Tom's "My Day"

I, Tom, the common tabby but a noble cat, began my day by posting myself at the back door where I
see into the house I belong to.  She was a little late this morning.  The sun was up and above the
horizon, before she came past.  I pretended not to see her, but I heard her in the kitchen turning on
water which begins her day.  She keeps the shades over her windows at night, so that I don't see her
getting out of bed.


I am watching when she approaches the door to let me in.  Then I move directly to the door to the garage and to the light switch where she follows me to click it each morning.  Back inside, I hear her get out the food sack for my breakfast dry menu.  I love the crunch of that good stuff. 


She leaves me alone then  and works over the bed she sleeps in,  The soft blanket is on the floor where I delight in flexing my toes in the soft feel of it.  Drat! She tells me to get off.  "I need the blanket," she says.  She puts it on the bed, along with another cover.  When she finished, I jumped up onto the pillows that match the top cover.  It feels so good; yet when she sees me she tells me to get off.  I pretend not to hear.  I actually have to endure a lecture about it, but I'd rather not hear it, so I hopped off.  Well, I found another nice warm, sunny spot on the floor.  It's not to bad, but nothing like the blanket or the pillow. 


I have been with her now so long I believe I deserve the same comforts she indulges in, herself.  Just when I think I have been accepted with the same privileges she has, she gives me pushes and lectures.
Is that any kind of life the king of the cats should have?  After all, I am royalty intended for my subjects to treat me with  the greatest respect. 


I will make her give me her full attention and pet me more than along my back and tail.  I will have nothing less than my jaws, my chin, and my head rubbed.  What does it matter if a little drool gets on her lap, or her fingers get wet from rubbing my jaws?


My friends, we must persist in making our house owners conform to our greatest comfort.

Book Signing in Ok. city Jan. 17th and Tom at home

Any of you in the Oklahoma City area ?  I invite you to attend a book signing at the Full Circle bookstore this Saturday, January 17th from 3 to 5 pm.  I will be there with copies of my novel, THE HIDDEN CITY, an adventure filled with mystery, suspense, and intrigue.  Favors of free bookmarks and chocolate will be included in the festivities. 


Full Circle is an independent bookstore located across from Penn Square Mall at 1900 NW Expressway, Suite 135.


Tom the common tabby, but noble cat, will be inside all day avoiding the cold weather, should it not be as warm as predicted this Saturday.  But he will be alert to the wild life outside, keeping up a watch from the door and windows.  If a bird flies from one window sighting, Tom runs to the window in the direction the bird has taken. 


During the few occasions I am away overnight, ;he may be in or out.  When I return and call him, I find a very "cool cat" who acts as if nothing unusual has happened. 


Do our pets respond any differently to a full moon.  The moon has been full lately.  I find Tom is more feisty and full of restlessness.  He will crowd the door wanting in, and then march to the other door and sail right out again.  I noticed this with a previous pet, Millie, the Burmese who used to cling to the window sill of an upstairs bedroom (gained by leaping from a fence to the narrow sill.
Being let in through the window, she would run right downstairs to the front door to go out and repeat the maneuver all over again, until convinced by being ignoring she wouldn't get away with the game any further.


Cats try to outwit their human friends.

First Tom

My first pet, when I was about five years old wandered into my Dad's feed mill, because he fed cats to keep the mice away from the grain in the mill.  Tom was a full-grown light yellow male Dad named, "Tom" and brought home for a pet.  I had wanted a white cat like the one in Peter Rabbit who sat grooming herself in the sun.  Tom was the next best cat.  He was an intelligent cat who showed he had a mind of his own. 


Dad always fed the mill cats on Sunday when the mill was closed, and I would go along to see the two cats.  All I had known before were country cats who never entered the house at my grandparents farm.  At age three, I had followed a kitten who ran under the front porch, and when I reached in to pull out the kit, it scratched me in the eye.  That required a trip to the country doctor.  I recovered and still wanted a pet cat.


Dad gave Tom a place in our kitchen.  He had to sit on the two-step kitchen stool while there.  My Dad even taught Tom to shake paws.  He would tell the cat to shake his hand, and touch Tom's paw.  Tom would raise it and he would shake the paw as if Tom were a young gentleman.  I would do the same and shake Tom's paw.  You'll say, "Yes, he raised his paw because it was touched."  Maybe so, and maybe not.  We believed, and Tom never failed. 


Tom also knew how to transport himself between our home and the mill.  One time my Mother
sent after him with the broom.  To show his disdain, he turned up at the mill overnight.  Then when he felt like it he would return home.


Tom was unaltered and had springtime departures to live apart chasing girls (as I was later to learn).
If I heard cats fighting in the night I would dash out of the house to rescue my dear feline from harm, knowing nothing of the nature of animal life.  In due course Tom would come home announcing his
return in a cadence matching his marching feet of loud m'rows.  He also bore his battle wounds.


