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My Companions
Stories by Kenneth Merle Morrison
A NATURAL BORN HUNTER by Kenneth Merle Morrison / Read by John V
A NATURAL BORN HUNTER by Kenneth Merle Morrison
Hunting season for many seniors in Central Louisiana is a time of excitement and anticipation. It has always been that way in Louisiana. A few years ago Louisiana publicized its reputation of being a hunter friendly state by placing on every automobile license plate the words “Sportsman’s Paradise.”
Seniors who have retired often turn to hunting and fishing as being of great recreational value. Retired Rapides High School principal Charles Thigpen is recovering from a life threatening form of cancer. In a recent conversation with his wife, she described how he gets up early in the morning, hooks up his boat trailer to his truck and goes to the lake for an enjoyable period of fishing. “It has done wonders for him,” she reported.
Retired Doctor David Carlton is another fisherman who firmly believes in the therapeutic value of a trip to the river for an encounter with fish who are sometimes smarter than the fisherman. If you give him enough time to talk about the art of fishing, he will have you convinced that a fishing trip is the very best kind of medicine that a person can take. He will tell you that it is as good for the soul as it is for the physical body.
And then there is reliable Woodrow Young who, in his mid nineties, is still to catch the most fish and come home with the most squirrels of anyone else living in the vicinity of Lecompte.’ Woodrow is the official greeter of the Lecompte United Methodist Church. It is his unofficial duty to obtain a weekly report from other hunters and fishermen where fish can be caught and squirrel can be bagged.
Woodrow does not ask me for information because he knows that I am not a hunter nor a fisherman. But what Woodrow does not know is that I have in my household a small female cat that is a natural born hunter. Her name is Abby and she has been blessed with a hair color that is mostly black with a multitude of brown splotches that give her the appearance of a cat that is dressed in camouflage. While Abby is the smallest of my three cats, she makes up for her lack of size by being the smartest, quickest, fastest, bravest and most agile of my family of cats.
Abby is an inside/outside cat that enjoys the privilege of her own cat entrance to the utility room. From there she can go up two steps through another cat door into the kitchen and other areas of my small country home. This allows Abby to fulfill her natural instinct, which is to bring into the house and place at her master’s feet the prey she has captured on one of her hunting expeditions.
Abby is selective in the prey that she tracts down and tries to capture. Barking dogs are off limits as well as armadillos, possums and raccoons. She learned her lesson by tangling up with some such creature and coming home with a broken hip. After a complete recovery, she was back in top form bringing in critters of a smaller size - lizards, field mice and slow moving birds. I was not happy with her choice of hunting birds. Fortunately, after bringing the birds into the house, she would let them go and they would fly from curtain to curtain rod, and from door ledge to door ledge. With all the outside doors open and a broom in my hand, I was able to convince the birds that it was to their advantage to make an escape through the open door.
Other creatures from the woods that Abby would bring for my approval were the following: An assortment of squirrels, one flying squarely, one rolly-polly fat mole, several unfortunate frogs who did not leap soon enough and a half grown rabbit that Abby was able to outrun.
Of all the various animals that Abby brought in to get my approval, there was one who did not receive my approval. It was a large steely-eyed rodent we call a rat. The word congers up all sorts of unpleasant situations and mine was no different. It was a frightening experience in which the rat out maneuvered me, hurt my pride and left me on the floor in a tangle of TV cable and electric wires.
When Abby brought the rodent in, it escaped from her grasp and without hesitation ran into the front bedroom. As I closed the doors to keep him from escaping into another room, I thought that the situation was under control. With Abby by my side I thought that it would only be a matter of time until he was cornered and caught. That was my first mistake - thinking I could outwit a rodent that seemed to be in the prime of life. Instead of running for a corner, he ran back and forth along the front wall from one piece of furniture to another.
