head resting on his shoulder – his arm across your furry belly. You were oh so sensitive to loud noises or hostile displays – hating the sound of the vacuum cleaner and still, the lawnmower man.
You loved chasing the red laser beam light around the living room with rapt excitement. Every night, you kneaded and caressed your favorite tattered blanket.
I think of all the silly and mischievous things you did over the years. The time I was sunbathing in the yard and you suddenly bolted up the pine tree in pursuit of the mourning dove nest at the top. There you were – stuck – between the treetop and the ground – meowing loudly. Your face looked wracked with indecision: should I come down or should I go after the nest. I had to cautiously climb the fragile branches of the tree in my black Spandex bathing suit to get you down. Then, another time, you hightailed towards the road after spying a bunny at the corner of our building. I sprinted after you before you ran into the street. The bunny quickly disappeared into its hole and you stopped and looked up at me as if to say “Hey where did the bunny go?”
One night – you ran between Daddy’s legs out the patio’s sliding doors. You decided to carouse all night in the woods I was lying prostrate on the dewy grass at two o’ clock in the morning getting eaten alive by bugs trying to coax you to come home. Luckily, at first light, you came back. Otherwise, I would have probably had to pack Daddy’s bags and send back to his mother’s!
You were so accepting of new additions to feline family – letting the new kittens curl up with you in the wicker chair. So very often, you seemed to have an identity crisis – a doggie mentality – with your tail erect like a pointer, trotting up to me when I whistled.
Woody, we miss you so much. We were not ready to let you go. Always so chipper, you showed no signs of being sick. During your last hours, I was so glad I was able to give you a lovely brushing. You luxuriated in it – purring, chin raised, mouth turned upward as if to smile.
I will think of you every time I look at the Christmas tree where I found you lying underneath in your last throes. At least, you were able to hang on long enough to pass away in my arms – to at least feel the reassurance of my touch in those last moments.
Woody, we will never forget you. You were special, unique and irreplaceable. I wished you could have lived longer than ten years old – most cats do. Every time I see a black and white cat, I can think only of you and the joy you brought into lives.
Thank you for accepting my offer to live with us and all the years of happiness we shared.