June 13, 2008

• How We Became The Sam’s Peeps, Part Two: Getting to Know The Sam

  Cats are like people. They each come with their own personalities. So when you lose one cat and get another, you cannot really compare the two. Or at least, you shouldn’t compare the two.

  I was surprised at myself, getting one cat so soon after losing another. There was a tiny bit of guilt in the beginning; I suppose it would have been a larger bit if we had had Jaguar (“Jag”) for a long time. Maybe we would not have even looked at Sam if Jag had been our cat for years.

  I think that Ken (my boyfriend at the time, my husband now) felt the same pangs in the very beginning.

  But Sam’s personality came shining through after the first three days or so, and after that, we still talked about Jag (still do, sometimes), but not so much in the way of, “Jag never did this” or “Jag never acted this way”. More like, “If we had never met Jag, we would never have met Sam.”

  When we picked Sam up from Dr. Kris’s office, we had no carrier (I think I’d thought they would still have Jag’s carrier). So Ken carried Sam out to the car, and from the car to our apartment. We were stunned by how comfortable Sam seemed to be in Ken’s arms. He didn’t struggle or put up a fuss of any kind. He barely made a sound in the car. He looked out the (closed) window, curious.

  We brought him into the apartment and showed him where everything was (litter box, food, water, scratch post) and then let him explore.

  For the first three days, he hid alternately behind the stove and underneath our big green dresser (when I look at how small the space is between that dresser and the floor now, I wonder at how he ever fit under there!). He came out to eat and use the litter box. Other than that, he was our invisible roommate.

  The third night, Ken and I were sitting on the couch, watching TV. At some point, I looked down at my lap and there Sam was. We never heard him come into the room, never saw him, and I never felt him climb onto my lap. Stealthy Sam.

  He pushed his head under my hand. Ken brought out the kitty brush. Sam grabbed Ken’s hand (the one with the brush in it) and moved his face across the brush again and again. He stretched out, partly on my lap and partly on Ken’s. He purred. We purred.

  He was home. We felt like a family.

  That night, we brought him into bed with us.

  I think we thought he was going to be mellow and sleep with us. Were we nuts or something?

  We learned three things that night:
  1. When Sam sees something move, he pounces on it.
  2. Sam LOVES feet.
  3. Ken and I apparently move our feet a LOT while sleeping!

  We didn’t get a lot of sleep when Sam was a kitten. One night, I couldn’t handle it anymore, I had had enough, this was it. Fed up! I hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks. He attacked my feet. I picked him up and deposited him outside of our bedroom and closed the door.

  I laid down and looked at Ken. He looked sad. I said to Ken, “I can’t take it anymore. I HAVE to get some sleep!” I was GRUMPY.

  Just as my head hit the pillow, I heard a faint scratching at the door… followed by the most pathetic meow-crying I have ever heard. It was such a sad, lonely sound. After about five minutes (it was probably less than that!), my heart was breaking. I wasn’t going to get any sleep this way. I turned to Ken and said, “Oh, alright! Let him in….”

  Ken opened the door. Before I could finish saying to Sam, “Well, I hope you learned your lesson,” He had jumped up onto the bed and attacked my feet!

  I learned to live with it. Eventually, as Sam matured, his attacks became few and far between (but they have never completely stopped!), but just about every night, I wake up at some point to find him hugging my left calf like it is a body pillow, with his head resting on my left foot (and more often than not, my left foot is covered with Sam-drool).

  Sam has never outgrown his love of pouncing on things that move, either. It doesn’t matter what the object is. If it moves, he just “has” to attack it. Recently, we acquired a set of sheets that are covered with this sort of abstract fish design. When the fish “move” (like when we’re making the bed or turning it down), he attacks them with extreme prejudice.

  Another thing that we learned about Sam early on: He loves to play “fetch”! Someone gave us (as a sort of kitty-warming gift) some miniature soccer balls for cats; they are soft and sort of foamy, but they don’t really bounce. Ken tossed one to see if Sam would chase after it. Not only did Sam chase after it; he brought it back in his mouth, dropped it at Ken’s feet, looked up and meowed at Ken until he threw it again. And again. And again. And again. All night.

  A few weeks after we brought Sam home, it was Thanksgiving. At that time, we always went to my mother’s house for the traditional turkey dinner. My younger brother (who usually cooked the feast) would pack up a bunch of T-Day leftovers for us to take home.

  Later that evening, Ken had some of the breast meat on a paper plate. He was walking around (my guy IS energy, folks… he is constantly in motion), munching, not realising that our new cat was following him around, mostly on his hind legs, trying to get at the turkey. Now, anyone who has ever had any kind of kitty-relationship knows that all cats love turkey. So Sam wanting some Thanksgiving day meat was no surprise. Sam following Ken around on his hind legs, though… THAT was different. (I took several photos. As soon as I can get them scanned in, I will post them here.)

  Anyway… Ken held up a small piece of turkey and Sam hopped up onto his hind legs, and very gently took the turkey into his mouth, with his big paws lightly holding Ken’s hand in place.

  One thing I feel I should mention here, because I am talking about Sam “attacking” our feet and “grabbing” our hands, etc., and I don’t want you to get the wrong impression: Sam is not de-clawed, because we do not believe in mutilating a living being for the sake of furniture, but to this day, Sam has NEVER used his claws on us on purpose. Not once.

  That Christmas was one of the best holiday seasons we have ever had. We lost a lot of ornaments, but we didn’t really care (I think we were just grateful that he didn’t knock the tree down altogether!). Ken and I got Sam as many presents as we got for each other (if not more!). Mostly, he liked the ribbons and bows. We had more turkey leftovers from my mom’s house, much to Sam’s delight. (Once again, I took several snapsots… I will scan those in and post them here eventually). He got his first nickname: Samma Claus.

  We learned a lot about Sam in those first couple of months. He got used to us and we got used to him. Eventually, I could almost sleep through the nightly foot attacks. Ken got really good at tossing miniature soccer balls. We bought a few new (unbreakable!) Christmas ornaments. Our friends met Sam and helped us begin to socialize him a little.

  We made an appointment for him to have a regular checkup with Dr. Kris in early February 2001. Who knew that at that visit, we would learn that Sam had something of a past???

  Coming soon: how We Became The Sam’s Peeps, Part Three: Cat with a Past

  

  • 11:43 pm
  • 7 Comments