![\"RedSox_Widdy.jpg\"](\"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/RedSox_Widdy.jpg\")
<\/p>\nYet also inevitable.<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
Here’s Sammy.<\/p>\n
![\"Sammy_thecat.jpg\"](\"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/Sammy_thecat.jpg\")
<\/p>\n
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.<\/p>\n
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<\/i>. Also preferences<\/i>. 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!”<\/p>\n
I’m still adjusting to another cat (which just goes to show you how awesome Sammy really was).<\/p>\n
So. Here are some differences I have noticed:<\/p>\n
— Sammy adored draping himself around my neck as though he was a fur stole … and would stay up there<\/i> as I did chores. I would vacuum my living room, with Sammy draped around my neck.<\/p>\n
— Hope would not be caught dead imitating a fur stole. She tolerates<\/i> being held.<\/p>\n
— 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<\/i> when I open a can of tuna … and nobody comes running.<\/p>\n
— Hope is indifferent to the can opener as well as only MILDLY interested in the smell of tuna.<\/p>\n
— 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.<\/p>\n
— 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.”<\/p>\n
— 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.<\/p>\n
— 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.<\/p>\n
— 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<\/i> to, so that I wouldn’t disappear into the ether forever … not because he wanted<\/i> to.<\/p>\n
— 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.<\/p>\n
— 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.<\/p>\n
— 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.<\/p>\n
Similarities?<\/p>\n
Both: affectionate, sweet, and filled with purrs. 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.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" 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 … Continue reading
\nBoth: 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<\/i>. Hope is the same way. I think: Where’s Hope<\/em>?… and then trip over her.
\nBoth: seem to feel safe and relaxed in my presence, and totally okay with falling into deep REM slumbers.
\nBoth: yearn to kill a bird. They stare out into the green world beyond the window, dreaming of bloodthirsty conquest.<\/p>\n