What I Learned from a Four-Legged Role Model

I have come to the realization that I might be a little weird. Throughout my lifetime, most of my BFF’s have been cats, which means the forever portion of this acronym is about 15–20 years.

Relationships are challenging for me. Always have been.

Meaningful human connections feel unnatural, like meeting an alien entity suspiciously hiding its true intentions. Misdirection and false pretenses are becoming much too common among our species.

Cats openly communicate exactly where you stand in their eyes. An honesty that I admire and appreciate in any relationship.

When I was three years old my parents purchased a scrawny chocolate point Siamese cat for $10. In 1967 that was a fair amount of money for a creature that fit in an average sized shoe.

This tiny female kitten was welcomed into our family and christened Pebbles. I was three and a big fan of The Flintstones. (Truth be told, at the age of fifty-five I’m still a big fan of The Stones.)

Grandpa Thurman shook his head and chastised my parents for spending good money on a sickly looking cat that was going to die. Grandpa was wrong, as were the biologically challenged adults who determined the sex of the kitten.

By the time his true sexual identity came to light, he confidently knew himself to be Pebbles. He grew into a handsomely impressive cat, strong and dignified in stature and character, completely indifferent to his feminine nomenclature.

With a refined assertiveness and keen sense of adventure, Pebbles lived his nine lives as if he were the Most Interesting Cat in the World. Forced to live with a gerbil he wasn’t allowed to eat, he patrolled the neighborhood and he hitched a ride now and then in a sunlit car via open windows.

He was shot once and battled with Dad annually over whether or not the shiny aluminum Christmas tree should retain its lower limbs or not. Never once breaking a bulb as he made his stance on the matter known.

Stories for another time perhaps.

I was twenty-three years old when Pebbles took his last breath, finally succumbing to feline leukemia. He was a positive role model throughout my formative years and a loyal companion as I embarked into adulthood.

Patient and fair, he was tolerant but never a pushover. He possessed an unshakeable confidence and a solemn intelligence.

The Swift Paw of Authority

One sultry summer day, our neighbor Viola and her dog learned a valuable lesson on respect, courtesy of Pebbles. We were all enjoying a lazy afternoon on the square concrete front porch of our typical 1950’s track house, conversing about the latest small town gossip.

Life was lived at a slower pace back in the early 70’s. People held their heads upright and had face to face conversations. Being neighborly was deemed a worthy use of time. Relationships and reality were much more than virtual.

Attempting to establish authority, the dog was barking and repeatedly lunging within inches of Pebbles. Calmly lying near the painted metal porch chairs occupied by Mom and me, Pebbles was not in the slightest bit intimidated.

He didn’t flinch… not even a fraction of an inch. Being of a judicious nature, Pebbles emitted a stern verbal reprimand followed by a low growl, respectfully suggesting the dog stop his foolishness.

Mom understood what was going down and told Viola she should make her dog leave the cat alone. Viola and the dog ignored the human and feline warnings. “That cat isn’t going to hurt the dog,” Viola said with a tone borne from unjustified certainty.

Mom and I looked at each other, sharing the unspoken knowledge of how this porch visit was going to end. And we waited. Even the most patient of creatures does not possess an infinite degree of tolerance. The fairest of felines will defend themselves if pushed hard enough.

It was over in an instant. One sharp blow across the nose and the barking turned to a distressed high-pitched yelping in mid bark. Viola and the dog retreated home, not to seek legal counsel as would be done today, but admittedly having learned to heed the warnings of those more knowledgeable and to respect personal boundaries.

Pebbles, still lying on the porch, had schooled the neighbors without even getting up. He was like the James Bond of cats, patiently controlling the situation with seemingly little effort, followed by a sophisticated single paw groom of the face and the dramatic closing of his eyelids for a cat nap.

Patiently controlling emotions in the face of aggression is a valuable tactic. Couple that with standing strong to protect your beliefs and you have a winning combination for problem resolution. I still haven’t mastered the respectful authority that Pebbles commanded with such natural ease. He was indeed an admirable role model.

If in human form, I would have described him as an old soul, brave and wise. To this day I am honored to have been the person he chose to be his best friend forever.

As my mind relives twenty years of special moments shared with Pebbles, my glance turns to the two seventeen-year-old BFF’s sleeping on the couch near me today. Oh, what lessons I have learned from these dear old friends.

Forever is once again approaching too fast.