My last two posts failed to get published, so I begin again.  When I was six years old I received my first pet, a cat named Tom.  I had wanted a white cat like the one mentioned in the Peter Rabbit story, but my parents did the best they could and found a pale yellow adult x.  Cats were acquired when a mama cat had kittens, or a stray was found.  Tom was a stray who wandered into my dad's mill where he kept other cats to eliminate the mice.  And he fed them, as well.  At that time, males were not altered, and Tom behaved like a Tom cat. 


I will mention one or two of his adventures.  He loved salmon and always received the scraps in the can of red sockeye.  He didn't push his face into the can, but used his paw to pick up the scraps.  He learned to sit on the kitchen stool when in the house and avoid the wrath of my mother who didn't really approve of cats in the house.  It was there my dad taught this cat to lift up his right paw and shake hands like a gentleman. 
One time Tom did something that really upset my mother and she chase him out with a broom.  The next morning he turned up at the mill, about a mile from home.  It was just a small town.  From then on he would take up residence at our house or at the mill. 


As I said, he was a natural tomcat, and in season he would disappear for a couple of weeks and then return home.  He never failed to announce his return with low murrrr-ows in cadence as he marched up the driveway.  I remember one time he came back thin, scratched, a tooth hanging and was very happy to be fed and petted again.  He was very patient with this little girl who used to hang him around her neck to wear as a furpiece.  Speaking of fur, my mother had worn in her single days a fox neckpiece which had the fox's head on it.  Apparently she couldn't bear to throw it away, although she never wore it.  It remained in the hall closet until my parents moved to another town, and the house was sold.  I guess I used to push the fox fur at Tom, and there was enough fox still in it that he hissed
at it. 
Also in the closet was a small bed made by a neighbor as a Christmas present along with a little chest for my dolls.  My parents always made sure the cat was put out before bedtime, and I had to do it.
One night I looked inn all the rooms for Tom but didn't find him.  At last I looked in the closets, and there in the hall closet was Tom peacefully asleep inn the doll bed.  He looked up at me with such satisfaction I couldn't bear to take him out of the bed.  But my parents were authoritative.

Tom, No.1, story.

I promised you another story about my first "Tom". Yes, he was an unaltered male who disappeared from home at certain
times. I remember him coming home again in the spring season. He marched up the driveway in cadence with his demanding
voice, "Mm-row, mm-row, mm-row." He would be thin, and sometimes beat-up showing evidence of cat fights. Then half
starved he would be fed. In my family, pets were fed milk, bread, table scraps, and the left-over parts of cans of
red sockeye salmon. This was a favorite of Tom, No. 1. He would paw out from the can every cast scrap of that tasty
fish -- very patiently.

He also loved to hide in the hall closet at night when it was time to "put out the cat". In the closet was a small bed for my dolls, specially made by a neighbor who carved a complete set of a Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey circus parade
for his three children. Tom would go to sleep in this bed, and when I finally found him at night, he would look up at me
in the most trusting way. The most contented look would be on that cat's face, and I could hardly bear to put him out
for the night. The authority of my parents made me do it, anyway.

wr5hrhtn

I promised to tell you about my first "Tom". He was my first pet when I was six years old. My parents got me the nearest
color to a white cat I wanted with a light yellow young cat -- no kitten but not fully grown. He was a foundling. My father had recently bought a business which was a feed mill with machinery to grind and store grain. He also sold all
kinds of feeds to farmers. Not only 100# sacks of feed, but salt blocks for cattle and oyster shell for chickens. Yes,
this is what they need. With all that grain in the place you can imagine how that would attract the mice and rats. So he
always kept a couple of cats in residence there, and they tended to wander into the place. He also fed them additional
cans of horsemeat and canned milk from the milk condensery across the road.

So my parents presented Tom to me (duly named). Cats were not so big when I was little; nor were males altered. So he was
a wanderer. Very soon he knew he was useful at the mill, but was brought home to be the pet, otherwise. Then, he learned
he didn't have to wait to be brought home. He arrived on his own. When my mother shooed him out of the kitchen with a
broom, he showed up at the mill in disgust. But he soon returned home. My dad taught him to sit on the kitchen stool and
stay out of trouble. He also taught him to shake hands, and the cat would extend his right paw. He became very mannerly.

