It had been a long time since we first met. Although I can’t remember the year, I do remember the moment. One morning during chores, there on a ledge by a horse stall where the usual cats ate, was a stranger---a scruffy, half-grown tiger. When he saw me see him, he scurried away.
Over
the next couple of weeks, there were multiple sightings of the skittish
cat. Then one day I spied him on the
ledge not looking so good, even for him.
Listless, his hair coat a mess, he was not putting weight on one of his
front paws. As I approached, he didn’t
run and actually let me touch him. His paw
was huge, reddened, obviously painful, and infected.
Surprisingly,
he accepted my help and antibiotic treatment, and seemed to enjoy being
petted. Within a few days, the paw was
much improved, and I had a new little barn buddy. Just like that, “Fred the Fraidy Cat” became
“Fred the Friendly Dude.”
I
don’t know if the paw injury was the result of a cat bite, and Fred learned a
valuable lesson, or if he truly was the proverbial lion with the thorn. But, for the rest of his life, he got along exceedingly
well with every cat he encountered---no conflicts, no confrontations, no drama.
Perhaps
his biggest claim to fame is that he was the best friend of Watson, “the
greatest cat that ever lived,” a well-deserved title bestowed upon him by his
rodentophobic owner. Though the two cats
were similar physically -Watson was an orange tiger, Fred a dark brown ; Watson
never weighed more than six pounds, Fred no more than seven--- they had widely
divergent philosophies of life, specifically,
rodent life.
Watson was a killer, Fred, a
pacifist. Watson never met a mouse he
wouldn’t eat. Fred never met a mouse he
would. Maybe that’s why they were pals. They didn’t compete for prey. Heck, Fred didn’t even participate.
I
mix my sheep feed by hand in five gallon buckets. Occasionally, a mouse will climb into an
empty bucket, then not be able to get out.
Watson, the perfect size to drop into the bucket, always emerged with a
mouse in his mouth - on rare occasions, sometimes two. Fred, on the other hand, would jump out
faster than I imagine even I would, and I’m a pretty jumpy rodentophobe.
In
spite of these jitters, however, a couple of times after a Fred bailout, and
I’d like to think because of his influence, I tipped the bucket over and let
the mouse escape. Fred was right. Some of them are kind of cute.
An
incident that occurred in our hay mow one afternoon further illustrates their opposing
ways. Fred was close by when I lifted a
bale of straw. I don’t know who was more
surprised, me or the mouse, but my girlie scream alerted Watson who was down on
the barn floor. The poor frightened
mouse crawled underneath Fred, who never moved.
Within seconds, Watson somehow ricocheted off some boards, scaled a wire
panel, hoisted himself over the lipped edge of the mow, pushed Fred aside, and
did what we could not.
It
wasn’t a proud moment for either of us.
Watson didn’t care, though. He
accepted both Fred and me for our rodent foibles. In turn, Fred never judged him for his
murderous passion. I guess that’s what
friends do.
Watson
passed away several years ago beside a rose bush behind our garage, and was
buried on the spot. Five months ago, we
diagnosed Fred with kidney failure, a common condition of older cats. For the last few weeks of his life, Fred
spent a great deal of time around the grave.
It became his new, favorite hangout.
Four weeks ago, Fred joined Watson on the other side of the bush.
Best
friends in life, they are together again beneath the rose, and, I hope,
wherever kitty heaven is.
Author: Dr. John Jones
Image courtesy of dan at FreeDigitalPhotos.net
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