Another time I'll tell you about his battle with a crawdad.

ANOTHER TOM

My daughter rescued a black Persian soon after we moved to Oklahoma.  In a new neighborhood people used to be transferred to other cities in their jobs leaving their pets behind to fend for themselves.  There is a natural creek behind our house.  Animals and humankind make use of it to this day.  The exploring Persian came into the yard when No. 1 daughter came home from school.  She fed him, and he immediately adopted her.  She had to leave her former cat, Shade, in the animal shelter, so she was wide open for a new cat. 


Her dad named the cat, Tom, using no imagination, and he was the second Tom in my life, too.  Tom was a very real contributor to family life.  The area being right next to open country, he took advantage of the rodents who roamed the fields.  He came and went through a partially opened garage door at night, and by morning left at the back door toward the kitchen his best gifts of big, fat mice from the fields.  He also announced his approach as would a hunter with a trumpet -- substituting loud m'rows.  Tom lived several years lovingly cared for by daughter, who combed his long fur to keep him looking his best.  He was most friendly and missed, until he was replace with a mixed color female my son named Grindl after a story character.

The Black Longhair Tom

Today, I recall the Tom my daughter rescued when we first came to Tulsa.  We built a house in a new neighborhood for the benefit of the best schools.  Soon after my six-year old daughter found a cat in
the yard who was friendly.  He was an adult black longhaired feline in good health.  Obviously, he
had been a pet and recognized that this girl had lived with a cat and understood them.  The first thing
she did was feed him, so of course, he stayed.  We soon learned that people already in this area were often transferred in and out of town by large companies.  Unfortunately, they left their pets here to fend for themselves.  At the time we were on the edge of the countryside, and there was a creek full of fish and an open land with a mice population. 


Well, Tom became one of the family, named by Dad, without much imagination.  Tom was a con-tributing member of the household.  We left the garage door up about a foot, so that Tom could come and go at night and get in out of the cold.  When we heard him make an announcement, in  an especially loud voice,  he would drop a large field mouse at the door from the garage into the house.


My mother had also had the benefit of the cat contributor from a female pet who acknowledged special holiday dinners with the gift of a sizable field mouse at the kitchen door.  Her house was also next to the countryside.  My brother, whose pet the cat was still speaks often of "Puss", another truly remarkable name for a pet designated by the parent.  Children should name the pet -- even if everyone has to wait for it.


As for my current Tom, he came from Dallas, such a big city he never learned to catch a mouse, although he has sometimes killed a bird.  However, one couldn't ask for a more loyal live-in friend.

Dutiful and Reasonable Tom

What is Tom's duty?  It is one he has assumed out of his desire to contribute to my household.
The first thing he is so thoughtful to do when he first enters the house -- before he eats his breakfast--
he leads the way to the garage light switch for the yard light.  Long ago it was put on a timer which
has since worn out; however, the switch works manually.  Tom hears the little clack sound and knows
the task is accomplished, and so he leads the way back into the house.  He then jumps up on the
dryer to partake of his morning nourishment, while I supply fresh water for the day.  The food is placed there to keep ants away from it.  Outside, I place it on a table where Tom can finish any food left over at night.  By morning it is gone.


He has stopped defying me when it gets dark and time to go out.  So when he deems it is dark enough in our changing season, he sits down patiently in front of the door leading into the back yard.  If he sits down there to view the wildlife and remain inside, he soon moves to the watch position to the side of the opening door. 


Cleaning up the yard for winter when I do not work in the cold, I found a good-sized swatch of fur
that had lain aside for some time.  I could not tell if it was from Tom or his victim.  Even the most
timid of domestic animals can turn out to be determined fighters.

My House Escort

It appears some cats maybe most, keep tabs on their people.  I have told you about cats accompanying their owners on walks.  Some, I've heard, wait for their person, child or adult, to
finish showering right by the door. 
So does Tom, my good friend.  When he is admitted in mornings, he marches to the inside garage
door before me to turn off the switch to the front yard light.  Satisfied, he comes back in and
jumps on the dryer in the utility room for his breakfast.  Yes, up off the floor.  Cat food draws
ants if any are lurking behind the molding. 
He also waits for me to make the bed and get dressed for the day.  After that, it appears he wants me
to escort him into the back rooms, even on into the utility room where he has another go at his
breakfast.  He eats in small increments at a time.
Today, he spoke most insistently, loud and bossy, even.  It wasn't food.  He didn't want out, certainly.
He jumped up on the bench that goes with the electronic organ.  I petted him and rubbed his jaws.
Apparently, I hadn't done it when I first started the day, and he seemed satisfied afterward.