We used to have a cat we called Suede. He kept me company for many years when my
husband, Bryon, often worked out of town.
I wrote this short piece in present tense when Suede was still alive.
MY FAMILIAR
I
pick up the cat, all thirteen pounds of honey blond fur, and hold his docile
body under my right arm as I limp to the front door. He used to be a cat who
always asked to go outside after a meal.
I think old age has stolen his memory, as he doesn’t remember how to
scratch at the door to go out anymore, only how to scratch to come in.
As I open the door, we are both
assaulted by the wind and the rain. He stiffens under my arm, but refrains from
clawing me. I bend from the waist and
drop him the remaining foot onto the front porch. Now is the tricky part. Can I turn and close the door faster than he
can turn and run back inside? Stiff
limbs hinder us both, and I see him turn to watch me balefully as I close the
door. This time I win.
From the window I watch as he dashes
down the steps and under my car, his protection from the rain and
predators. After ascertaining there is
no threat from dog, or Siamese cat, or noisy motor, he makes another dash for
cover under the boat. He heeds my past instruction to run between the raindrops.
Now he is temporarily out of sight
and I am hoping he finds a patch of dirt to do his business. I retreat to the kitchen and pour my morning
coffee, then sit at the table by the patio door.
Within five minutes I see my blond
feline come around the back corner of the house and stride toward the sun deck,
carefully avoiding wet weeds that stand obnoxiously in his way between the
patio bricks. Reaching the steps, he
leaps thankfully up them and then glares at me through the glass door before he
scratches at it imperiously to be allowed inside.
I unlock and slide the door just
wide enough for his feline form to gain entry, and he darts into the kitchen as
if all of Mother Nature were chasing him.
Now he rewards himself by munching
on more of his cat food, and taking a long drink of water, before searching out
the driest, warmest corner of my good chair in the living room, where he will
complete his morning ablutions and then take a much needed nap before his next
meal. He is my daily companion, my
familiar.
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