MarkWhittaker.com

They’re not quite the same as people, but they make pretty good friends, I’ve discovered. My three cats have very distinct personalities.

Roxanne, who is the largest cat, also is the most shy … sort of. She tends to hang back, but when she wants attention, she’ll butt you with her head to get it. She’ll also move away if the petting gets too comfortable and then come back. Roxanne is the long-haired Tortie in the middle.
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Tomassina, the smallest cat (she’s on the right), is a short-haired Tortie, and at least familial sister of Roxanne. I adopted them together because they had both lived together before. Tommi is the first to greet me when I get home and insists that I pat her head. But then she’s had enough.

Arwen, is my “perfect” cat. She’s well-behaved, also greets me when I get home and sits with me when I’m reading or watching TV.

All three are good companions, despite their destructive nature. Their claws are hard on my couch and my coffee table!

The Saturday after Thanksgiving she finally came home.

After what I’ve come to call a “seven-month camping trip in the wilds of Cranberry Township,” Arwen decided it was time to return for a roof over her head and three square meals a day.

After dusk that day I was on my way to collect my mail when I heard caterwauling nearby. It had been seven months, so I didn’t really think it was Arwen, but I started to walk toward the kitty and called to her. She kept crying, and when I got too close she dashed under a nearby porch.

Later that night, after returning from an errand, my neighbor was outside coaxing a cat with a bowl of milk. “I think it’s Arwen!” she said. I sat on the grass, and after a few minutes she came over for a quick pet and then backed away. I still wasn’t sure it was Arwen. After a little more coaxing, though, she got close enough for me to scoop her up. It was her.

Even though people had tried to encourage me with stories about cats who returned after unbelievably long absences, I never really thought I’d see Arwen again. But there she was, scrawny and bedraggled.

I love having her home, and after a month or so she returned to her normal self. There’s been some big adjustments to make, though. After she left, I had adopted two more cats! Two torties, Roxanne (a long-hair) and Tomassina (a short-hair) joined my family in late spring. Someone in their previous home developed allergies, and they were in need of a new place where they could stay together.

Naturally, I had no idea I’d end up with THREE cats. Oh, well. Lucky me! Three times the love!

“Stupid human.”

I can only imagine how many times that thought might have entered the busy mind of my cat, Arwen. I’m sure, though, it wasn’t as much as I muttered “stupid cat” under my breath when she was underfoot.

If she was here now, I’d promise never to call her “stupid cat” again. But she’s not. The “stupid human” let her escape out the front door a month ago, and she hasn’t returned.

She was a stray, maybe a year old when she was given to me “just until we can find a good home for her.” It was right around my birthday, December 2003. Well, even though I’d never had a pet in my previous 47 years, I figured I could make sure she got three square meals and a roof over her head.

Arwen, named after an Elven princess from “Lord of the Rings,” accepted the food and the roof. What she gave me in return, I’ve only come to appreciate since she left.

She was adept at saying “hello” or “good morning.” In the morning, she woke me by playing with whatever she could find atop my desk — sometimes a pencil, sometimes a piece of paper, sometimes my computer mouse. My blinds always rattled softly when she stretched up and stuck her head behind them to check the weather and watch the birds or the neighbor kids head off to school.

In the evening, when I arrived home from work she was often in the window, as if she had been waiting there since I’d left. And by the time I’d inserted my key, she was out of the window and to the door. Her nose was always the first thing I’d see as the door opened. I almost always had to lean down to shoo her away or nudge her with my foot to keep her indoors. And by the time the door was closed, she was on her back, waiting for a quick belly rub.

I griped and complained about cat hair, about how she got underfoot constantly, how she try to lounge on my new coffee table and how she’d wake me up too early. But my friends also heard me call her the perfect cat. She was as tidy as a cat could be. She rarely scratched furniture. On the few occasions when she’d throw up a hairball, she almost always did it in the basement — much easier for me to clean. She was gentle and friendly and was always content to sit with me on the couch while I watched television or read and stroked her fur.

I remember being scared to death that I wouldn’t be able to take care of this little creature who would be so dependent on me. But she was very self-sufficient, and we grew comfortable with each other.

In the end, I failed her. I let her sneak past me while my guard was down, and I didn’t realize she was outside until it was too late.

My home isn’t the same without her. I still hope that she’ll come home. I have a hard time understanding why she hasn’t. But, she’s a cat, and like the mysterious elves in Tolkien’s novels, they have their own unique motives and ways.

I miss her.