Dear Bob

Dear Bob; aka Fuzzbutt, Doofus, Rrrrrrrrobert, and Shithead,

I have lived with cats most of my life, but never one quite like you. Previous feline roommates have always been very laid back and well-behaved, as far as cats go. You, however, have been a very entertaining handful these past 5 years.

I don't like AC and prefer to open windows and doors when the weather permits. I often have visitors, sometimes uninvited. Between you and the other 2 cats, I have become accustomed to finding lizards in my bed and garter snakes in the dining room. I know you love me and are bringing me gifts.

Country pets are often allowed more freedom than city pets and that is how I found two unfamiliar dogs, Marley and Zoey, in my kitchen. They had escaped their pen and wandered in to clean up the remains of the catfood in Bert and Lucy's bowls. Marley was some kind of shaggy labrador mix with heavy jowls and Zoey was a flat-coated something with a curly tail carried high over her back-end. I called the phone number on Marley's collar and no one answered. The Animal Control Officer recognized them and took them back to their home. A few days later they showed up again. Repeated visits and trips to the pound and finally someone answered the phone. The owner's mom and I became friends because of the escape-artist dogs.

Summer in the rural South involves foisting extra vegetables onto gardenless friends. I met you the day I took the wayward dogs human companion a bag of tomatoes, yellow crook-neck squash, cucumbers, and zucchini. You were in a cardboard box in a corner of her kitchen. She said you had been abandoned in her yard the day before and she did not know what to do with you. You were barely weaned, so cute and helpless that my heart melted. I took you home and named you Daisy. I had not intended to live with a third cat, but it seems Fate had other ideas.

On your first trip to the vet, I was told that Daisy was not an appropriate name for a boy cat. It had been so long since I had been around such a small kitten I had forgotten how to tell the difference. During check out the tech asked me what your name was. You were cuddled in my arms. I looked down at you and said, "Cat, what is your name?" A little voice in my head said, "BobtheCat" and that's who you became.

Lucy, the petite tortie queen, did not appreciate an intruder into her kingdom and immediately been defending her territory. Uncle Bert, the fat, laid-back, snow-shoe Siamese mix, groomed you and taught you to hunt by bringing voles and mice onto the back porch to play with. I am not sure what I would have done if you had caught the deer you stalked across the backyard when you only weighed a pound.

It took forever to teach you that cats use a litter box indoors or ask to go outside. I am sure the stress of being the new kid at the bottom of the pecking order did not help matters. You destroyed several houseplants and a box of DVD's in the process. Mothballs in your favorite spots did not deter you. You eventually accepted your very own litterbox next to the garage door. I tried to put it in other, more discrete, places and you were having none of it. That was the magic spot. I am glad I have understanding friends and family and am doubly glad that you rarely use it now that you are an adult.

However, there was the incident at Christmas when you were still the kitty version of an adolescent. Friends and I were sitting at the table with slightly fuzzy brains from drinking mulled wine. You had not used the litterbox in months until you left us a very stinky present. Rita said you were being a party pooper.

My biggest challenge with you was the time I discovered that you had peed in the breadbasket on my kitchen counter. Its replacement has been a source of mild contention since the day I brought it home. When I sat it on the dining table to hang up my jacket, I expected that to be a temporary situation. When I returned to the kitchen you had claimed it as your own. Whenever I have moved it you have plopped yourself across the tabletop in the spot where it usually sits.

In true royal queenly fashion, Lucy decided that she likes to nap in the basket as well. I am glad that the hissing matches are over now that you two have compromised on a napping schedule.

I found something else to store the bread and I promise not to move the basket again except for when we have company. You and Lucy have done a good job of sharing basket naps, but please don't bother Bert's box in the back of the bedroom closet.

The kitchen table reminds me of an aircraft carrier in that it is the landing place and the launchpad for projects. I often sit there to study or work. If you are not in the middle of whatever is going on, you are supervising from your perch atop the fridge.

You are such an active cat and so very smart that traditional training methods have not worked with you. You race across the living room and jump on the back of my antique rocker, riding it as it rocks back and forth. When you decide you want to snuggle there is no stopping you. You were tiny when I carried you on my shoulder. Now my friends in Zoom meetings no longer pause when 12 pounds of aggressively affectionate white cat pounces across the desktop and drapes himself across my left shoulder. It's better to have you there than perched in front of the monitor. You ignore spritzes from the blue spray bottle and many of my t-shirts have holes from your enthusiastic kneading.

I tried to entertain you with a bird video. It lasted about 5 minutes. You lost interest after checking behind the TV looking for the birds. You monitor the activity at my birdfeeders but I have never known you to catch a bird. A neighbor up the hill reports that you sometimes hang out under her feeders and birdwatch. So far there have been no avian casualties that I am aware of. I think you visit her because her husbands' name is also Bob.

I have never known a cat to be as tolerant of toddlers as you were when Alice brought her grandson to visit. He was a typical 2-year old, very active and curious, but anxious because of an ongoing difficult situation with his parents. She was trying to gain custody of him and everyone was tense. Bert and Lucy would hide when he came around, but you allowed him to play with you. You are known for roughhousing with teeth and claws during play, but not with this little boy. You were a comfort to him and he would look for you as soon as he came into the house. He loved to snuggle with you and you encouraged it. He would call for you as he entered the house and you would bounce/gallop into the living room.

Last night I was awakened by severe pain from a recent difficult surgery. As I cried I felt you move from the blanket at the foot of the bed to curl under my left armpit, putting as much of you in contact with me as you could, and purring until I went back to sleep. When daylight came you met me in the kitchen, expecting the morning gooshy food, and behaving like your usual rambunctious self. You act like a tough guy, but I know better. Under that thick polar bear-like white fur beats a very tender heart.

Much love,

The lady with the can-opener.