What's in a name (originally written for Memoir writing class)

My father hated cats.

I was always bringing home stray cats hoping beyond hope that eventually I would be allowed to keep one for my very own.

We lived in a two bedroom duplex on Main Street in a small town in West Virginia. My older brother had a room of his own and I had a bed in the corner of my parent’s room surrounded by curtains hanging from the ceiling for privacy. The house was crowded to be sure. “We simply don’t have room to keep a pet in this house.” Mom would say. “Someday we’ll get a house in the country and you can have a cat and a dog.” Dad would always add, “I won’t have an old cat living in my house."

Sunshine, that’s what I called him at first, the big yellow tabby cat came into our lives quite by accident and it must have something in those huge emerald colored eyes of his that made everyone fall in love with him. Or perhaps it was because he looked so much like Morris the cat that everyone loved him. You know Morris, the famous cat from the TV commercials. He had the same personality as the famous TV cat as well. He was a whimsical character that had an air of superiority about him. He wanted to be pampered and that was all.

To say that he was my cat would be a lie. He belonged to everyone and no one at the same time. His real owners were dirt poor and he was sadly neglected by them although they didn’t mind pointing out to anyone that would listen that he was in fact “their cat”. Never mind that they never fed him or never once took him to the vet or played with him. He was theirs only in their minds. On the occasions when they would come looking around the neighborhood complaining that we had taken their beloved Tiger, which is the name they had for him, they would cart him home only to have him slip out again as soon as he could manage it and come right back to our part of the neighborhood.

It wasn’t difficult for him to find a family or two that would love him for his many charms and take him in. He became the neighborhood cat and he had his daily routine down to a science. First thing in the morning he would arrive on Mrs. Larke’s back porch announcing that he was starving and surely she had a bowl of fresh milk and some tuna for him. He would spend the mornings lounging in the shade of the thick wisteria that grew all around Mrs. Larke’s porch. Mrs. Larke decided that of course, his name must be Morris because as she said, “Isn’t he the spitting image of the real Morris?”

Mr. Johnson was the widower who lived down the street and he always came home for lunch. He always had some extra lunch to share with Scat and the yellow cat would always be patiently waiting by his front door for him to arrive. After lunch he would head to our house where my mother would secretly let him inside. He would follow her around while she did the laundry or cleaned, then would lie on her lap in the afternoon while she watched her “stories”.

As soon as my brother and I would get home from school it was his job to help us with our homework, or more to the point, distract us while we tried to do our homework, and keep us company while we watched “I Dream of Jeannie” or “Dark Shadows” on the old black and white TV. At 5:15, just before our father was due home from work, we would open the back door and he would reluctantly head back outside for the night. His nights were spent prowling around and getting into fights with the other cats in the neighborhood. Many times I would be awakened by the sound of growling and hissing in the backyard.

One winter, a few days before Christmas he decided it was too cold to go outside so at 5:15 he decided to take up residence under our Christmas tree. My brother and I were scrambling trying to coax him out and catch him but he would have none of it. At 5:30 the front door opened and Dad stepped in. My brother and I tried to look innocent as if nothing was going on. “We were just checking the water level in the tree stand.” My brother said in an attempt to explain why we were under the tree. Dad just shrugged and said, “How was your day at school?” “Fine,” we both exclaimed, “but we are glad that Christmas break starts tomorrow and we heard on the TV that it’s supposed to snow tonight so maybe we won’t have to go to school tomorrow either.” I added with a nervous smile.

Dad put his coat and boots in the closet and after going to the kitchen to kiss Mom on the cheek and ask “What’s for dinner?”, he returned to the living room to sit in his favorite chair and watch the news. About that time the cat decided it was time high he and Dad met face to face and he came slinking out from behind the Christmas tree covered in silvery icicles and holding a bow he had taken from a present in his mouth. He marched right over to Dad’s chair, dropped the bow by his feet, jumped in Dad’s lap, lay down and started purring like a freight train. After the initial shock wore off, Dad started laughing so hard he was crying. How could anyone resist that charm and charisma wrapped up in soft amber fur with the huge friendly green eyes? Dad finally pulled himself together and said “he looks like he’s all dressed up for the Christmas pageant or something. Do you think we should tell him there were no cats in the stable that night? Maybe he thinks he is a TV star like Morris. I think old Tom here had better stay inside tonight, it’s going to be a cold one and he might enjoy watching Rudolph with us.”

From that night on, Tom, which is what we ultimately decided would be our name for him, slept in a basket by the gas furnace grate in the living room and gave up his life as a prize cat fighter. He still insisted on going outside first thing in the morning to make his rounds around the neighborhood and he would even occasionally put in an appearance at his “real” owners house for an hour or two. Until the day he died he was known as the neighborhood cat with four names.

Finding Myself Again

I used to write a lot when I was younger. I think as I got older and my life became filled with so many other tasks such as job, being a parent and housework I put writing aside for lack of time. I seem to have done that with many things in my life. Photography and reading as well as writing.

I am not complaining and I certainly don't regret my choices. I am finding however, now that my daughter is driving and becoming more independent she no longer needs me as much as she used to. This was a difficult concept for me to get used to. I cried the day she passed her driver's test. I was excited for her but at the same time I felt like I had lost a little piece of our relationship. I have since gotten over that feeling and I'm enjoying the extra time that I have for me.

I began working part time in January, going from 40+ hours a week to 32. I'm working 6 and a half hour days 4 days a week and only 6 hours on Friday. It's amazing how just having an extra hour and half to 2 hours a day has changed my life.

I have enrolled in several classes at our local Community college including a memoir writing class as well as working on getting a Project Management Certificate.

I have discovered my passion for reading again having completed four novels since Christmas. That's probably more than I have read in two years. I should also mention that part of the reason I have been reading so much is I received an Amazon Kindle digital reader from my husband, Richard, for Christmas. The thing is amazing. It holds up to 200 books and is the size and weight of a single paperback. But the very best feature, for me at least, is the ability to change font size. I can see it so much better than text on the page of a book. I love love love it. I can't say enough good things about it.

I started taking photography seriously again about four years ago and I am constantly taking classes and working on improving my skills as a photographer. I think I am a little OCD when it comes to cameras. I recently purchased my third digital SLR. A Canon 40D. It's a great camera. Will it make me a better photographer? Probably not, but one can always hope. And since it gives me great joy, I'm not going to worry about that too much.

I have started working out in the mornings and spending some time reading before I start my day.

It's been great finding myself again and life is good.