As Abby ran back and forth, the rat decided on a different ploy. He squeezed himself under a cabinet that was so close to the floor that Abby was prevented from crawling under it to catch the despised creature. It was the cabinet upon which my bedroom TV was located. I sat down for awhile to plan my strategy - which turned out to be quite simple: remove the TV from the cabinet, lift up the cabinet and let Abby pounce on the varment and be done with it.
It was not as simple as I thought it would be. It was an old TV that was heavier than I anticipated. While removing it from the top of the cabinet, I lost my balance pulling the TV down on top of me imp a tangle of TV cable and electric wires. It was a terrible situation to be in - me lying helpless on the floor and the rodent looking out at me with a smile on his face. It was not only embarrassing, it was humiliating. The rat, seeing me at a disadvantage lunged from his hiding place past the startled Abby and crawled up on the inside of my pants leg. I have no other way of saying what happened next - all hell broke loose. A man with a rat up his pants leg does not stop to plan his next strategy - he becomes a human dynamo, freeing himself from cable and electric wires and somehow getting the rat out of his pants without any injury except to his pride.
Abby was now on full alert and chased the rat from the front wall to a side wall where he ended up in a dead end corner–wedged in between another cabinet and the side wall. With a two by four in one hand and a broom stick in the other, I approached him with instincts of a natural born hunter - even Woodrow could now be proud of me as I was about to claim my hunting trophy.
Abby was the only one to see me strike the fatal blow. After it was over, Abby retrieved the lifeless body and brought it over to me with a look of approval that only a cat owner can recognize. I cannot imagine living in the country without a cat like Abby. And now that I have gained her approval, she may even let me go squirrel hunting with her the next time she goes out to try her luck in the woods.
Kenneth Merle Morrison © 2006
www.kennethmerlemorrison.com
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A FAMILY OF CATS by Kenneth Merle Morrison / Read by John V
A FAMILY OF CATS by Kenneth Merle Morrison
The two cats stood nose to nose like two Eskimos engaged in a friendly kiss. All friendliness, however, disappeared when the smaller female cat stepped back, raised her left paw and soundly smacked the larger male cat on the side of his face. With an unmistakable loud hiss of disapproval, the female cat disappeared around the corner and was soon out of sight.
This was not a happy moment for me because the smaller female cat was my pet Abby and the much larger male cat was an unwelcome guest who was out looking for a romantic encounter. For about a week I had noticed him becoming bolder and bolder in his attempt to make friends with Abby. Like an experienced suitor, he patiently waited for the opportune time to make his move. It eventually took place on my front porch where I stood watching as they tentatively touched noses.
The larger male cat was no slouch. He stood about two inches taller than Abby and his long, attractive, golden hair was in stark contrast to the muted black colors of my short haired Abby. If Abby had been a moviegoer back in the 1930's I am sure she would have called him the Clark Gable of the cat kingdom. While she rejected his amorous approach, she probably was pleased that he found her attractive and desirable. And if this handsome male visitor had been a moviegoer back in the 30's, he would have called Abby the Myrna Loy of the cat kingdom. In 1936 Myrna Loy was voted “queen of the movies” and Clark Gable was voted “king.”
As I watched the interactions of these two feline members of the animal kingdom, I was reminded of the similarities that exist between domesticated cats and members of the human race. Among multiple similarities is the ability to learn by the trial and error method. When our handsome male visitor was unable to gain Abby’s interest by a bold, frontal approach that included stalking, he called on his native instincts and became sly and cunning. It was a change in techniques that worked on both Abby and me and also on my cat-loving granddaughter, who gave him the name of Andy. So now my household is made up of the threesome of me, Abby and Andy.
This interesting relationship between cats and humans is not a new revelation. Tomb paintings and sculptures in ancient Egypt are the earliest representations of the domestic cat where they became the object of worship. One local cat goddess named Bast, was depicted as having the body of a woman and the head of a cat. She was worshiped as the goddess of love and fertility. From the goddess Bast to the present day cartoon character named Garfield, cats have won their way into the hearts and lives of human beings who have, in turn, become lovers of cats.
