I grew up in a house that always had at least two dogs and two cats. Assorted other furfaces came and went and sometimes there were more of everything, but at least we had the Noah’s Ark thing going with the cats and dogs. My dad would bring strays home - or he said they were strays. He’d say these cats, dogs, rabbits and even a baby goat “wandered” into his job. He worked for a bus company in Long Island City, New York. If you know Long Island City, animals weren’t just wandering by. In retrospect I suspect he was just taking the strays that his friends who lived in other places had. Where ever they came from, it was cool to have them. He’d bring them home and tell my mother that if he brought them back to his job — where he found them of course — that they’d be confused. I used to wonder why they weren’t confused when they’d go to the vet the next day or show and get fixed or shots or looked over. I didn’t wonder that much — my mother may not have been the sharpest knife in the drawer, but if she heard me ask a question like that she’d know something may have been up.

I think my dad explaining that the animals would be confused was my first lesson in animals having emotions. After all, confusion is an emotion.

I’ve had cats almost my whole adult life — my work hours just aren’t conducive to a dog and Molly — that would be the 20-1/4 year old kitty who’s been with me since she was a kitten — doesn’t like other animals. For years she tolerated other cats, just barely. Now it’s her and Mel (who’s 10) and she thinks Mel should be an experience on the International Space station with no passage home. 

No, she hasn’t told me that — it’s just the impression I get. Okay and I’ll ask her and she’ll meow really loud when I ask her if that’s what should happen. Of course, Molly is almost completely deaf so I’m just guessing if she heard me ask and she knew what it was, she’d agree. The bottom line is she doesn’t really care for him, but she deals with him. Mel is the cat who was feral who moved in 5 years ago — just showed up the day after I brought MaiTai’s ashes home and refused to leave.

That brings me to the furfaced children having emotions.

When Mel moved in he didn’t meow or purr and while he never made a move to leave — he had a home and darn it he wasn’t going to give it up — he did bond very strongly with Ginny. Ginny died, well it will be two years this December 26 because of the tainted cat food. She was 17 at the time and Ginny was like a lot of older siblings — you know what I mean, they speak for their little sisters and brothers so they don’t have to. Ginny was a purr machine — you’d look at her and she’d purr. She also spoke up about things. There was no reason for Mel to meow — Ginny would do it and he’d always go along.

Mel is the reason I understand why there is the term “copy cat”. He’d see Molly and Ginny get their sub-q fluids and meds (Molly gets metacam for arthritis) and Mel would do his version of happy feet when he didn’t get them too. He’d carry on about it and I finally had to put up a bag for him with a line and he’d get his turn for fluids. His bag is empty, there is just the line with no attachment and he doesn’t get stuck. He lays there on the counter and “gets” fluids just like the girls. Of course when he thinks he’s had enough he gets up and walks away. They used to watch him and I swear the look on their faces conveyed just how ridiculous they thought he was just wanting them. He also has to have “meds” so he has a little 2 ounce bottle of water and his own little syringe and when he carries on about Molly getting her meds, he also gets his verison of them — a few drops of water in the syringe. Hey! It keeps the peace and he’s just so pleased.

When Ginny died, every night until I brought her ashes home, Mel would go to each of the places she used to sit or hide when she didn’t feel well and look — he’d go to the spot, come and look at me with his little brow furrowed and walk back and forth between me and the spot until I’d go look. You can’t tell me he didn’t miss her and know she was gone and he has to be pretty smart to know to make me go look.

Ginny had a chair that was hers. The last month she was alive she spent almost all her time there. When she died, I tried to sit there once and Molly had a major hissy.

The night I brought Ginny’s ashes home Molly sat on her chair and let me sit there and Mel stopped looking in her spots for her. I certainly didn’t hold up the little box and say “guess who?????”

About a month after Ginny died Mel meowed for the first time. Before that he’d open his mouth, but nothing would come out. He’d just stand there with his mouth open. Looked kinda cute. His meow is actually this tiny little squeak and it has gotten progressively louder in the past two years. He also started to purr. The first time I heard it I was concerned because it was such an odd sound. He does it regularly now. Even now if I mention Ginny’s name he half closes his eyes and stares at me.

The “new” thing in our house — since September actually — is whipped cream. The vet said that given Molly’s age, whatever she wants she can have. No, I don’t go overboard — she’s still restricted to two McDonald’s fries a week and 1/4 slice of cheddar cheese (sharp of course) a week — but some things she can have pretty much daily and among them is whipped cream. The real stuff.

Well Mel “discovered” it and he’s taken to reminding me when we all go to bed at night that he wants it if I forget. Tonight Molly came downstairs looking for whatever and I only said “whipped cream” and Mel came running. If you don’t think a cat has facial expressions, let me tell you, they certainly do. That little guy came running at the words “whipped cream” and the look on his face when he saw the bowl was not all that different from how I look when presented with a box of Godiva chocolates. He was so excited about it he just couldn’t get to the kitchen fast enough.

They may not have our complex thinking patterns but they know happiness, sadness and mine definitely know “whipped cream”. And you know what? Sometimes I think that they just might have the right idea about how to live — sleep, eat, nap, look out the window and let tomorrow take care of itself.