Pieces of my heart

In 1983 when I left my newspaper job in the afternoons, I often stopped by Popeye’s for chicken livers. I was met at my front door each day by a big yellow tomcat, who loved takeout and answered to “Hey, boy.”

I did not know until I met his master some six months later, that the cat, “Curious,” could play the piano and talk.

When Mark, who became my husband, played the piano, Curious would stand beside him and pound on the keys. The first time this happened, I tried to lift him from the bench, but Mark said, “It’s OK, he’s playing in the right key.”

When Curious wanted to go outside, he clearly said, “Out.” And, when he wanted back in, he stood at the door and said, “Mark.”

I had always had dogs, but Curious taught me the mysteries of the cat.

In 1985, two weeks before we moved to South Carolina, Curious, then age seven, went missing. It was very painful to pull away from our home knowing he might come back and find us gone. We always wondered.

On the following Valentine’s Day, Mark came home with a tiny ball of fur tucked under his suede jacket. “Curious, Too,” a calico, was the smartest and most beautiful cat in what would become our family of amazing felines.

Next came “Cali,” a yellow male, “B.J.’s heart and soul;” “Tuxedo,” a huge black-and-white male so named because he wore one, complete with a black bowtie at his neck; Tux’s sister “Mama Cass,” a petite and fastidious version of her brother; and “Tempest,” who earned her name as a kitten putting the older cats in their place.

Each had his or her own distinct personality. Each loved and was loved in return.

I could write a book about my cats. But, not now, not here.

Years later, after Mark and I were divorced, my great-nephew came to visit. As we sat out on the porch all night, drinking peach wine and talking, a tiny kitten crawled into my lap and slept the night away.

“You’ll take him in,” my young visitor said. “No. There’s no way!” I replied.

That was seven years ago, and “Oliver” was named for Dickens’ orphan, “Oliver Twist.”

Oliver was different. He thought himself the center of the universe and liked to destroy Venetian blinds and window screens. He would do anything to keep me from sleeping. But, he had Susan Oliver eyes, a cute face and a look to melt your heart. And, he loved attention.

One by one I lost my precious pets. Curious died at age 10 after liver surgery. Cali and Tempest, both 10, were poisoned, probably by neighbors who stayed six months then moved on. I had to have Tuxedo and Mama Cass euthanized, at ages 14 and 18.

In the pre-dawn hours of Wednesday, 11 July, Oliver went out for his early morning play, and he hasn’t come home.

So, my time with cats has ended as it began, not knowing and always wondering.

Mary Tyler Moore, appearing on Bravo’s “Inside the Actor’s Studio,” was asked what she wants to hear St. Peter say when she gets to heaven. Her reply: “Let me take you to the animals you have cared for.” I have to believe I will be greeted likewise.

For the first time in almost a quarter of a century, there are no cats in my home. It’s really tough having no one to talk with.

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A beautiful tribute to touch the heart of pet lovers: LINK