Yet also inevitable.
I have had many cats in my life. I’ve been around cats since I was a skinny little thing in a Red Sox T-shirt.
My first boyfriend and I had two cats: Cosette and Maxie. He inherited them with our “divorce”. I then moved on to Sammy – widely known as “the best cat in the world”. Everyone agrees. Everyone.
Here’s Sammy.
I got Sammy in 1992 and he died in 2003. We were BUDS, man. I still miss him. We moved all over the place together. He was truly unique – almost like a mentally disturbed DOG rather than a cat. (I got him at the pound in Chicago, and I am convinced he had been abused before me. He had a worried look in his eyes at all times, bless his heart.) But you know, I got to know him and his personality intimately. I could predict his moves.
So even though I have had many cats – I can’t help but notice the differences between Hope and Sammy. This isn’t a bad thing. I love that they have different personalities and ways of being. Also preferences. It’s been 5 years since Sammy died, and still now – with Hope – she’ll do something and I’ll think: “Wow. Sammy would never do that!”
I’m still adjusting to another cat (which just goes to show you how awesome Sammy really was).
So. Here are some differences I have noticed:
— Sammy adored draping himself around my neck as though he was a fur stole … and would stay up there as I did chores. I would vacuum my living room, with Sammy draped around my neck.
— Hope would not be caught dead imitating a fur stole. She tolerates being held.
— Sammy had a nervous breakdown any time I busted out the can opener because that meant, to him, TUNA. He would come running from another time zone if he smelled tuna. Or if he even heard the drawer open where he knew I kept the can opener. Even now – years later – I still feel like something’s missing when I open a can of tuna … and nobody comes running.
— Hope is indifferent to the can opener as well as only MILDLY interested in the smell of tuna.
— Hope is really into beating the SHIT out of her little bizzy balls, going nuts, getting all flat (I looove it when cats get all flat, ready to pounce), and once she has it grasped in her top paws, goes to town on the pesky thing with her back paws, trying to tear its guts out. She is fierce, and rather frightening. Her eyes are so insane and focused that I feel embarrassed for her vulnerability in that moment. But I am proud of her warrior spirit.
— Sammy never got into playing. I think it meant too much separation from me. I would toss a bizzy ball off into the distance and he would stare up at me worried, like, “Do you want me to go that far away from you?? Just to retrieve a bizzy ball? Are you out of your mind?? I want to stay RIGHT HERE draped around your neck, thankyouverymuch.”
— Sammy would sleep on my head. He could never ever get close enough. I would wake up in the dark of night and Sammy would be staring straight at me, eyes glimmering through the black. He only slept when he knew I was WATCHING. Because that made him feel safe. I have no idea. All I know is, whenever I opened my eyes from sleep, Sammy was right there, staring at me. I wished he could have learned to chillax but by the time I got him it was too late. Best I could do would be to give him as much love as possible so that maybe – maybe – he would learn to trust again.
— Hope is not so much about sleeping in the bed with me. But she does curl up on the windowsill right next to my head, and I am guessing she sleeps there all day. I am happy for her (especially when I remember her horrible small cage at the shelter). There have been times when she has crawled into my lap and relaxed, falling asleep and being all luxurious and decadent when I pet her. That is nice.
— Sammy was not a lick-er. He might have licked my hand once or twice – but that was only out of a sense of obligation and vague worry. He felt he had to, so that I wouldn’t disappear into the ether forever … not because he wanted to.
— Hope is OCD about keeping me clean. When I first went cat-“shopping” at the adoption shelter – I caught sight of her in her cage, which was below eye-level. She sat on a shelf in her cage, curled up, her eyes drowsy and sleepy. There was something nice about her. I asked if I could “meet” her. The woman at the shelter opened the cage. Hope opened her eyes, wondering what was happening. I gently reached my hand in, to let her sniff me. She immediately began licking my fingers, and my heart cracked. This behavior has only continued.
— Sammy would howl with despair when I would leave the apartment. I would walk down the stairs to leave, and hear him yowling as I left. It was awful.
— Hope is usually busy being all flat and pounce-y when I leave. She has not plummeted into grief yet when I leave. She rolls around on the floor, being all fierce with her bizzy ball or one of my pens and barely notices me walking out.
Similarities?
Both: affectionate, sweet, and filled with purrs.
Both: follow me from room to room, never (apparently) wanting to be out of my sight. I used to trip over Sammy all the time, because he would place himself right under my feet. Hope is the same way. I think: Where’s Hope?… and then trip over her.
Both: seem to feel safe and relaxed in my presence, and totally okay with falling into deep REM slumbers.
Both: yearn to kill a bird. They stare out into the green world beyond the window, dreaming of bloodthirsty conquest.
Sammy will always have the softest of spots in my heart, because of who he was, and how much time we had together. But I have loved many cats. Hope rolls around on my rug as though she belongs there, as though the shelter is a long-distant memory. She seems to be getting used to me. She’s really cute.
