Everyone Needs a Cat Like Tucker
I share a small home with a large cat. This wasn’t foreseen a year ago. For many years I fancied myself primarily as a dog person. My dad had shepherds and my mom raised poodles. When I was 12 my little brother wanted a cat and the family picked up a kitten at the local ASPCA. As cats go he was fine. He stayed out all night and slept for a few hours during the day at a neighbor’s house. Not much upkeep for that cat.
A few years ago I met a young woman and we got engaged. She had a neighborhood stray deposit kittens outside her house and she kept one of the friskiest of the litter. He grew to be massive with a tail of 14 inches. Then a local cat rescue gave her another kitten and this one bulked up to only about ten pounds. The big one is timid. The little one greets all visitors. The cats didn’t relocate to Idaho because the woman stayed in Delaware.
Last spring the big boss at work asked me if I wanted an older kitten some of her relatives couldn’t keep. I said I would give it some thought. The next day the boss called and asked when I planned to pick him up. Quite suddenly I had my first cat exclusively my own. For two days he took shelter beneath my bed and sparingly ate or drank. For 48 hours I thought he was going to be the best cat an aging single guy could have around the place. Then he emerged from the bedroom one evening and looked at me and started walking around my legs. He has been quite active ever since. He gets into everything. Grocery bags, cupboards, closets, boxes and even the bathtub. Saturday morning I pulled back the shower curtain and there he stood atop the wall of the tub. He climbs in after I finish my shower and somedays he doesn’t give me time to get out. Living alone it isn’t a requirement I lower the toilet seat, although. My manners were improved when I walked by the bathroom one day and looked inside. I saw the hind quarters of a cat on the rim and the front had vanished below the horizon.
Tucker has two litter boxes and uses both. I stuck a third in the bathroom closet for later use (when one is being cleaned a spare is handy). He got into the closet and left a deposit in number three. He has so many toys he could fill every pen at the local animal shelter with one if he wished to be generous with his own species. The toys move throughout the house. Pens have become toys, rolls of paper towels and recently when a plastic piece covering a bolt on my desk chair popped off it became his property. Leaving for work I placed it on a kitchen counter for safekeeping until I got home. Nine hours later I came back and found it on the bedroom floor. He sleeps on the end of the bed. I’ve gotten up at night to use the facilities and I hear the noise. “Brdddllllle,” is what it sounds like. If it’s a short trip to the potty he stays in bed. If I’m gone a bit too long he comes in and walks circles around my legs.
My job requires I be an early riser. I set an alarm for 3:15 but really shouldn’t bother. Most mornings any time after 3 o’clock he starts climbing on me and I hear breathing in one of my ears. Sometimes during the night I’m also aware he will race through the room. This is because he gallops over me as he chases whatever imaginary spirit he’s pursuing. He doesn’t need to wake me to eat. Food is out all night. He wants me to get up and drag a shoestring across the floor.
Tucker isn’t big on being picked up. Sometimes he’s fine and will purr like a motorboat but generally likes to be put down within a couple of minutes. His preference is having me get down on the floor and pet him while he plops over on one of his sides. Then he rubs his head around one of my hands and purrs until he gets bored. Then he grabs my arm and the rabbit kick begins.
He got his name through Facebook. I had a naming contest. When I suggested “Tuck” it got voted down. Tucker was much more acceptable. He helped me clip coupons the other day but he’s not very good about following the lines. The Pizza Hut coupons got shredded. Tucker is also quite friendly when being fed. I have to pick up the dish because he started head-butting my serving hand and all too often food missed the dish. A few weeks ago I had someone tell me they would never put up with such an active cat in their house. I don’t see it that way. When I come home from work he’s often looking at me out a window and I see him turn and race for the door. When I come inside he rolls over immediately and waits for my greeting and he gets his fur tousled. I hope he’s with me a very long time and in fact I hope he’s with someone long after I’m gone. I don’t know what I’d do evenings and weekends without him.