While I gladly admit to being an ailurophile (a lover of cats) I am friends with and have respect for the many men and women who have no affection for cats, period. Some have never had the opportunity of forming a relationship with this special animal that has brought delight and joy to multiplied millions of people. Others, for unknown reasons, have a condition called ailurophobia (fear of cats).
An extreme example is that of a minister’s wife I knew who moved into a parsonage that had previously been occupied by a family who had been cat friendly. A neighborhood cat had formed a habit of visiting the parsonage on a regular basis. He had always received a welcome from the cat friendly people, but when the new occupants moved in, he was no longer welcome.
After a short time, the new minister’s wife, with her genuine fear of cats, called the chairman of the church committee responsible for maintaining the parsonage with this declaration: “If somebody doesn’t come and get this damn cat, I am going to kill it.”
Fear of cats can lead to irrational behavior. Throughout the middle ages, cats were both feared and hated. Because of their nocturnal habits, they were believed to consort with the devil. It has been reported that this association with witchcraft has been responsible for many acts of cruelty through the centuries. Then came the Renaissance, which, in contrast, proved to be the golden age for cats. Almost everyone had one - from members of royal families and their staffs to the peasants of the fields.
Today, all over Central Louisiana, people, young and old, are enjoying the company and companionship of cats. But there are some of us who, because of current conditions and circumstances, are prevented from having a cat as a friend. But those of us who are privileged to experience that pleasure, have discovered the calming effect of a purring cat curled up on our lap. There is some kind of magical transference of the cat’s sense of security and peace that makes its way into the owner’s consciousness. In a world of strife and confusion, we can be thankful if conditions permit us to have a cat for a friend.
But there are always risks involved if we extend the emotion called love to either humans or animals. Because of my advancing age, I have a concern about what will happen to Abby if she is still alive after I am gone. Because of that concern, I recently asked a cat-loving friend if she would take care of Abby if that should happen. Carol and John had come down from St. Louis for a visit. Carol has two cats, one of which is named Abby, an animal godmother to my Abby. Carol said, “Yes, I promise to take care of Abby if that happens.” It is a good feeling to know that Abby will not become a lonely orphan after I am gone.
I am not the only one who has experienced that concern. One day, one of my wife’s friends asked her if she would take care of her pet cat after she was gone. The friend had a terminal illness and desired to possess the peace of mind that would come from knowing that her pet cat Smokey would receive loving care after she was no longer able to give it.
Doris said, “Yes, we will take Smokey and make him a member of our family of cats.” So Smoky came to live with us and it was not long until he nuzzled his way into our hearts. Smokey was a purebred Russian Blue who is known for their gentle nature and friendly attitude. He liked to curl up in my lap and I soaked up all the love he had to offer.
Then, one day, something unusual and unexplainable happened to Smokey. He lost his balance; he could no longer walk in his usual energetic fashion. My cat became catatonic. Smokey became immobile and I became worried. My granddaughter’s husband, Hans, said to me. “Granddad, you had better take Smokey to the vet. If you don’t, when you get old, we will remember, and you may not get the immediate care you need.” So, I was prompted to take quick action and I made plans for a visit to Smokey’s doctor.
But, before I could get Smokey to the veterinarian, he made a remarkable recovery. He was soon on his feet with no sign of disorientation. It was a curious mystery that only unfolded when we received information concerning Smokey’s former owner and faithful friend. Her terminal illness had run its course and on the very day (perhaps the same hour) that Smokey become immobile, his former caring and loving owner had became immobile and died.
There are events that occur in life that are beyond our ability to explain and understand. This is one of them. Perhaps one day animal psychologists will discover the cosmic pathway that connects an animal’s consciousness with that of its human owner. Until then I will gladly accept the love, loyalty and companionship of my friends, Abby and Andy, who took turns sitting in my lap as I sat at my computer composing this column.
Kenneth Merle Morrison © 2006
www.kennethmerlemorrison.com
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