I am always amazed at the distinctiveness in personalities from one cat to the next. They have no interest in being like any other.
I agree with Rob.
I had a “Sammy” (or rather, a “Sam”) when I was growing up; he came from what was likely an abusive background as well and he had that same kind of “I need to know where you are” attitude (once he warmed to the family…he spent the first six weeks or so with us holed up under my mom’s dresser, and only came out at night to eat and use the litter box). We called him Big Baby as a nickname because that was what he was like.
The cats we’ve had since – including the one who passed on just this week – were very different, more independent.
I always said I’d never get a pet because I’m not home enough (and because the inevitable happens and then you cry), but I have to admit I’m weakening a bit in that position. I don’t quite have the energy to train a kitten but I might go down to the local shelter some afternoon this fall and see if they have a mellow (young) adult cat who needs a home…
Sammy just looks like a fabulous cat. I’m glad you and Hope are getting along!
ricki – Like you, I didn’t really want a kitten, cute as they are. I needed a cat that was already kind of independent. I really wanted to get a young adult – because they have less of a shot at getting “picked” than a kitten – and I wanted one that was Sammy-esque: meaning: affectionate, not too damaged psychologically, and not one of those mean cats. Ha! Sammy was all about love, and it was very relaxing to hang out with him. I think HE was worried – but that was just his nature. Hope did not mind when I put my hand in her cage, first of all – she did not cringe or spit or bristle. She leaned out her nose to inspect my hand and promptly began to lick it. So I thought … This one’s a sweetie. She’s not a kitten. Will anyone pick her? I can’t bear for her to be here one more second!! Let’s go home!
It was hard not to take more than one, but my apartment is so small.
They change over time, too.
I have an older one (Nosemarie, probably 13 now) and one we got two years ago (Candy, who’s 6, I think). The older one was always aloof and kept to herself – I think I went years being only aware of her when I cleaned the litter or picked up piles of dead mice (I have an old house). But when Candy (who licks my face in the morning when she’s hungry) came into the picture, Nose suddenly turned all affectionate, sitting in my lap and cadging scritches on her back wherever she could, meowing at me to get up and feed her – like she’s trying to keep up with the young one, like I’ll get rid of her if she doesn’t.
Mitch –
So cute!
Sammy never changed over time. I kept waiting for him to get “used” to the idea that we were together, I wasn’t going anywhere, and he could RELAX. He didn’t have to go back to the Pound, he had a home now, just chill OUT, bro. But he never got it. In a way, that made him the most affectionate cat of all – because he couldn’t bear to ever let me out of his sight. EVER.
“warrior spirit” I think she needs to have that tatooed on her left back paw. Do you think Beans will do it for her??
Oh man, that picture of Sammy–he just has that soul-piercing gaze thing DOWN. He sounds like he was a wonderful kitty.
But I love feisty kill-the-bizzy-ball! KILL IT! type kitties too. I seem to run into that type more with females. Here I am thinking they’ll be docile, sweet, and demure (hi there, my very stupid inner gender essentialist!) and then instead they’re more often like, “Who has time to sit around purring? I have innocent songbirds to murder, lady. Now let me out so I can bring you their headless corpses.”
I had a cat named Strype that had much the same personality as the lead Gremlin in Gremlins. She never had much to do with anybody but me.
But she was very protective and worrying about me. Occasionally to the point of annoyance.
She had OCD issues with my cleanliness, and could not allow doors to be closed at any point–the swinging door in the kitchen had to be blocked open, or she would go apeshit.
I haven’t gotten another cat, since she disappeared a few years back (presumably, to wander off for her own last moments–she was 15). The comparisons, I think, are part of it.
Ilyka – hahahaha. Totally!! Hope is BARELY civilized and I love that about her.
I came home tonight after seeing The Dark Knight – only to find her adoption agreement torn to shreds and all over my apartment. I had left it lying carelessly on the table and Hope destroyed it. I think the fact that it was her adoption agreement is all the more beautiful. It was like she was saying, “That was THEN this is NOW beeyotch! I’m YOURS. For GOOD. Ya got that?”
Tommy – Ohhh, she sounds wonderful! I love the bit about the doors … I always wonder what goes through their little heads with issues like that. It’s so serious, and they are VERY clear about their needs! I think I resisted getting another cat for so long because of Sammy – and I have called Hope “Sammy” a couple of times … but I think I’m getting used to her. She’s a good girl.
I want weekly updates on Hope. The more mundane the observations the better. I could read an entire novel of your descriptions of your cats. Love it!
Pod used to lick my hand gently at first, then she’d start in a bit more intensely, until it eventually morphed into a bite. I’d snatch my hand away and look down at her and she’d be glaring at me with this look that said, “At least you got all your limbs, asshole. Deal with it.”
More pictures, please!