Knight
“A cute little cat was following us for a while,” Becky said as she came in from her morning run with Neighbor Kelly.
“But when we ran by the dogs (Kelly keeps anywhere from three to six dogs), it decided to go another way. Too bad. It was friendly.”
That evening we caught a blur of orange and white dashing down the hill behind our house. It could have been that friendly cat. And the next day, when we heard mewing and saw a feline face staring into the glass door from the deck, we wondered if perhaps we were in the beginning stages of some Bigger Plan. But, still, we hesitated. We remembered the dictum: “Don’t feed strays.” Nevertheless, we put a small bit of leftover turkey in a bowl and set it outside the deck door. The Bigger Plan, don’t you know.
These mewing window appearances went on for another day and night. Becky and I discussed options. “Keep feeding or stop feeding?” seemed to be moot, at this point. “Inside cat or outside cat?” Well, if inside it must not be allowed to sleep on our bed with us. We’ve read enough comic strips to know that cats always wind up sleeping on the hapless human’s face as a punchline. Maybe we should have the vet check it out before we get too close. The appointment would be in two days.
Eventually, after several deck door openings, the cat slipped between our feet and came in. We kept our eyes on him (it’s a him) as he explored the inside space, perhaps deciding if we were worthy. “Okay, he’s in, but he will sleep in the garage, at least for now.” We figured a shopping trip was in order. In the pet supply section we put food, a bag of litter and two litter trays, one for the house and one for the garages in our cart. Oh, and as we were wheeling away, we tossed a toy in.
Becky and I realized he needed a name, and both of us had been thinking about that to ourselves, waiting, I guess, for the right time to bring it up. Then Becky brought up the Grandchild Name Debate.
When we learned our first grandchild, Atticus, was soon to have a sibling, Mom Rachel decided the next name should contain, Like “Atticus,” three syllables and seven letters. This was cause of intense discussion. Early on, I suggested “Zebulon” because it fit Rachel’s parameters and in addition, the initial Z would balance almost poetically with the A of “Atticus.” For some reason, everyone, Becky included, immediately shot down my suggestion. But now, she wondered if “Zebulon” might be a good name. “Hmm,” I thought, “We could call him ‘Zeb’ or ‘Zebby,’ or ‘Mr. Z’ or just ‘Z.’ Yes, I think I can live with ‘Zebulon’ if he can.”
First thing our vet did was scan Zeb for an identity chip. None registered so he proceeded to the physical exam and then administer three shots. His assistant took Zeb’s stool we had brought to test.
Zeb sleeps in the garage without a fuss and he used the litter box right off the bat. He certainly enjoys his food which one would expect of a cat living on his own. He likes being rubbed and hopefully he will learn—fingers crossed—that the kitchen counter is off limits.
It’s been at least nine lives ago, way back in the early 70s, that I had a cat as an animal companion. It’s been a good long while since Becky has had a cat in her life, as well. I guess maybe now it’s time.
Part of the Bigger Plan, don’t you know.