I'll tell you more next time. In the meantime, my current "Tom" continues to check on everything I do.

Tom, the wonderful, handsome cat.

It has been a while since I posted anything, because I have been attending to
matters associated with the publication of my first novel, THE HIDDEN CITY, an
adventure, mystery, suspense work of fiction. Faraway places are featured from
which the heroes have to find their way out of assaults on their lives and from
an arch villain who uses his computer empire like "big brother". If this is your
genre, it is now available on Amazon, Kindle, Nook, Notebook, etc. It can be
special ordered from Barnes & Noble as well. I acknowledge my own fault any
mistakes I did not correct. I truly put my mind to it.

But this is to be about Tom, who on the whole, has been a well-behaved, affectionate cat. He spends his mornings and evenings checking up on the local
wildlife, following their flittings and leapings from window to window -- inside
the house. Between times, he sleeps or follows my movements in the house.
He actually waits for me to make my ablutions and dress in the mornings and then
when I move toward the kitchen, and utility where his food dish is. I keep on
telling him he doesn't need me to escort him to his food, but he then proceeds to
take another go at his morning meal. Then another nap. They are so cute when they are asleep. Note that look of contentment when they are successful in getting on your bed and you want them off. Well, not all of you. If yours is an
outdoor cat, he,she may carry in dust or, if heavy, leave tracks on your smooth
bedspread. Tom is very heavy on his feet, and his paws leave prints on the wood
furniture.

Next time I'll tell you about my first "Tom". Cats lived very differently then.

Cats and novels

Good morning,
I am glad you people find cats curious, charming, and companionable. Tom, the intelligent, all-knowing, comfort-seeking friend is often linked to me as though I am his all in all. I guess that's mostly true. And the price of his meaty cat food just went up two cents. Twelve cents more on my food bill. Thank heavens, he is not a large dog.
I am now getting ready to mail out copies of my newly published novel, THE HIDDEN CITY as soon as I get copies. It will be available electronically. More news about that later when it is set up. All good things must be carefully attended to and put in proper order. I am thinking strongly about the best ways to accomplish it.
I am glad Tom is not trying to help me key the computer now. Ya'all have a great spring season. Pet those kitties!

Tom, a Common Tabby but a Noble Cat

Tom, the Alarm Cat
Is it too cold at night for a cat to be outside? Maybe, cats like people number among themselves those who are cold blooded and those who are warm blooded. Tom is a southern cat from Texas. I am from the middle of the country, regarded as
southern in the north and northern south of where I live now -- Oklahoma.
Tom does not like to face cold winds if it is freezing outside. Now that the
temperatures remain above freezing at night he asks to be let out just before
dark. Yes, he sits down by the door. However, sometimes it is a game which might be called, "Yes, I fooled you", and he retreats away from the door. After
doing this several times, he either goes out on his own, of I push him on out with the ball of my foot. He wants out; but before the night is over, he wants back inside. He can jump up to the ground floor window ledges and peer inside
just as he does when inside looking out. When he discovers the room I am in, he speaks. First, he speaks in a questioning manner, then becomes more strident. If he importunes to be let in before ten o'clock, and I open the door, he enters the house. Instead of checking out his food dish, perhaps he will proceed from his entrance door to the other door to go right back out. Another game --"Fool
My Benefactor".
If it is not too cold for him, and he stays out through the night, it may be that
he must rouse the door keeper. So he knows where I sleep and again keeps up his
interminable request at the window. His voice is too loud to ignore and he is never discouraged. For the moment he grants me an interval by going to the door, but if not finding it open to him, he is back at the window. Thus, he is just
another alarm clock I can't shut off.
Now he does have another option which he has often retired to when the weather is
wet or cold. He crams himself into the ash vent behind the fireplace. It is there for the ashes to be removed on the patio side. Then when he hears the door
opening, he is inside like a lightning flash.
Another quirk. Once I am up and have let him in, I go into the garage to turn off the switch to the yard light. My neighbors' lights all go off controlled with
a light sensor. Mine had a timer which set the off and on times. The timer wore
out, so I have to turn on and off the switch in the garage. Tom insists on going
with me to turn it off in the morning. He wouldn't miss those steps into the garage with me, all before he begins his breakfast. But then, as you may know, if you share life with a cat, he is big on routine.